Page 20 of An Affair with a Notorious Heiress
“The girl doesn’t seem your usual fare.”
He did little more than offer a withering glare. Their voices might be low but he suspected Lady Landsdowne had exceptional hearing. Gina was obviously enthralled by the play. He doubted she could repeat a single sentence that had been uttered.
With a shrug, Andrew gazed forward, giving up on his inquisition. Rexton leaned toward him. “As you’re alone, I assume you’re involved with an actress.”
“Not certain I’d call her an actress, but she is quite skilled at standing on the stage.” As the spare, Andrew had never been as discreet with his affairs as Rexton was. Someday Rexton would be forced to take a wife in order to provide an heir. Andrew claimed he would remain a bachelor until he drew his last breath.
Rexton looked the performers over. He knew his brother’s tastes leaned toward the buxom. “The blonde?”
“The red.”
Whose breasts were very nearly spilling out of the bodice of her costume. His brother did enjoy flamboyant attention-seeking women. He wondered if Lady Landsdowne had once fit into that category. But since her divorce she’d very much lived the life of a recluse, avoiding Society. Although that didn’t mean she avoided the scandalous parts of London. Perhaps she flourished there.
Suddenly he found himself curious regarding exactly how she did spend her time. Had she a lover? She was young and obviously had needs her husband had failed to meet. Was she still involved with the butler?
He certainly hadn’t detected any heated glances, stray touches, or lingering about in each other’s company. The butler was either extremely disciplined or their affair had ended long ago. He’d wager on the latter as he was extremely disciplined and he had yet to remove his gaze from the slope of her enticing neck and the tantalizing spot where it curved into her shoulder. It was unsettling, how badly he wished to place his mouth there.
In the future, he would not taunt her into serving as chaperone. Otherwise he was likely to go mad with wanting.
Tillie tried to focus on the play, but she was incredibly aware of Rexton sitting behind her. Why the devil hadn’t he taken the chair behind Gina? Or better yet, beside her. Then Tillie could observe him rather than being the one observed. And she was fairly certain she was being observed. Her nerve endings tingled as though he was scraping the edge of his perfectly aligned white teeth along them.
How was it that a man so fair could create such dark images? She could so clearly envision herself with him at the back of the box, lost in the shadows, his mouth trailing along the column of her throat, skimming lower until he dipped his tongue into the narrow valley between her breasts. Her nipples puckered tightly as though he’d closed his mouth around them.
Whatever was wrong with her? She was supposed to be an observer.
It was his blasted fragrance that had circled her in the coach. He smelled of rich earth and leather and whisky. His scent was purely masculine, and she suspected all him. No perfumes, no colognes, no civility. When he’d spoken in the unlit coach, his deep voice sent shivers through her, and she’d imagined him whispering naughty things in her ear as he rode her hard and fast. Oh, dear God, he was courting her sister. All these thoughts were inappropriate. It would be so much easier to send them all to perdition if he hadn’t offered her his arm.
She’d seen the compassion and kindness in his eyes. He’d recognized how difficult it was for her to be surrounded by all the censure, and he’d lent her his strength. He should have been mortified to have to endure her notorious presence at his side. Instead, he’d plowed through the crowd with seeming pride and pleasure, quelling any hostile reactions with an icy glare that would have sent a shiver scurrying down her spine if it weren’t for the fact it was being delivered on her behalf.
Or perhaps it was on Gina’s behalf. He certainly had no reason to strive to protect Tillie. On further thought, his reaction had to be an attempt to spare Gina any embarrassment. He had to care for her sister a little; otherwise he wouldn’t be spending time in her company. She may have misjudged him and his motives, his ability to love. She felt a strong urge to apologize for doubting him—and yet something still niggled at her.
He was certainly kind enough to Gina, had patience with her, spoke with her, and yet something about his actions didn’t ring true. In spite of his hints this morning that he would strive to escape the bonds of a chaperone, he wasn’t drawn to Gina. Perhaps Tillie’s presence accomplished what she’d hoped and kept him tethered to gentlemanly behavior. But she doubted it. The man exuded too much sexuality to be easily bound by convention. She suspected after returning them home, he’d end the night in the arms of some beautiful woman. She didn’t particularly like the jealously that shot through her with that thought. These were the sort of musings Gina should be entertaining, the reactions that rightly belonged to her sister. Not to Tillie.
If Gina were thinking about the marquess at all, Tillie would be surprised. Her sister appeared to be completely absorbed in the play. Not once did she glance over her shoulder to give her escort a teasing grin. When Downie had been courting her, Tillie had been barely able to go a minute without looking at him. She’d been so concerned about Rexton’s interest being genuine perhaps she should have questioned if Gina favored more than his good looks and title.
Maybe she was judging harshly. Perhaps the play was enthralling, and she’d simply failed to be captivated by it because she was far too aware of the man sitting behind her. She heard the rasp of his clothing when he shifted in his chair, fought not to realize it would sound similar when it was being removed. It was as though a thread had been woven through her and was being pulled tighter and tighter. At any moment it was going to snap. What made it worse was the realization that a caress would loosen it. A long slow stroke that traveled from the nape of her neck to her ankle. Leisurely down. Even more leisurely up.
She’d always thought Downie had killed any semblance of desire that resided within her. How awful at that moment to find it sparking back to life, more powerful and zealously than she’d ever experienced it before. She truly thought she might go mad, considered excusing herself to take a brisk walk outside in the cool evening air—but she was the chaperone and couldn’t abandon her sister when two gentlemen sat in the box.
Although what sort of mischief could they get into when others could see them? It wasn’t as though they were encased in total darkness. She leaned toward Gina. “I need a bit of air.”
Her sister turned her attention from the stage. “Are you feeling unwell?”
“Simply a bit too warm.”
“Shall I go with you?”
“No, I won’t be long.”
With a nod, Gina returned her focus to the performance. Tillie rose, feeling a bit self-conscious when both gentlemen did as well.
Rexton took a step toward her. “Is something amiss?”
“I need a moment. Do behave while I’m gone.” No doubt, he’d think she was going in search of the ladies’ necessary room. But when she stepped into the dimly lit hallway, she merely leaned against the wall, closed her eyes, and inhaled deeply. Why did he have to unsettle her so? Why did all these inappropriate and lascivious thoughts have to scurry through her mind like naughty children intent on mischief?
His interest resided with Gina. That Tillie was remarkably aware of him was beyond the pale. That her nerve endings tingled without him touching her, that her skin grew warm as though he’d placed his lips in the curve of her shoulder, that her lungs fought for air, while her stomach quivered—
“Mathilda.”
