Page 28 of An Affair with a Notorious Heiress
He welcomed another excuse to visit with the countess.
Tillie loved the scent of freshly turned earth. Or she had before it had begun to remind her of Rexton. She shouldn’t be so displeased with the man. He’d managed within the space of a week to bring acceptance for Gina—and for that Tillie was grateful.
She’d felt guilty that Gina’s Season had begun with hardly any notice or fanfare, while she, herself, had burst onto the scene like someone novel who should be embraced simply because of her uniqueness. She was American, which made her intriguing, beautiful which made her acceptable to the gentlemen, an heiress who came with an immense dowry to be followed with an untold fortune that she would inherit upon her father’s death which made her alluring to every lord with an estate in need of upkeep. She’d been as enamored of the aristocracy as Gina was. And that infatuation did not work in her sister’s favor because it made her blind to the practicalities of marrying into the peerage. Which made her think Rexton was perfect.
She’d waxed on for an hour on his qualities when she’d returned from last night’s ball. He was such a graceful dancer, such a delight to converse with. Such a gentleman to bring her a spot of lemonade while warning her off regarding the lord with whom she’d been dancing. Gina speculated it had been jealousy that prompted his warning. Tillie didn’t think so.
He wasn’t enamored of Gina. She was rather certain of it. Oh, his eyes twinkled when he spoke to her, but they didn’t warm as though he wanted to draw her in and hold her close. The tone of his voice was gentle, but he spouted no naughty whisperings that caused Gina to giggle. If he did, surely her sister would tell her. She had shared that during their final waltz, he’d spoken about the fine weather they were having. He’d hinted at a picnic. But the details of the weather? The sun, the slight breeze, the occasional rain? Hardly flattering conversation.
He should have complimented her eyes, her hair, her gown. He should have hinted he wanted to remove said gown.
She drove the trowel into the ground with such force she was fairly certain the gloves were not going to prevent her from blistering. Just because she dreamed of him rasping near her ear in exquisite detail how he would slowly undress her did not mean it would be appropriate for him to do the same with Gina. Poor innocent Gina would no doubt swoon on the spot—regardless of how many nude statues she’d ogled. Even now, Tillie was having a difficult time drawing in air as images of him peeling off her stockings caused heat to course through her.
When it came to Gina, he was a gentleman. The last thing Tillie wanted was for him to be a gentleman to her. She cursed soundly. He was interested in her sister. She shouldn’t be thinking about him at all except in the context of behavior that proved he would love and care for Gina as she desired.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a shadow move in and she knew—knew—to whom it belonged because she felt his gaze like a physical caress. The hairs on the nape of her neck rose up and pleasure spiraled through her simply because he was so near. What the devil was wrong with her? She’d learned the hard way that men were disappointments. She certainly had no wish to fall under the spell of another. Especially this one who seemed to turn her inside out without even trying.
In spite of the small tremors of awareness coursing through her, she slowly and calmly peered out from beneath the wide brim of her gardening hat to see the Marquess of Rexton standing there, legs spread akimbo as though he stood on the deck of a roiling ship. He must have given his hat to the butler because it was nowhere about and the wind was having its way with his blond curls. She wanted to remove her gloves and have those silken strands wrap around her fingers and hold her captive. Never in her life had such wanton thoughts tormented her, and she seemed powerless against them forming. Which was the reason, no doubt, that her tone came out tart and short. “My lord, I don’t recall inviting you out into the garden.”
“To be sure, Lady Landsdowne, you didn’t. I’ve come to call on your sister, but apparently she’s still abed. I asked the butler to direct me to you so I could leave a message for her with you.”
“And that would be?”
He had the audacity to crouch beside her, and his scent won out over the freshly turned earth. It was richer, warmer, and seemed to call to every purely feminine point she possessed. She couldn’t help but notice the tautness of his breeches, the firmness of his thighs. She’d seen the evidence that he was a fine horseman. She imagined those thighs controlling the horse, controlling her. Damn it all.
“Does Miss Hammersley always sleep so late?”
“My sister didn’t return from the ball until the wee hours in the morning, so I think her sleeping in is justified. It’s a bit too early for a social call,” she castigated.
He grinned as though tickled by her chastisement. She didn’t want to make him smile or laugh or be delighted. That would be Gina’s honor and joy.
“As I was out and about, I saw no harm in stopping by.” His gaze shifted to her hand gripping the implement as though it were the only thing that held her in place. “I’ve never known a lady to work in the garden.”
“My gardener tends to most of it. This is just my little patch of whimsy. There is no rhyme or reason to what I plant, and I seem to have more luck with weeds than blossoms but I prefer it to needlepoint.” Why had she gone on about that? What would he care?
“You didn’t attend the ball last night.”
“I wasn’t invited.”
He looked at her as though she were a puzzle with a missing piece. “Would you have gone if you had been?”
She honestly didn’t know. A part of her didn’t want to be cowed, wanted to attend wearing a bright red dress so she couldn’t be overlooked. Part of her wanted to hold her head high and meet those gazes head on. “I see no point in speculating on hypotheticals. I shan’t be invited to a ball.”
“You underestimate my influence.”
He said the words simply, without braggadocio. She liked him for it, realized he was a man who owned his influence to such an extent he didn’t need to boast about it, didn’t need to be cocky. It was what it was. “Perhaps you didn’t notice at the theater, but I make people uncomfortable.”
“I wasn’t uncomfortable.” His easy tone made her wish she’d known him before she met Downie, before Rexton had taken an interest in Gina.
“My presence wouldn’t serve Gina well.”
He studied her, studied her flowers, the bee that was buzzing around, pollenating. And she found herself wondering if he’d ever pollenated anyone. She’d certainly not heard of him having any bastards. She’d wager her fortune he wasn’t a virgin, but she was unaware of any rumors associating him with anyone. Which meant he was very discreet, that his lovers would never be found out. Why the hell did her mind keep traveling toward sex?
“You love your sister very much,” he finally said.
“Of course I do. I’d do anything to see her happy.”Even steer clear of you.“Wouldn’t you do the same for your sister?”
He chuckled. “I don’t have to. That’s Lovingdon’s job, and he apparently excels at it.”
