A Secret Seduction (The Mayfair Literary League #8)

5. Chapter Four

Chapter Four

T he following morning, Millie sighed as she thought over the delightful dinner party and her time with Winston. It had been some time since she enjoyed herself so much. How fortunate that she had decided to attend, despite hesitating on the doorstep.

Winston had been wonderful company during dinner, though she was sorry they hadn’t spent more time together the rest of the night. It had almost seemed as if he intended to say something to her once or twice, but each time they’d been interrupted.

She’d felt his attention on her several times during the party. Dare she hope she had truly caught his interest? Had the small step she’d taken toward seducing him actually worked?

The question had her huffing out a frustrated breath. What if she had? Then what? The situation felt much like a chess match, except she didn’t know a rook from a knight. She was out of her element. Did she proceed with a kiss and then attempt yet another bold move to keep his attention? Given his experience with ladies, how was that even possible?

There was only so far she was willing to take the flirtation. She refused to risk her reputation as doing so would not only ruin her but bring shame to her family. She couldn’t allow that to come to pass.

Flirting was one thing but anything more than a kiss quite another. A true seduction was out of the question, wasn’t it?

Then again, she already knew Winston was not in search of a wife. Not yet, at any rate, according to Eliza. It would be up to Millie to change his mind.

The prospect was terrifying. Impossible. As far out of reach as the stars in the night sky.

She wasn’t a lady who inspired gentlemen, let alone a rogue, to act out of character. Far from it. She was only Millie, a plain, bookish lady of advanced years and limited attributes.

Yet this morning, she refused to focus on those limitations. For the moment, she would concentrate on the positives of the evening.

And the promise of a kiss.

That was enough to have her beaming, but from that point matters became tricky. Complicated, in fact. Did she offer a kiss at their next meeting with the hope he would want another? Or did she play coy and hold out, making it clear what she expected?

What did she expect?

She grimaced as doubt returned. Based on her reaction during their brief flirtation on the stairs, she didn’t know if she could make him wait since she didn’t think she could when being with him sent her pulse scrambling and weakened her knees.

I am not desperate , she reminded herself. Yet she couldn’t pretend to have control over her emotions or the way he made her feel. To think she was capable of passion shocked her.

In all honesty, she was desperate—but only for Winston.

When those jade green eyes of his had focused on her mouth, she had been beside herself, uncertain what to say or how to act. If anything— when —anything more happened between them, how would she manage to resist any additional overture he made?

She tipped her head back and closed her eyes, groaning as she realized the situation was fraught with peril.

“Millie, whatever is the matter?” her mother asked as she entered the drawing room. “Are you under the weather? You were distracted at breakfast and now seem even more so.”

“Oh. It is nothing.” Millie waved a hand in the air and masked her roiling emotions with what she hoped was a composed expression. “I’m merely tired. What are your plans for the day?”

Her mother watched her for a long moment before allowing the change in subject. With a matronly frame and brown hair that had faded with time, she was still an attractive woman who tended to see the world in black and white. No indecisiveness for her. She moved through life with surety coated by a polite facade.

Millie knew better than to try to fool her mother, who’d already endured three daughters and their share of foolhardy antics. She was grateful her mother seemed willing to allow her the privacy of her thoughts.

“I intend to call on Lady Burrows to see how she’s faring after that unfortunate incident involving her daughter. Having one’s gown tear in the middle of a dance must have been terribly upsetting. Would you care to join me?”

“Mother.” Millie straightened in alarm. “You are not truly going to see her, are you?”

Her mother feigned innocence, but she wasn’t the only one not easily fooled. “I don’t know why not.”

“Tell me it has nothing to do with me.” Millie shifted to the edge of her chair, heart racing.

“Why would it?” Her mother’s rapid blinks said it all.

“Indeed. Why would it?” Millie jerked to her feet. “You and Father promised not to intervene. Not yet anyway.”

“And we are not.”

“Then why are you calling on Lady Burrows?” Her hands clenched of their own accord.

Her father had raised the subject of arranging a marriage for Millie two months ago, which hadn’t come as a complete surprise since he’d done the same for her sisters. But a few weeks later, he’d mentioned a few names of potential gentlemen, one of whom was Viscount Dunthorpe, whose father was a friend of his.

“Millie, you know these things take time. If—and I do mean if,” she said as she sent Millie a pointed look, “any intervention is required by your father, it would be better if the groundwork was already in place for a match between you and her son.”

Millie shook her head. “But once certain...expectations are set in motion, they are difficult, if not impossible, to halt.” The thought was appalling. “I am not ready to proceed with Father’s suggestion of considering Viscount Dunthorpe.”

“I know. Both of us heard you.” The weariness in her tone was hurtful. “But Millie, you must be reasonable. You are six and twenty. If you could share a reason that this Season will be different, then I will advise your father and adjust my...friendship with Lady Burrows accordingly.”

Friendship? Millie’s mother and Lady Burrows had never been friends. Her mother never had time for the lady’s penchant for gossip of the mean-spirited variety. That was, until now.

Yet what could Millie say to convince her not to pursue the relationship when it would smooth the possibility of an arranged marriage between her and Viscount Dunthorpe?

A request for a kiss from Winston was hardly grounds to hope to marry, especially knowing him and his intention to avoid it.

Millie pressed her lips tight. Did she gamble on Winston or put events in motion with Viscount Dunthorpe? She needed to proceed carefully as she didn’t want to end up as a spinster and be a burden to her parents or one of her sisters. Neither did she want to be in a loveless marriage. She barely knew Dunthorpe but could already say for certain that she didn’t feel anything for him. She wasn’t even sure she liked him. Would that change with time?

More importantly, was she willing to take such a risk?

The question was one she’d considered before at the idea of an arranged marriage and never been able to answer. Nor could she now. A few minutes of flirtation with Winston was nothing. At least, not to him. For her, it had meant everything.

If only she had more time.

But her opinion didn’t matter. Not compared to her parents’ wishes or how the gentleman in question felt. There was always the chance her mother and father’s efforts would be ineffective. Perhaps Viscount Dunthorpe already had his sights set on another lady.

“Your lack of an answer suffices,” her mother said with a sigh. “For now, at any rate. I will call on Lady Burrows as planned and see where it takes us. Why just the other day, she remarked how similar you are to your sisters.”

The urge to deny it was futile when many people said the same. How could she expect to escape the same fate they had?

Millie wanted to protest her mother’s plan, but it wasn’t as if Winston had proclaimed undying love. His interest in Millie might fade before they managed even one kiss.

So she held her silence, only refusing her mother’s request to join her. That wasn’t something she was willing to do quite yet. She preferred to hold herself apart for now.

Unfortunately, the conversation left her in poor spirits. Who knew when she might see Winston again and if he’d still be interested in a kiss? She gave herself a mental shake. If she truly cared, she needed to have more faith in him.

More importantly, she needed to have more faith in herself. Was she willing to live with regret, knowing she might’ve done something to catch Winston’s regard and perhaps even his heart?

When would he see Millicent again? Winston scowled as he stared into his glass of whiskey later that afternoon after settling into a chair at his club. It wasn’t as if he could call on her. That would never do as it would suggest a level of interest he wasn’t willing to claim.

Better that they come upon one another by accident like they had on Regent Street. Yet the unlikeliness had him frowning. The chances of that happening again were too slim to contemplate.

Did he find a way to ask Eliza for assistance? No, that would never do. He didn’t want his sister involved as she would become convinced something more was brewing than what there was.

Blast it. The options were few. He supposed he’d have to attend a ball or two with the hope of coming upon her.

“What has you glaring at your whiskey with such ferocity, Linford?” Viscount Maynard, one of his least favorite people since the blasted wallflower wager, sank into the chair at his table without invitation.

“Nothing.” He wouldn’t tell the man what was on his mind for all the gold in London. Well, probably not. “What brings you here, Maynard?”

The viscount stared as if he’d lost his mind, making Winston realize he had. Why else would he have asked such an inane question while sitting at his club?

“A hand of cards or a roll of the dice, I suppose.” The viscount lifted the drink in his hand. “And a whiskey. Why else would I be at the club?”

For conversation. For friendship. To unburden oneself or seek counsel. Why those thoughts came to mind, Winston couldn’t say. Normally, his own reasons for coming to the club were the same as Maynard’s.

He shifted his shoulders, telling himself nothing had changed. He certainly hadn’t. A pair of cobalt eyes were no reason to question the way he spent his days. It wasn’t as if he was suddenly dissatisfied or bored with his life.

With a sharp intake of breath that required him to reach out a hand to the table to steady himself, he reassured himself that wasn’t the case at all.

“What has you acting so strangely, Linford?” Maynard took a sip of his drink and waved at a server for another for both of them. “You seem out of sorts.”

“Distracted, I suppose.” Yes, that was it. “How has your luck been of late?” Winston didn’t care but needed a diversion to shift his thoughts to something—or someone—else.

“Quite well, actually.” The viscount’s smug smile grated on Winston’s nerves. “Won a fair amount of blunt last night and have a new mistress.” He lifted his glass. “Nothing to complain about.”

That wasn’t enough. That couldn’t be all there was to life. Yet Winston wouldn’t deny that even a few weeks ago, the short list of accomplishments would’ve had him feeling smug as well.

He was most definitely off his usual game. Nothing to be concerned about, he reassured himself. Seeing Eliza and Trentworth so blissfully happy unbalanced him. That was all.

It had nothing to do with the delicate line of Millicent’s neck, or her alabaster skin that begged to be kissed. Or the intelligent conversation he’d overheard her having at the dinner party, regarding some matter before Parliament. Who knew she had opinions on such things?

“Care for a hand of cards?” Winston found himself asking when Millicent remained stubbornly in his thoughts. It didn’t matter that he didn’t enjoy playing with Maynard. The man was always out for blood rather than a friendly game for amusement. It wasn’t as if the viscount needed money when his family was ridiculously wealthy.

“Why not?” Maynard pushed to his feet. “Nothing better to do than take your money,” he said with a snicker.

Winston made him pay for that remark by winning three hands before calling it quits. He liked having Maynard in his debt, however briefly.

“You’re leaving without allowing me the chance to win back my losses?” Maynard glared at Winston when he pushed away the deck of cards.

“I am. I have matters to see to.” Winston bid the viscount goodbye, his spirits much improved. He had only needed to return to his usual routine to make the unsettled feeling pass.

His relief at that fact was so great that he whistled as he stepped out of the club, only to nearly bump into Viscount Dunthorpe.

“Sorry,” the man murmured, even though it had been Winston’s fault.

“Not at all.” Winston didn’t know him well, but he seemed rather troubled. “Is all well?”

The viscount heaved a beleaguered sigh. “I suppose. Mother and Father are pressuring me to marry soon. Nothing I say changes their mind.”

Winston chuckled, partly from relief at not having a parent do the same to him. It was bad enough to hear about it from Eliza and a few aunts and uncles. Luckily, he didn’t have to answer to them. “Poor luck. Are they at least allowing you to select the lady?”

“They’ve narrowed it down to three.” He shook his head. “Can you believe that? What’s the rush?”

“Good question.” Winston clapped him on the shoulder. “Wish you the best of luck.”

“Say, you wouldn’t mind giving your opinion of them, would you?”

“Oh, I probably don’t know them.” Winston scrambled for an excuse to disengage. That was the last thing in which he wanted to become involved. “Wouldn’t be fair for me to share an opinion.”

“Doesn’t have to be anything formal, of course,” Dunthorpe continued, eyes narrowed as if considering the possibilities. “If you happen to go to the Hayward Ball tomorrow evening, one or two might be there.”

“I don’t know that I’ll attend.” Yet hadn’t he just been thinking about going to a ball with the hope of seeing Millicent? No doubt he had an invitation lying around somewhere.

“Well, if you are, I would be grateful.” Dunthorpe heaved another sigh that seemed to come from the depths of his soul. “I need all the assistance I can get.”

“I can’t make any promises, but sure. If I’m around, I’ll offer an opinion.” With luck, Dunthorpe would forget he’d asked.

The real question was what were the chances of Millicent attending?