Chapter 13 #2
She couldn’t believe she’d just confessed that to him. She hadn’t even confided that to Daphne, Rose, or Mina. It lived too deep down in her heart to trust it to just anybody.
So why had it felt so natural to say it to Edward?
He curled his hands around the barricade as well, so that his shoulder was almost touching hers. “Is that not part of the adventure?”
She turned away from the armor and leaned her back against the railing. “That’s what I try to tell myself, but it’s more than that. I’m unwelcome.”
He exhaled. “Please do not let gentlemen like Lord Wellesby make you feel as though you have no right to be here, especially when you are their superior in every way.”
“It’s not only my run-ins with gentlemen like Lord Wellesby that have made me feel like that, I’m afraid. It’s in the way people look at me, in the way they speak to me. Everything about them says they don’t want me here, even when they’re angling for my inheritance.”
“I hope I do not make you feel that way.” He kept his eyes on the armor in front of him, his lips parted slightly, his chest tight as if he held his breath awaiting her response.
“Only in the beginning,” she told him.
He muttered a curse under his breath.
“But I can assure you,” she continued, “that you have more than made up for that first impression, especially since you stopped looking at me like a chore that must be accomplished.”
“I never viewed you as a chore,” he argued.
She arched a brow.
“All right, I’ll admit that I was not at my best the night we met, but I hope you have seen a change in my countenance since, as you have said; for I have found nothing in recent memory more pleasurable than the past few days I’ve spent in your company.”
She swallowed. No one had ever spoken to her like this before. It made her heart race and her palms grow damp, so that she had to look away to calm herself.
Was it possible the earl was saying these things to woo her? To get her to agree to marry him? Or was he simply being nice in an effort to help her regain her confidence? He had said there would be no games between them, but what if that was a game in and of itself?
Best to not take his compliments too seriously, especially since his intentions made no difference regardless. She would return to New York, he would marry another heiress, and they would both be the happier for it.
Still, when he dipped his head toward hers, his voice feather soft, she could not stop the electric thrum that skittered down her spine.
“Don’t look now,” he whispered, “but there is a gentleman who cannot stop staring at you.”
She was so caught off guard that she instinctually glanced around. “What? Where?”
He chuckled. “I said don’t look.” He dropped his voice even further, as if they were spies sharing a secret mission. “By the doorway. He has been watching you ever since you walked in.”
Slowly, as if she were merely taking in the space in an offhand sort of way, she turned her head. There was indeed a man standing at the end of the hall. He quickly looked away and turned back to his friends, but there was no doubt he’d been watching her.
She frowned. “Why would he do such a thing?”
“Perhaps he likes what he sees?”
“Huh. How odd.”
Back home, she was used to men staring at Lenore.
With her bone-china skin, mink-colored hair, and gigantic eyes, which Charlie had always said reminded him of hot cocoa, Lenore was known as the most beautiful—if not always the most polite—girl in any New York social set.
The problem was, despite countless lessons, she had never quite learned the art of hiding one’s true feelings in the name of propriety, and therefore had a habit of saying whatever came to mind in a way that put Calliope’s own slips of the tongue to shame.
That was when the spell Lenore cast over every man in her general vicinity would break, but still, they found her countenance positively enthralling up until the moment speech became necessary.
Calliope had never noticed anyone pay her the same sort of attention.
Edward’s brow arched. “Why is that odd? That is the typical reaction a man has when he sees a beautiful woman.”
Calliope glanced at him. “You think I’m beautiful?”
His eyes widened, his cheeks coloring. “I, um, well, that is to say—”
“Yes?”
“You have nice . . . teeth.”
She blinked.
“I mean they look nice. Straight and everything, when you smile. And your head”—he waved his hand in front of his face—“it’s rather oval-shaped, isn’t it?”
“Oh.” Her brow furrowed. “Is that a good thing?”
“Yes, I think so.” He gestured down the hall. “Shall we continue to the crown jewels?”
He took her arm and led her to the doorway. Calliope knew she should have left it at that, but she couldn’t help herself.
“Perhaps there will be a crown on display that would complement the oval shape of my head. I am always in search of inspiration. Of course, then I would have to marry into the royal family. My mother is good, but I am afraid she’s not that good.”
Edward made a hmm noise in the back of his throat, his cheeks a bit pinker than they had been a moment ago. It was strange, Calliope thought, how much she enjoyed seeing the earl this way. Slightly embarrassed, slightly off-kilter, slightly unsure of himself.
It even made him slightly endearing to her.
But only slightly.