Chapter 11 #2
If he ever journeyed to London, the marquis would find himself hounded by every matron, their simpering daughters in tow. Sam leaned closer to him, unable to think of other women being in his presence. Or worse yet, Eli finding the women’s company enjoyable.
Sam had witnessed many pitiful debutantes ushered around the ballroom by their mothers and introduced to men of every caliber: some old and wealthy, some young and titled, and others revolting but well connected with superb lineage.
Outrageously deplorable.
She and her sisters were all expected to wed, but they were not forced upon every gentleman they encountered or sold to the highest bidder.
Her place on the fringes of society afforded Sam the opportunity and freedom to move about almost unnoticed.
Though her beauty did draw much attention, and it was normally of the scandalous variety—which she’d allowed on a few occasions.
A chaste kiss in a darkened hallway, a dance with a most handsome lord pressed a bit too closely, and even a ride in one lord’s enclosed carriage.
However, Sam had never involved herself in a tryst of any sort.
Do not doubt she’d been propositioned—sent flowers and extravagant gifts, but Marce had insisted she return each with a stern note that their impure advances were not welcome.
Would Marce approve of Sam spending time with Lord Ridgefeld?
“I have not thought overly much of attaching myself to a lady,” he replied.
“Then this will also work in your favor. There are a few young women here, and likely their mothers will sink their razor-sharp talons into you as soon as they hear you are unwed, titled, and wealthy.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Allow me to ponder this…you will gain the notice of men, and I will ward off marriage-minded mothers?”
“I guess that is very true,” Sam agreed with a laugh.
However, she would not mention that having Eli at her side during her time at Hollybrooke would also keep her father away, reducing the chances of him seeking a private word with her or, heaven help her, making Sam cause a scene before everyone gathered.
At this point, she had nothing to say to Beauchamp.
She was uninterested in any apology he might feel obligated to issue nor any promise for a future association of any sort. “Does this meet with your approval?”
“We both agree to conduct ourselves in a suitable manner?”
“Certainly, my lord,” she said.
“You will introduce me to gentlemen of note, while keeping the matrons’ talons from sinking into me?”
“That will be the easy part.” Her empty stomach fluttered as she awaited his answer.
He allowed a low, long sigh to escape, turning his gaze to his lap. “We will not find ourselves in a compromising situation—after leaving your bedchambers today?”
She hesitated to agree. On one hand, she found Elijah safe and non-threatening.
On the other, she desperately longed to learn more about the physical side of an intimate relationship, and he was the only person who could help her with that.
He would never agree to teach her. However, there was no reason to share with Eli what she truly sought.
“No, we will accompany one another only in public areas,” she conceded, hoping he did not notice her wording was open to interpretation.
The study had been a very public area; however, their time there was without the prying eyes of any other guests.
“If you agree, I will expect your company for the evening meal.”
“I do agree. However, what are your plans for the rest of the day?” He eyed her suspiciously as if he expected her to dissolve into tears once again when he left the room. “We can begin immediately. Mayhap I can escort you on a walk through the garden, or we can join the gathering on the lawn.”
She hadn’t any idea where Beauchamp had gone after she’d fled the study, but Sam was not ready to face the man just yet—or the questioning stares of the other guests.
By dinner, she would need to compose herself.
She was expected to attend and be at her family’s side as they reveled in their final meal before the ceremony on the morrow.
Even if her father showed for the repast, Marce would never risk a scene by seating Sam close to the man.
Until then, she had much to occupy her time and energy.
“I believe I have a gown to be fitted for the wedding,” Sam said. “But I will see you this evening.”
Standing, she realized she did not want Elijah to depart, but it would not benefit either of them if her maid arrived and caught them alone in her bedchambers. He stood, as well, and trailed her toward the door.
“I have one last request, my lord,” Sam said, setting her hand on the doorknob but making no move to turn it.
He paused before her, so close she could smell the fragrance of his freshly laundered shirt. “I do not think one final request could do any harm.”
His warm breath brushed against her cheek and down her neck, making it difficult for her to remember what her entreaty was.
She itched to touch him: her fingers running through his neatly combed hair, and her lips meeting his once more.
It was only overshadowed by her desire to have his hands discover her body, his tongue exploring her mouth, and his body pressed tightly against hers.
“Your request, Miss Samantha?” he whispered.
The space between them sizzled. “I long to have a certain book returned to me.” Was that the request she’d had in mind?
She hadn’t any clue. “Please, my lord,” she cooed, leaning close to his ear, bidding the rest of her to remain under her control even as she yearned to touch him.
Her entire body hummed with a longing her mind did not fully understand.
He was so very close.
She pulled back and looked into his eyes, begging him to give in to her request. Having the book returned, allowing her to gaze at images of other nude forms, would surely take her mind off his body.
He leaned toward her, filling the space she’d left between them. He was going to kiss her—right here, in her chambers. Instead, he halted, his lips a fraction of an inch from hers. If she pushed out her lower lip just a bit, it would graze his.
Her hand fell from the knob, and Sam prepared to wrap it around him when their lips met…if their lips met.
The silence between them stretched endlessly as Sam awaited either his answer or his lips.
Every nerve ending in her body tingled with anticipation.
“There is no chance of that.” He straightened, pulling the door open. When had he grasped the knob? “If you seek to continue your scandalous education, you will need to return to the study for another volume, for I will not be returning the first to you.”
Sam expelled her breath as he strode through the open door and into the empty hallway. His footfalls gradually faded as he made his way to his own chambers, his door opening and shutting soundly after he’d entered.
It was only then Sam realized he’d denied her final request—but his actions vowed something far more alluring than what the combined books promised. There was little need for her to return to the study for another volume.
Lord Ridgefeld—Elijah—would afford her the distraction she desired…and the satisfying promise of so much more.