Chapter Five #2
Regina nearly laughed aloud at his expression. For once, Wayne Worthington, the man who always seemed so smooth, so in control, was utterly undone.
“Indeed?” Wayne asked lightly, though his eyes lingered on her. “Then perhaps you would prefer to join us at the boxing match instead?”
Regina forced a shrug, every nerve alive. “Although the idea is tempting, I believe I shall go with Jane. She will need my help with her gown.” She made herself speak politely, though the words tasted like ash.
A small hand alighted on her shoulder. Regina startled, whirling to find Jane smiling up at her. Her pulse thundered. Caught…though caught at what, she could not name. Merely looking at Wayne had felt like trespassing.
“Reggie,” Jane said, lips curved in innocence, “if you wish to go with Father, I shall not mind. I know how much you enjoy a man’s sport.”
Regina’s throat closed. She dared not go. Wayne would be there, too close, and definitely too watchful. She shook her head quickly. “Don’t be absurd. Of course I will go with you to the dressmaker’s.”
Jane’s fingers tightened around hers. “But you have not done anything for your own enjoyment in ages. Go. Today, I insist. Father, will you not agree and help me convince Reggie that I am correct?”
Harold, trimming the end of a cigar, did not glance up. “Of course, my dear. Reggie will be a refreshing addition to the company.”
Suspicion prickled at Regina’s spine. Jane’s sudden cheerfulness felt brittle, forced. Why this eagerness to send her away?
Then Jane glided to Wayne’s side, slipping her hand with easy familiarity onto his arm, her smile sweet and triumphant. “Besides, this way you and Wayne may become better acquainted. By the end of the match, you will understand why I love him.”
Regina’s stomach clenched. Heaven forbid Jane should ever know the truth.
“No, that is not necessary—”
“Reggie.” Jane’s smile turned stern, her tone leaving no room for defiance. “I will not take no for an answer. My mother will assist me with the gown. You shall go to the match. It is settled.”
Regina’s heart sank. Her friend’s word was final.
Jane looked at Wayne with sparkling eyes. “Promise me you will see that she enjoys herself.”
Wayne’s throat bobbed, and for the briefest moment, his composure slipped. “I…shall do my best,” he said quietly.
And then Harold was at Regina’s side, tucking her hand firmly into the crook of his arm. “Well then, are you ready?”
She scarcely had time to protest before she was swept toward the door, Wayne falling into step behind.
The family’s grand coach awaited, gleaming black lacquer, the crest polished bright.
Her heart beat a wild tattoo as Wayne settled beside her, his presence filling the narrow space.
His scent of spice and leather wrapped around her, making her stomach tumble with shameful delight.
The coach lurched into motion. Regina tried to breathe evenly. “Harold? Did you not say Jane’s cousins would be joining us?”
“They will meet us there,” he said, already closing his eyes as though to nap.
Her heart sank further. Alone with Wayne.
The silence pressed heavily. She wrung her hands, desperate for some topic to keep the air from suffocating her.
But Harold was feigning slumber, and Wayne stared out the window, maddeningly serene—as though nothing had transpired between them.
As though the world had not tilted in that coach last night.
Perhaps that was better. Perhaps if he treated it as nothing, it was nothing.
Thirty minutes later, the coach drew up to a low brick building, the muffled roar of voices already spilling from within.
When they entered, the air was thick with smoke and sweat, the mingled scents of spirits and bodies pressing close.
Crowds filled the seats that rose in tiers about the wooden ring.
Men shouted wagers; others waved cups of ale.
To Regina’s surprise, several women dotted the crowd, their eyes bright with excitement.
She breathed deeply. For all the impropriety, the familiar thrill tugged at her. This was a place she belonged far more than a dressmaker’s shop.
Jane’s cousins awaited them, boisterous and eager. They greeted Regina with warmth, ushering her into a row of saved seats. She had known them all her life, though she had never once met their parents. Their lack of resemblance to one another—or to the Meyers line—had always struck her as curious.
She sat dutifully beside Harold, but within moments, he exchanged places, seating Wayne at her side while he bent close to speak with his nephews. She stiffened, feeling trapped. There could be no protest without drawing attention.
The first match began, and the crowd thundered approval as two fighters circled, fists raised. Regina leaned forward, willing her focus onto the ring. The men were evenly matched, and each strike was met with a swift counter. Excitement stirred in her chest despite herself.
Yet each time Wayne shifted in his seat, the brush of his sleeve against her arm, the faint warmth of his body at her side, yanked her mercilessly back into awareness of him. Her jaw tightened. She ground her teeth until her temples ached.
The crowd roared as one man landed a vicious blow, but from the corner of her eye, Regina saw Harold and the cousins rising, slipping from their seats.
Her heart dropped. Her spine went rigid. Why were they leaving? Why leave her alone…with him?
“Where is he going?” she asked, panic sharpening her voice.
“Calm yourself, Miss Taylor,” Wayne said in a soothing tone, though she caught the taut edge beneath it. “The earl said he would return shortly.”
Irritation flared inside her, hot and restless. She forced herself to inhale slowly, then again, willing the rapid drumming of her heart to slow. If she lost control now, she would surely betray herself.
She gave him a stiff nod, eyes trained on the ring before them, refusing to look into those arresting green eyes. If she did, memories of last night would flood back with unforgiving clarity. Still, her thoughts betrayed her. Why had she remembered it again?
Even without turning, she sensed his body was held as rigid as hers. Perhaps this ordeal unnerved him as well. Did that mean he remembered? Had the kisses burned into his mind as fiercely as they had hers? The possibility pricked her with both relief and dread.
“So, Mr. Worthington…” Her voice sounded brittle to her own ears, and it startled him so sharply that he whipped his head toward her, a quick breath escaping his lips.
His knee brushed hers, and the accidental touch sent heat racing up her leg.
Their gazes locked—and held. Her heart slammed hard against her ribs.
“Yes?” he asked, his voice low.
“Um…” She swallowed, heat rising in her cheeks. “How do you suppose we might…become better acquainted?”
The words slipped free before she could stop them.
Mortification crashed over her. Oh, why had she said it that way, and in that tone?
She longed to disappear, to sink into some hole beneath the wooden benches and never emerge again.
Yet pride stiffened her spine, forcing her chin up even as shame burned through her.
For a long moment, he only stared. Then, slowly, the grim line of his mouth softened, curling into a smile that was altogether too devastating. Curses, he was handsome.
“I suppose,” he said at last, gesturing lightly toward the crowd, “this is as good a place as any. A public setting, a pleasant conversation. An ideal way to become acquainted, is it not?”
She arched one brow. “And what makes you assume our conversation will be pleasant?”
His grin widened faintly. “I don’t know. I can only hope. After all, how else am I to make you like me?”
Her breath caught. Her heart betrayed her with a wild flutter, though she willed it to still. “I don’t believe you can make me like you, Mr. Worthington. I happen to think you are not the man my friend should marry.” The words left her in a rush of defiance, and with them, a sigh of release.
He inclined his head slightly. “Yes. I am aware of your disapproval. From the moment we met, I could see you were unimpressed.”
“Do you blame me?” she retorted softly. “When you first encountered Jane, she was…foxed. And yet you charmed her regardless. I would not doubt you had been drinking as well.”
His brows drew together, his expression darkening. “And what makes you presume to know so much of that evening, Miss Taylor, when you were not present?”
Her pulse stumbled. Not present? Oh, but she had been. She had been too present.
She lifted her chin, words spilling before she could stop them. “Because men like you thrive on charming the intoxicated and the wealthy, hoping for only one outcome. You care nothing for Jane—only her fortune.”
His eyes sharpened, but his voice remained calm. “Miss Taylor, Lady Jane has surely told you that I did not even know of her father’s wealth when we met. I enjoyed her company. Nothing more, nothing less.”
Regina rolled her eyes, heat flashing through her veins. “I’m quite sure you found it very pleasant. Men like you always take advantage of women when they are helpless.”
The instant the words left her, she froze. Her breath snagged. Too much. Far too much.
She lifted her hand to her lips as if she could drag the words back. What had she done? She had all but confessed the truth of last night. Panic clawed through her chest. If he pressed her—if he so much as asked another question—her fragile defense would shatter entirely.