Chapter Sixteen
A muscle twitched in the arm Adrian had used to hold back the curtain. His body, without conscious thought, had readied for attack.
But why?
Because Neville was gazing earnestly at Miss Eliza Wainwright and whispering something urgent? He frowned.
Was Neville her secret, potentially betrothed? Neville—conscientious, rule-following Neville—would be a terrible match for such a minx.
Miss Wainwright glanced over her shoulder and met his gaze. His muscle twitched again. She looked alarmed. Alarmed and guilty. Had she been discussing him, then?
He stepped inside the box and dropped the curtain. He didn’t care.
Or, rather, he shouldn’t care.
She was only a means to an end…the quickest way to Lady Asquith’s good graces—and, by extension, the good graces of half the ton—was through her goddaughter.
Still, he’d thought they achieved a sympathetic understanding, even though she had, at first, rebuffed him. Now, he was reminded that she’d had another offer.
But from Neville?
She’d have Lord Neville for breakfast and be hungry before noon.
A young lady as vibrant as herself needed someone who’d appreciate her spirit. Someone who wouldn’t kill off that spirit by demanding she follow society’s every petty rule. Someone who would encourage her to find her own way to navigate Society’s treacherous waters.
Someone who’d help her become as formidable as her godmother.
For he’d no doubt she would, one day, be as formidable as Lady Asquith. She was made of the same stern stuff. But she’d softness, too—a softness that had appeared as compassion for his sister as well as her own.
Neville rose from his chair, and sent him a very male, very hostile glance before joining the circle around Lady Asquith.
Adrian ignored him and, instead, approached Miss Wainwright.
She returned his friendly expression, albeit not quite fully.
Her lips curved in what was more of a suggestion of a smile than a real one—a faint, intimate softening of her mouth that, for some reason sloshed around inside of him like a warm pint.
He must remember, like the Blackbird, she’d no interest in him.
On the other hand, he had, several times, caught her staring at his mouth, just as she was at present. Could she be attracted to him?
She was, in fact, quite fetching. Dark hair and eyes. A slightly turned up nose. A long, kissable neck. He briefly closed his eyes, halting the direction of his thoughts.
“For you.” He handed her a glass.
Her hand brushed his as she wrapped her fingers around the stem. The impression of contact remained long after he withdrew.
“You may say something nice to me now,” he prompted. He flashed a smile. “I promise I will not let a mere thank you go to my head.”
She lifted her brows. “Thank you, Lord Redver.”
Her voice reverberated through his body, familiar, but not. He almost asked her to call him Adrian. Unlike Harbury, he preferred his friends use his given name.
He did not know her, however, and they weren’t friends.
But they could be.
“My pleasure, Miss Wainwright. Was being congenial so hard?”
Her polite smile turned into an impish grin. “Excruciating.”
His stomach dropped, forcing him to take a seat. “I promise to keep my good deeds to a minimum.” He held out his hand. “Friends?”
“You wish to be friends with me?”
He lifted his shoulders. “I like how you negotiate,” he replied. “I don’t have many friends, you know. Harbury, of course. Caroline. Emily.”
“And me?”
And you. Something settled inside of him. “If you choose.”
Her gaze probed him. Could she see that her answer had become important?
She slid her gloved hand into his. A second jolt tingled in his fingers, as if he’d touched a glowing coal. She blinked down at their joined hands and then released him.
Reluctantly?
“I’ve just been warned to take care where you’re concerned.”
He frowned. “I thought as much.”
She glanced askance at Neville. “I’m not very good at following directions.”
His frown transformed. “Nor am I.”
“The warning,” she said under her breath, “was lately delivered. I told you the truth before. Godmama has not made any specific, disparaging statements about you or your family…other than referring to you as that Redver.”
“That Redver, am I? Are there others who share such a distinction?”
“Harbury, for one, at least since the Almack’s incident.” She paused to make sure her godmother was still deep in conversation with her son. “And she also mentioned that Pennington.”
He didn’t have time to completely mask his reaction.
“You do know what she meant, don’t you?”
“Yes, I know.” His gaze moved to Harbury and Cassandra. “As it concerns your sister, I will tell you the story. But not tonight.”
“Beast!” Her eyes sparked. “The suspense will drive me to my salts.”
He chuckled softly. “You’ve never needed salts. You’ve too strong a constitution.”
“I will take that as a compliment.” She appeared pleased.
“I meant it as one.”
She flushed prettily as she nodded with gratitude. Their gazes locked. Again, he had the feeling she was someone he knew. Knew and liked.
“Allow me to give you one in return?” she asked.
“Please do.”
“You’re…” she hesitated. “…not at all what I expected, Lord Redver.”
Not much, by way of flattery.
But the true praise had been in the softness of her voice, the gentling of her expression. His heart fluttered in a way that felt akin to panic, a premonition that took the form of a question—what wouldn’t he do to win her sincere approbation?
“That wasn’t a compliment, Miss Wainwright. That was a challenge.”
Her eyes sparkled. “Perhaps I meant it to be both.”
“Redver,” Lady Asquith called. “Do come over here and settle a dispute between Blackwell and Neville.”
“We’ve been noted,” Eliza whispered.
“If you’ll excuse me.” Redver inclined his head.
“Of course,” she replied. “Friend.”
The word was a hand against his chest, a kindness he wasn’t used to receiving. He quite liked the feeling. He turned away but remained acutely aware of her presence.
He settled the disagreement, which turned out to be a minor one concerning the libretto’s author. One that could have been easily settled with a glance at the program.
Duly noted.
He was to be tolerated, but not yet fully embraced. As further proof, Lady Asquith declared that the seating arrangement needed to be changed.
He met Miss Wainwright’s eyes over her godmother’s head. The knowing look within them was yet another intimacy, another shared secret. If a fake courtship was this enjoyable, might a real one be even better?
He tamped down an inward flare of excitement. He was not likely to find out any time soon.
He reminded himself of the facts. She was already considering another man’s offer.
And if, he hadn’t been of any interest to the Blackbird, though he had pleasured her well, he wasn’t likely to spark dreams of home and hearth in an innocent young lady, even though he suddenly—and unexpectedly—wished to do so.
But he’d the dancing lessons, the Royal Academy, and God knew how many other outings to look forward to before the inevitable axe would fall.
He intended to enjoy every one of them.
“Relieved to be parted from the harpy sister, I wager,” Harbury whispered as the curtain fell.
“Actually, I found her company quite agreeable.” The tribute had been inadequate. Her company had been more than agreeable, really. “And you?”
His gaze flitted over to the sisters and back. “Miss Cassandra is tolerable enough, I suppose.” He shook his head. “Impossible, of course.”
“Impossible because of that Pennington?”
Harbury stiffened and looked around. “Where?”
“Not here,” Adrian whispered in a quelling tone.
“You said ‘that Pennington.’”
“Settle down.” Adrian folded his arms but smiled inwardly. “Just a figure of speech.”
Harbury eased back into his seat. “I don’t see what’s so amusing. If I’m not careful, I could find myself shackled.”
Silently, they watched the play, each—he suspected—more absorbed in their own thoughts than the drama playing out on stage.
“Can you imagine marrying a twin?” Harbury asked.
Interesting. Was Harbury considering marriage, then?
“How could one ever be sure one’s wife was one’s wife?”
Pondering the question, Adrian turned his gaze to the front of the box. The identical sisters sat with their heads together, pretending not to whisper.
“The difference between them is obvious,” he said. Even at this distance.
“You can tell them apart?” Harbury asked.
“Absolutely.”
“How?”
Adrian shrugged. “One is ice. The other…fire.”
Yes, Miss Eliza Wainwright was definitely fire. He just had to make certain he did not get burnt.
The next day, Lady Asquith planned a morning outing for her goddaughters in Hyde Park. Though the day was warm for late winter, the five girls bundled up in their best woolen stockings and cloaks.
Eliza did not mind. In her opinion, any day without rain was a day to enjoy the out-of-doors.
Lady Asquith instructed the coachman to find a patch of dry grass where a chair might be set up for her in the shade. The place he chose had a splendid view of the man-made lake, the Serpentine.
In no time, Annette and Lenora, the youngest two girls, had ingratiated themselves with a pair of nurses out with their charges.
Once certain Lady Asquith was otherwise occupied—from her perch, Lady Asquith chuckled at the sight of Nettie quacking back to one of the ducks to the obvious delight of a small blond boy giggling with glee—Eliza huddled with Cassie and Millie.
“Now will you tell me what went on between you and Harbury?” Eliza asked.
Cassie’s eyes widened. “But I already did tell you.”
“You didn’t tell me,” Millie pointed out.
“He was very gentlemanly.” Cassie glanced between Eliza and Millie, encountering two expressions of consternation. “Well, he was!”
Millie glanced heavenward. “Cassie, define gentlemanly.”
“Well.” Cassie’s cheeks pinkened. “For one, h-he asked if my seat was comfortable.”