Chapter Seven
Lady Peregrine turned the page in her book, then set it down. A moment later, she picked it back up and thumbed through to find her wayward bookmark.
Footsteps sounded in the hall. “If you suggest needlepoint, I’m going to prick you with it,” Pere grumbled, not glancing up.
“Good morning to you as well.”
Pere’s gaze shot up and met the amused delight of Lord Hawthorne’s smile. His cravat was a fraction askew—scandalous for a man who prided himself on perfection.
“My threat still stands.”
Pere watched as Lord Hawthorne continued his lazy stroll into the parlor, his attention scanning the room and then landing on her. “I don’t doubt it. However, it looks like that story isn’t exactly holding your attention either.” He motioned to the book in her hands.
Pere glanced down, then set the book to the side. “And how would you know that?”
“It was upside down. And while you are undoubtedly remarkably talented, I doubt you practice reading in such a fashion.” His lips twitched as if hiding a grin.
Pere narrowed her eyes. “Is it a crime to be a little restless, my lord? Have I merely given you more material with which to lecture me? It’s a wonder so many women find you charming; I merely find you irritating.
” Pere fired the words like arrows, watching his reaction to see if they hit their marks.
With a shrug Lord Hawthorne took a seat in the chair across from her. “No. No crime has been committed here, Lady Peregrine. I’m merely observant. As are you, apparently.” He stretched one leg out, the picture of indolent grace.
“I’ve been called worse.”
“I’ll not comment on that; I’m wiser than I look.”
“I doubt that.”
“Ah, so you think I look wise?”
“No—which should give you sufficient information.”
“I’d feel wounded, but I find I’m only entertained by your attempt to insult me. You’ll have to do better than that, I’m afraid.”
“Why are you here?”
“I could ask the same of you.”
“This is my brother’s house.”
“And?”
“And…” Pere paused, not wanting to reveal just how much of her time was spent here, and away from her mother.
The silence stretched, thick as honey, until even the clock seemed to hold its breath.
Lord Hawthorne’s eyes gentled slightly, and rather than carry his point, he answered her question. “I’m here to visit your brother.”
“Oh, well, he is seeing to Lady Anna.”
Lord Hawthorne’s eyebrows rose, and a surprised grin stretched along his face. “Is that so…”
“Good heavens, I can’t … no. Not. I will not continue just … no.”
“I see…” Lord Hawthorne frowned, then glanced to the door.
“If you wish to give me an indication of why you want to speak with my brother, I can inform him when Anna is … settled.”
“Settled?”
“For one who is not a family member, you certainly inquire a lot. To abolish all assumptions on your part, she’s feeling ill, and Henley is caring for her. Does that alleviate your curiosities?”
“I don’t remember asking.”
“Your face says what your lips do not,” Pere clipped.
“I didn’t realize I was so readable.”
“You are; I’d work on that.”
Lord Hawthorne chuckled, then glanced to the door again.
“The door is open, I practically live here currently, and my brother will likely be here soon, so … stop fretting.”
“Fretting?” He blinked. “I can’t remember when I’ve heard that word used before by anyone younger than a dowager.”
“I’m ancient at heart; it’s my secret. And the door is open—wide, I might add. Regardless, you aren’t going to compromise me. I am sure of that, and I’m not trying to trap you into marriage, so you’re safe.”
“Safe?” he asked, then grinned in a bewildered fashion.
“Old age catching up with you, Lord Hawthorne? You seem to be repeating everything I say.”
“No, no not at all, I’m merely … amused. You really are delightfully innocent.”
“Debutantes with brothers who can fell a man with one right hook tend to be that way.” Pere enunciated the words, raising an eyebrow.
Just why was he amused and why wasn’t he leaving? Though to be honest, it was a nice change of pace.
“All true, Lady Peregrine. Which I find problematic.”
“Why am I not surprised?”
“Do you realize that Ramsford has set his cap for you?” He stood then and slowly circled the table between them.
“It would seem that your plan worked … only a little too well. Rather than reforming a rake, you merely made yourself easy prey for a fortune hunter. Tell me, was that your plan? Desperation never looks good on a lady, no matter what pedigree.”
Pere gasped, then stood.
Her heart hammered with anger as his words filtered through her mind. “Desperation? That was low, even for you.”
“Am I wrong?”
“Yes.”
“You’re not desperate?”
“No!”
“Appearances would beg to differ—”
“I’m here.” Pere lowered her tone, her anger creating a smoldering fire in her chest as she took slow, deliberate steps toward him.
“And I’m in a room, mostly alone … with you.
” Pere watched as his expression shifted to one of wary confusion.
“And as I have stated, clearly, before, I’m not trying to trap you … am I?”
“Lady—”
“Am I?” she repeated, pressing her finger into his chest.
The wool of his coat was warm beneath her glove; beneath that, his heart beat a traitor’s rhythm—quick, unsteady.
“You are … very close,” he whispered, his eyes darting from her lips to her eyes and back.
“You are too, and I’m not impressed. And furthermore, I’m not desperate, Lord Hawthorne. Because if I were, you can imagine how my brother would react.”
Pere watched him wince, his eyes flickering to the door and back to her.
“You see my point.”
“I do,” he answered, his tone all butter and silk. “But I’m afraid you don’t see mine.”
“Enlighten me.” She removed her finger from his chest and narrowed her eyes.
“All it would take…” he whispered the words and took a small step toward her, closing what little distance between them remained. “Is one word from me as well. One … kiss, one touch.”
His voice caressed the words, and Pere resisted the urge to sway toward him, get lost in his magnetic gaze as he watched her, studied her, worshiped her with his attention. His breath smelled faintly of coffee and mischief.
“And? This is everything we already discussed.” She hitched a shoulder, pretending to be unaffected by his proximity. “You do take a while to make your point, sir.”
“I am making it,” he whispered. “One moment, and I can tell your brother that you’ve been compromised, ruined for anyone else. And it won’t matter if I lie, because the damage to your reputation will be already done.” His head angled slightly, his gaze searching her eyes.
Pere licked her lips. “This is everything I’ve heard since I was young, Lord Hawthorne. I hate to disappoint you, but—” Her words were cut off completely, and all thoughts evaporated as Lord Hawthorne’s lips captured hers, quite literally.
One moment she was proving her point, the next she was caught—and rather than struggle to get free, she decided being caught was rather delightful.
She melted into the warmth of his kiss, her body tingling with a rush of something hot coursing through her as his mouth taught hers to return a kiss.
His wicked tongue teased her lower lip, then retreated as he slowly withdrew, ending the kiss as quickly as he’d started it.
The parlor spun gently, like a music box winding down.
Pere’s eyes fluttered open—when had they even closed?
Blinking, she tried to think through the haze of the kiss to make some sort of sense of everything.
Her mind was slow to recover, and she both marveled and hated the fact that he knew it; his expression flickered from understanding to a slightly smug grin, then back to a serious frown.
“And that … is why you are innocent. You gave me an opportunity, and I took it. Any rake will do the same, so stay away from Ramsford. Or else he’ll give you more than a kiss; he’ll give you his name and take your fortune.”
Pere’s heart hammered at his words; she hated how they rang with truth.
Her mind worked quickly, and she found the one fault in his words. “Was.”
“Pardon?” He frowned, his gaze sharpening as he regarded her.
“Was … innocent,” she articulated, watching as understanding and something akin to horror flashed across his features before he quickly hid it.
“Was,” he answered, bowed. “I’ll take my leave.” He snatched his cane from the chair, the silver head catching the light like a guilty wink, and all but fled out the door.
Pere took a deep breath and moved to the sofa and took a seat. Her knees were weak and her heart still hammering.
“Was,” she whispered.
Oh, it was just a kiss, but it was also her first just a kiss. And it tasted of bergamot, danger, and the infuriating certainty that Lord Hawthorne had just rewritten every rule she thought she knew.
From the hallway came the thunder of boots—Henley, no doubt, summoned by some sixth sense.
Pere straightened her spine, pressed her fingers to her tingling lips, and practiced her most innocent smile.
Let the lecture come. She had a new specimen to catalog; the marquess who kissed like sin and fled like a saint.