Chapter Four
Refusing to give him any more attention than necessary, she muttered with a tight jaw, “What do you think you’re doing?”
His warm chuckle slipped past her defenses to roll about in her belly. “I’m talking to the shockingly bold lady who dared to ask a gentleman to dance…only to be rejected.”
Lydia’s spine tightened. “I was not rejected. He had a prior commitment.”
There was a pause before the earl replied, his voice lowering even more until it brushed over her skin like velvet. “I’ve no prior commitment.”
She nearly choked on his audacity. “Are you serious? Have you completely forgotten the lady you went off with earlier?”
“Not at all,” he replied with a careless shrug. “That commitment has reached fulfillment.”
She did not want to imagine what that meant.
But she did. In vivid detail, thanks to Bridget’s unconventional font of knowledge about such things.
There was a good reason—beyond the obvious risk to a lady’s reputation—that Lydia intently avoided interacting with those men-about-town who were known for their rakish behavior and shameless attitudes.
A man who could speak so boldly and irreverently about such…
carnal topics was not a man she knew how to converse with. It irritated her.
Lydia hated being rendered speechless. She hated the feeling of being out of her depth. In the right circumstances, she was an excellent conversationalist. London’s elite social scene was not the right circumstances.
“What do you want, Lord Darlington?” she asked sharply, shifting her weight and casting another swift glance toward her mother, who had decided now was a good time to become distracted by something on the other side of the ballroom.
If her mother saw her conversing with the Earl of Darlington, she’d likely march right over and pull Lydia as far away from the scandalous man as possible. She almost wished for the intervention.
“Just a dance,” the earl replied as he stepped up beside her. “Isn’t that what you’re here for?”
Not caring what observers might think, Lydia turned to face him directly. She had to tip her head back a bit to meet his stare—noting with annoyance that his eyes were a lovely warm golden-brown, not unlike the color of rich amber resin.
“My lord, allow me to make this as clear as possible. I’m not interested.”
A spark flickered through his gaze and his lips twitched. “In what?”
Heaving a breath, Lydia cast her focus down his form, realizing her error too late as she couldn’t help but enjoy the fit figure he made in his fine evening clothes. Bringing her gaze swiftly back to his face, which also had an unfortunate effect on her senses, she cleared her throat. “You.”
His laugh was easy and genuine. “I was offering a dance, but if you’ve a mind to take all of me…” His eyes flickered wickedly and his voice lowered. “I’d be my pleasure to make that happen.”
Heat rolled through Lydia in a wave, burning her cheeks and swirling her stomach. She understood his extremely crass innuendo—again, thanks to Bridget. There was only one reason he’d say something so shocking, and she’d be damned if she gave him the satisfaction of her embarrassment.
Her gaze slid over him once more. Slowly. Intentionally. A tight smile curved her mouth. “I. Am not. Interested.”
His attention fell to her mouth. “That’s a shame,” he murmured before he shifted his focus back out to the dance floor. With a rough chuckle, he shook his head. “I only wished to offer you a brief reprieve from all of this. I honestly don’t know how you do it.”
Disconcerted, Lydia followed his gaze. “Do what?”
“Endure this scene, night after night.” He sighed. “It must be exhausting. The way young ladies are paraded before potential suitors like prize calves at auction.”
His description was far too accurate, which was utterly infuriating since no true gentleman would put a lady’s situation into such stark terms and say them to her face. But truth was truth and she could not refute any of it.
“No doubt you’ve been thoroughly warned against men like me,” he continued thoughtfully. “Men who might dare to treat you as a full-blooded woman rather than some valuable object of trade that must remain untouched by anything that might pass for a pleasurable exploration of life and liberty.”
He slid her a sideways glance and she realized in an instant that he was intentionally taunting her. She noted the amused curl of his decidedly sensual mouth and the challenging arch of one straight brow.
Ignoring the ire his blunt words had caused, she returned his flickering gaze with a falsely sweet smile.
“Your powers of observation and deduction are truly inspiring, my lord. To see the world so clearly is a gift.” She didn’t even try to hide the sarcasm from her voice.
“I’d love to say that your concern for my…
circumstances is admirable and appreciated. But I’d be lying.”
As she’d spoken, his amusement never faltered and he now gazed at her with a look in his eyes she couldn’t quite read. Despite knowing how it would appear to anyone watching, she leaned toward him and flashed a coy glance from beneath lowered lashes.
“I promise, I do not need any help from you in my pursuit of liberty. Nor do I need any guidance in exploring the pleasures life has to offer.” She smiled again and noted with a tingling tremor through her stomach that his gaze settled heavily on her mouth.
Then she whispered, “I do quite well on my own.”
She intended that to be the end of it and even started to turn away from him.
But the man was swift and sneaky. He encircled her wrist in his large, warm hand. The boldness of such a move shocked her enough to allow him a final word.
“But I could make it so much better,” he graveled near her ear, the textured tones of his voice resonating along every nerve.
Then he released her, and he was the one to turn and walk away.
The moment happened so fast, Lydia was left still processing the meaning behind his statement when she realized the many curious looks being cast her way from those who’d witnessed the odd interaction. She didn’t think anyone would have been able to hear their words, but she wasn’t certain.
Not that she cared particularly for her own sake. But…
A quick glance revealed that her mother was staring daggers at her. As if Lydia had chosen to have the reckless man initiate a conversation with her in front of everyone. What was she to have done? Ignore him completely?
Probably.
Blast it.
She just wanted to go home, change into a soft cotton nightgown, release her hairpins, and curl up in bed with the book currently tucked into the hidden pocket of her gown.
She may have read Milton’s Paradise Lost almost a dozen times, but each read-through revealed some new facet of the story cleverly concealed within the dancing lines of verse.
She had never felt so much gratitude as she did a minute later when she saw Bridget weaving toward her. Her cousin’s eyes sparkled with a thousand questions.
“Tell me I did not just see you conversing—in curiously intimate undertones—with the most notoriously irreverent, toe-tinglingly attractive rakehell of London,” Bridget breathed with no small amount of wonder.
“He isn’t that attractive,” Lydia argued.
Her cousin simply dipped her chin and arched her brows, not even bothering to refute such a blatant falsehood.
Lydia sighed and gave a half-hearted eyeroll. “He chanced upon me while I was reading a couple hours ago and made a bit of a nuisance of himself. I’ve no idea why he decided to approach me again just now.”
“Well, what did he say?”
Lydia hesitated. She knew her cousin would make more of the moment than it warranted. Bridget would no doubt have Lydia and the earl engaged by the end of the week. That, or she’d insist Lydia must pursue a passionate and clandestine affair with the lord.
“Lydia,” her cousin pressed, eyes wide as she interpreted Lydia’s hesitation correctly. “You must tell me.”
“He asked me to dance.” As Bridget opened her mouth, Lydia quickly continued, “But I suspect his intention was to irritate me.”
The other young woman snorted, then narrowed her eyes to a skeptical stare. “I promise you, that is not what the Earl of Darlington is known to do with pretty young women.”