Chapter Thirteen #2
But it wasn’t one of his wicked smirks or knowing grins. This was a soft, tender curve of his parted lips in a moment that felt deeply communicative. Lydia felt as if she suddenly understood something—though she had no idea what that something was. It was too ephemeral. Too abstract and fleeting.
She blinked and it was gone.
On instinct, she pulled back. He released her after a quick tensing of his hands that seemed almost involuntary. His smile widened into an expression more familiar to her.
“I suspect you’re going to be an excellent student,” he murmured in a half-teasing tone.
Feeling bold and brave beyond reason, Lydia attempted a soft imitation of his roguish smile. “I always am,” she whispered.
His breath caught and he roughly cleared his throat. For a second, she thought she saw something akin to alarm in his eyes, but it was so fleeting, she figured she’d imagined it.
“What do I do next?” she asked. Now that she’d decided on this course, she felt rather impatient to make progress.
He chuckled as he rose to his feet and held out his hand to her. She didn’t even hesitate to slide her palm along his as he brought her to stand. Indecently close.
His head was bent alongside hers and his breath wafted gently over her throat.
She could feel his legs disturbing the fall of her skirt as he shifted his weight.
A deep breath would likely cause her oddly aching breasts to brush against his strong chest. She had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep her next inhale even and modest.
“Nothing,” he said darkly before he dipped his chin and pressed a light but searing kiss to the crest of her bare shoulder. “Trust me,” he whispered.
Lydia’s stomach twirled and twisted. Her jaw clenched, causing her teeth to pierce her cheek and draw an iron tang to her tongue.
Then he stepped back. Air whooshed between them.
“Go first,” he ordered, his voice low and thick. “I’ll wait here a bit.”
She said nothing as she turned away and silently made her way through the conservatory.
No one lurked in the hallway beyond and soon enough, she was back in the bright lights of the ballroom.
The last half-hour suddenly felt like an odd fever-dream as she glanced out over the sea of pastel gowns and perfectly coifed hairstyles.
But then she saw her mother.
The marchioness stood like a general purveying the battlefield.
Armed for combat in full-length stays, with a folding fan and a taut, pinched expression.
Lydia had only a moment to gather some semblance of composure before her mother’s sharp gaze fell on her.
The marchioness lifted her brows in a silent, expectant signal indicating she wished her daughter to come to her.
Taking a breath, Lydia crossed to her mother’s side.
Lady Loxmarch took a moment to smile and nod to a passing acquaintance before acknowledging her daughter’s presence. And even then, it was with a hard voice from the side of her mouth. “Where have you been? Do I have to put you on leading strings like a toddler?”
The air left Lydia’s body in a deflating exhale. To fall so swiftly from one of the most singularly surprising experiences of her life into the familiar discomfort of her mother’s suffocating disappointment was jarring.
Clenching her jaw to keep from saying what she wished to say, she lowered her chin. “I wasn’t gone for long. I’m here now.”
“I expect you to be on that dance floor for the next song.”
How in hell was she to do that? Her last attempt at claiming a partner had been an utter failure and she didn’t see her prospects improving tonight. And besides that, she didn’t want to dance.
She wanted to sit in the garden and stare at the sky as she tried to identify constellations.
She wanted to sit on a cushioned window bench and read her favorite novel.
She wanted to debate the rules of society with a man who benefitted from the current system yet managed to see the unfairness. She wanted that man to fight for her right to equal liberation and autonomy. She wanted that man to kiss her as though the taste of her lips gave him life.
Damn.
She closed her eyes hard and forced thoughts of Darlington to the deep shadows of her mind.
“Are you listening to me?”
Her mother’s voice was sharp.
Lydia settled her gaze on the marchioness’s face. Preparing herself for the lecture she knew was coming.
“You have got to get your priorities straight. These balls and dinners and soirées are not just for your pleasure.”
When had she ever derived pleasure from any of them?
“They are opportunities to settle your future. Nearly a quarter of the bachelors here tonight are likely already two steps away from engagement. Half of them are not even worth mentioning. But the rest are prospects you need to be exploring.” Her mother huffed and sliced her fan through the air in a short, commanding gesture.
“Look around, my daughter. One of these men will be your promised husband by the end of the season. He could be right—”
Her mother’s voice cut off as her pointed stare landed rather abruptly on something or someone in the crowd. Following Lady Loxmarch’s focus, Lydia’s breath caught.
There was only one thing of interest in the far corner of the room where the marchioness gazed.
Lord Darlington stepped through the door Lydia had passed through not long ago. In the exact same place her mother’s gaze had found her.
Her heart sped as panic flew through her belly. She couldn’t move or glance away even as Darlington pushed a hand through his dark, wavy locks and sauntered out of sight.
Surely, her mother wouldn’t come to the unlikely conclusion that Lydia and Darlington had been together somewhere beyond that door. She looked back to the marchioness’s face, praying the woman hadn’t noticed the earl’s flicking glance in their direction.
As she watched, her mother’s subtly stunned expression softened just the slightest bit. No one else likely would have noticed it, but Lydia had had years of reading her mother’s minute shifts in mood.
Lydia didn’t have time to consider what that could possibly mean before a couple of her mother’s friends stepped up and engaged the marchioness in conversation. Her mother urged Lydia to take a stroll about the room, no doubt hoping she’d be asked to dance.
In truth, it was a welcome escape. And though she never did make it to the dance floor, her mother did not press her again that evening and seemed to maintain an oddly content demeanor.
Lydia wished she could be pleased that her mother decided not to continue badgering her. Instead, she was deeply worried.