Page 11 of Buon Natale, My Wicked Rogue
Lady Wyndam gave her a conspiratorial smile. “Yes, precisely. That’s why the league is often called ‘The Wicked Widows’ League’ among the members.”
“How deliciously wicked,” Angela said.
“Perhaps if you decide to remain in England, you would like to join our league? This is an enjoyable time of year to learn more about us. We have a Christmas ball, but it takes place before Christmas. The party is on the twelfth of December. That way, we can celebrate together, and then later, everyone can celebrate with their families.” Lady Wyndam cocked her head and made a little pouty gesture with her mouth. “Or with a lover.”
“I see,” Angela said.
“So, it is a yes?”
“Yes, to what?”
“To a Christmastide affair with the Earl of Ashington.”
Chapter Four
“The Earl of Ashington.”
At the servant’s announcement, Angela sat her wineglass down. Her second glass in less than an hour.
The book that Lady Wyndam had loaned her remained face down in her lap, unread.
As he entered, she first noticed his expertly tailored suit. The dark blue wool clung to his tall, elegant form, from his narrow hips to his broad shoulders, just as expertly as his evening suit had. His frothy cravat and pale grayish-green satin waistcoat made his green eyes seem all the more vivid. She sucked in her breath. He’d been handsome by candlelight, but in the sunlight streaming through the window, he was unequivocally gorgeous.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Berry.” His deep voice was smooth as silk and sent gooseflesh over her.
“Good afternoon, Lord Ashington. Won’t you take a seat?” She held her breath, anticipation prickling over her whole body, in hopes that he might sit beside her.
He sat in the chair opposite her settee. When she offered him coffee, her preferred beverage, he took a cup, sugar, and no cream.
She shuddered, unable to bear the thought of coffee without milk. She poured herself a cup and added a teaspoon of sugarand generous amounts of cream until the color of the liquid in the cup was a pale tan.
She lifted the cup to her lips and became aware of him watching her. She paused with the cup at her lips. “Pardon me, my lord?”
He arched one of those coal-black brows and grinned. “You take some coffee with your cream?”
“It is the only way to drink it.” And she took a deep drink, and he drank his coffee. He declined any of the macaroons. She ate one, for she loved these treats.
“Did you enjoy the Guy Fawkes celebration?” he asked.
“Yes, very much. It was very much like our Fourth of July celebration back home in Boston.”
“You Americans wouldn’t find the idea of blowing up Parliament too shocking. You’ve had your own tea party over taxes.”
“Oh, my lord, let’s not discuss politics.”
“What shall we discuss?”
“Did they catch the men who chased us last evening?” she asked.
His eyes widened just a fraction. And did his charming smile falter a bit?Caspita!She ought not to have mentioned something so serious. But sitting here with him alone, she’d grown nervous, like a schoolgirl. When pressed for a topic of conversation, her mind had frozen.
And she had wondered what had happened with the search. But perhaps they had not been caught after all, if his reaction was any clue.
“I wouldn’t worry about those men. They must have seemed quite menacing to you two young ladies on the road at night. However, they turned and ran when the driver fired his weapon in the air. Obviously, they were unarmed. I don’t think you were in any real danger.”
“Oh.” She wasn’t sure if she could agree with him. Perhaps he wasn’t the protective sort. Did it matter? She wasn’t looking to him for protection.
A hollow ache under her left breast startled her. But it didn’t matter that he wasn’t protective. At least, it shouldn’t. So, what was troubling her? Was it that the flip response reminded her of Jacob’s fecklessness?
