Page 7 of Buon Natale, My Wicked Rogue
“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, my lord,” Mrs. Berry said, in a voice that was slightly breathy, a sensual sound that heated his blood. A voice that also held just a hint of an accent.
An Italian accent.
Wasn’t her being Italian just as important as her being the widow of an American? Why hadn’t he been told that? The hair stood up on the back of his neck. Why had his superiors suddenly become lackadaisical in their reports?
What else did they not tell him about this lady?
She extended her hand. A pleasurable warmth settled low in his stomach at the positive gesture. He took her hand and bowed, lowering his head as he lifted her hand. Had he felt her tremble, ever-so-slightly? Did her hand feel cold through the silk glove?
He glanced up and caught her studying him, but her gaze revealed nothing. Women rarely caused him to feel unsure. But this one did.
Angela stared down into the most beautiful eyes she’d ever beheld on a man. Emerald green and framed by inky black brows, just thick enough to be masculine. A straight, fine nose and lips just full enough to be sensual but well-shaped and astrong, square jaw. He wore a dark blue evening coat with a silk waistcoat and the shade of champagne, both tailored so expertly that they revealed the broadness of his shoulders and the narrowness of his hips.
A subtle scent of cologne, citrus, and spice wafted to her, even as she sensed the vitality that emanated from him. A vitality that seemed to speak to every part of her, speaking to her of sensuality and pleasure. Her mouth went dry, and her heart hammered beneath her breast.
Oh Mamma Mia.She had never beheld such a gorgeous man.
“Would you care to dance, Mrs. Berry?”
Her legs shook, now too weak for her to stand, much less for her to dance. At least she was seated. Oh, why did he have to be an aristocrat? Why did she have to feel so overwhelmed by her attraction to him? Why had this evening had to be tainted by the near attack on the road? She swallowed against her dry mouth and throat several times before she could speak.
“Thank you, my lord, for the offer. But I fear I am too fatigued for dancing tonight.”
She glanced over the ballroom. Where had Susan disappeared to? Had her friend already snared a lover and gone to a place of seclusion with him?
“I am sorry to hear that you are so fatigued, Mrs. Berry,” he said.
She saw the skepticism in his gaze, and she hurried to explain. “My friend and I were nearly accosted this evening on the way here. If Lady Wyndam’s carriage had not come along when it did and her driver not stopped and fired his pistol tofrighten those men away, I fear we might have met a terrible end.”
She couldn’t hold back a shudder.
Lady Wyndam laid a hand on her shoulder. “You are safe now, my dear. Thank goodness for it.”
The warmth in the dowager’s voice caused her to relax a bit. Lord Ashington cupped her hand between both of his. “I am so distressed to hear about this.”
His gaze held such sincerity and concern that she felt even more relaxed. He lifted one of his hands, then bent and pressed his lips to her hand. With more pressure this time. “If you’ll let me, I’ll make this up to you.”
It seemed such a strange thing for him to say that he would make this up to her. He certainly wasn’t responsible for what happened. She was uncertain how to reply. “I wonder if I should have ever come here.”
She wasn’t sure if she was speaking of being here at Whitestone Manor or of having come to England. But why was she being so disagreeable to this nobleman? She wasn’t sure. There was some cockiness to his manner, some glibness to his charm that rankled her.
“I’ve been visiting this estate since my boyhood,” Lord Ashington said. “And I have never heard of any such crimes in the village, much less on the road to this estate.”
“So, my friend’s cousin said as well.” Again, she couldn’t help but shudder. “Those men are still out there. Who knows what mischief they may do to another?”
“I’ve told the Earl of Barnet, and he promised to send a search party out. Those ruffians will be found before dawn, I am sure of it,” Lady Wyndam said with conviction.
“Perhaps I will go and see if I can help the search,” Lord Ashington said. He looked up at her. “May I call upon you tomorrow?”
She didn’t know what to say. Would he really want to call upon her at Susan’s parents’ farmhouse? As commoners, how would Susan’s parents feel about having such a grand visitor?
She knew already. They would assume that a nobleman was pursuing her only to engage her in an inappropriate assignation. She couldn’t do that to them.
“You may call upon us both at the Whitestone dowager’s house,” Lady Wyndam said.
Angela sagged with relief.
She wasn’t sure if she wanted this nobleman to pursue her or not. She didn’t know if his overconfident charm was an attraction or a reason to reject him as a possible lover.
