Page 24 of Lady Constantine & the Sins of Lord Kilgore
Her eyes widened, and a fetching shade of pink kissed her cheeks. “Are you trying to seduce me, Lord Kilgore? I heard some things about you last night…”
He paused, looked up from his drawing, and gave her his most practiced seductive smile, at which she laughed. He chuckled in return. “What sort of things?” he asked, though he had a fairly good idea. His reputation had preceded his return to England, and he hadn’t exactly been a saint while here.
She walked alongside the wall upon which his paintings hung, pausing in front of his favorites and making the most intriguing sounds of approval from deep in her throat. He wondered briefly if she would make such sounds in the throes of passion.
“After you left me standing on the edge of the dance floor last night, Lady Cavendish approached me. She demanded to know if you’d extended me an offer to join you in your bed.” She paused, arched her eyebrows, and gave him a frank stare.
He felt his nostrils flare as his temper crackled. Already, they were swooping in to tear Lady Constantine to shreds. Damn it all to hell. “I assume you told her no.”
Her pink tongue darted out to moisten her lips. He had the sudden desire to taste her, to discover if she was as sweet as he thought she might be. “I told her that, of course, you had asked me to join you in your bed.”
He groaned, imagining how that could hurt her in the end. He shoved a hand through his hair in agitation as she watched him. “What else did you say?”
“I’m sorry if you’re vexed with me,” she said, surprising him. “I should not have said that. I should not have made it seem as if you wanted to have an affair with me. It’s just that Lady Cavendish looked at me as if she could not believe you would desire a dalliance with someone like me.”
Good God. It occurred to him then that Lady Cavendish had probably bet money against his seducing Lady Constantine.
Lady Constantine bit her lower lip and then said, “She pricked my pride—which is monstrous—so I very dishonorably lied. I am sorry.”
His situation was intolerable. Not only did he not want to hurt this woman but he liked her immensely and had the overwhelming urge to protect her from the vultures circling her. “I most definitely would have an affair with you, if you wished it, but you are far too good,” he said, feeling it imperative she know that she was desirable.
“Am I?” She bit her lower lip. “I came without my chaperone purposely. I slipped away. I gathered from Lady Cavendish last night that you are quite the rogue, and I—Well, I wanted to see what might happen if I came here today without a chaperone.”
“Do you want something to happen?” His body hardened as he asked the question.
“In theory. I want to think that you’d want to ruin me, but of course, you have far too many willing women to bother with the ruination of someone like me.”
If only she really knew.He wasn’t in the practice of having personal conversations, of revealing things and asking to know things that would complicate his life and create ties to another, and yet, he found himself setting his paper, drawing board, and charcoal down behind him, and saying, “Someone has done a great deal of damage to how you see yourself.” It angered him just thinking on it. “Was it someone you love?”
“Yes,” she whispered, her expression tightening. She dropped her gaze, and his followed. She had pointed the toe of her delicate slipper, and she was tracing slow circles in the dust on his floor.
“Did you come here today to make the man jealous?” His own absurd envy toward some unknown man gripped him. How ridiculous to feel this way over a woman he’d just met, let alone one he was supposed to seduce and ruin as part of a wager. Some sort of madness had overcome him.
Her head jerked up, and her gaze crashed into his. “Goodness no! The man I’m speaking of is my father,” she said, laughing.
“Ah, that would be awkward,” he replied, struggling to keep the relief out of his voice. And why the hell was he so relieved? “Does your father ignore you?”
“Do you know,” she said, “I cannot fathom why I’m here talking to you, telling you my most private secrets.” That made two of them. He was having trouble comprehending what he was doing, what was happening to him. “I don’t even know you,” she said, “but last night… Well last night, in that horrid circle, when you said what you did—”
“About them being too simpleminded?”
“Yes.” She smiled. “But my favorite part was about my superior intelligence.”
“I rather liked that part, too.” He took a step toward her. He felt drawn to her like a moth to a flame, or a bee to honey, or a child to a sweet treat. Or maybe it was more like a dog to a bone. He was definitely a dog, though she was hardly a bone. She was exquisite in her honesty.
“Do you know you are the only man to ever comment on my intelligence as a good thing? My father told me I would be regarded as a bluestocking and I needed to hide my intelligence. And when I speak to men at balls, most seem put out when I discuss things that interest me, like the moon or politics.”
“Men are imbeciles. Surely you know that.”
“Well, yes, but I was rather hoping to meet at least one man wise enough to appreciate what I have to say.”
“Look no further,” he said, meaning it. “I’m on tenterhooks to hear what comes out of your mouth next.”
“I almost believe you.”
“You should. I’m telling the truth. You are the most interesting female I’ve met to date.”
“Oh dear.” She shook her head, and he was close enough to her now that he got a good whiff of her scent. Roses had been wrong. Roses had been uninspired. She smelled of jasmine, cinnamon, and sage. He loved it. He wanted to unpin her hair and inhale more of her scent. “That does not say much for the women you have been cavorting with if I’m the most interesting one you’ve met so far.”
