Page 5 of A Devil in Silk
“Perhaps I understand what it’s like to have unfulfilled desires, Miss Dalton. Perhaps I find your daring attitude admirable.”
The compliment slipped past her resolve.
The offer was certainly tempting. Where else would she find a man willing to let her take command of his prized vehicle?
Still, she stood by her earlier statement. “You know how to spark a lady’s interest, my lord, but it wouldn’t be fitting to entertain a man whose attention ought to be elsewhere.”
“Did your brother not tell you he asked me to act as chaperone when he returns to Thorncroft in the morning?”
Clara straightened. “No, he did not.”
He had mentioned Lord Rothley taking her to the theatre with other friends, one of whom would grant her private entrance to the museum, allowing her to spend the night beside an Egyptian sarcophagus.
“I’ve been instructed to keep a close eye on you. It strikes me it’s easier if I help you complete the tasks on your list. I’m sure all can be achieved before I’m forced to sell my soul in the name of family obligation.”
She was about to protest, but he raised a silencing hand.
“Why did you create this list, Clara?” Although he stood at a respectable distance, he used her given name like they were on intimate terms. “If it’s because you crave excitement before you face a daunting future, know I seek the same.”
The honest remark rendered her mute. He gave the impression he was a man who had everything: wealth, charm, and position. Yet here he stood, quietly admitting his life was as dull as hers.
It shouldn’t matter.
But it did.
“Some people must do what’s expected of them,” he said, a strange vulnerability to his voice. “The memories I make in these two weeks of freedom must last me a lifetime. I want them to mean something. Can you understand that?”
Of course she could.
In that, their goals were aligned.
“What you say makes perfect sense, but helping me will probably add to your troubles. Someone is bound to see us together.” Not that a stain on her reputation would prove a problem.
He glanced at the list. “We can take the countess with us in Green’s balloon. The others we can do at night, under cover of darkness.” He stepped closer, his scent invading her senses, intimate in all the wrong ways. “You agree it would be better to share these experiences with a friend? And we have been acquainted for many years.”
The flicker of hope in his eyes weakened her stance. This man, who had everything, wanted her friendship and to share amusing memories. She would be a hypocrite to deny him when her own family had supported her plans. What harm could it do? Completing her list was the priority.
“I fear I may come to regret my decision.” She was certain this would be the greatest mistake of her life. “But we will choose one task. Once it’s completed we will speak of another.” Then she would persuade him that a second outing was most unwise.
His mouth curled into a grin as he handed back the note. “Trust me, you’ll have no regrets. I know it was presumptuous,but I bought two tickets to see Lavinia Nightshade tomorrow night. I can collect you at eight. In a hackney cab if that pleases you.”
“Lavinia Nightshade?” Clara slipped the list into her bodice, relieved to have it back in her possession. “TheLavinia Nightshade?”
Tickets to see the woman famed for communing with the dead were rare. It would undoubtedly be a night to remember.
He looked insufferably pleased with himself. “Indeed. We will be among a select number attending her private seance in Soho.”
A shiver of anticipation coursed through her. The thought of summoning spirits stirred more than idle curiosity. What if her father returned from the grave to deliver an angry message? Then there was the viscount himself, whose presence always left her a little unmoored.
Sensing her anxiety, the viscount gave a reassuring smile. “There’s nothing to fear. What could possibly go wrong in a room full of ghosts?”
Chapter Two
George Street, Mayfair
The Viscountess of Rutland’s Residence
The dining room was quiet except for the hollow chime of silver cutlery against the porcelain plates, and the sigh that said Bentley’s mother had something to say and was waiting to pick the right moment.
