Page 15 of The Theory of Earls
The woman in question regarded him from beneath her lashes, pretending shyness, which he found absurd under the circumstances. Her deep chocolate eyes sparked and burned with intelligence, more enticing to him than an entire room of courtesans.
“My lord? What would you ask of me in return?”
“It does involve playing the piano,” he finally said.
“Lessons?” she asked again. “Perhaps you need a refresher in technique? Or shall we play a duet?”
Tony kept his face bland. He was quite good on the piano, though not as talented as Miss Lainscott. “Not exactly. More of a private performance.”
Her brows knit together. “Private performance? Are you having guests and I’m to be the entertainment? In Her Grace’s conservatory? I suppose I could do such a thing but —”
“You misunderstand. I wish you to play forme.Only me. In a private room at Elysium.”
Her eyes widened. “Elysium? The gambling hell? Why would I do such a thing?”
“Because you’ll be clad only in your chemise and stockings.” He sat back, waiting for her reaction. “I don’t think my stepmother’s home is appropriate for such a performance, do you?”
“Oh,” she sputtered prettily. “I don’t think—” Her mouth was open in shock, small breasts pushing furiously against her bodice as she tried to take a deep breath.
His cock, which had been aching since he spotted her eating a scone with his stepmother, thickened painfully at the very thought of her in his rooms at Elysium.
A squeak escaped her before she sat back with a whoosh, slapping her small fists to the squabs. A giggle escaped her. “Lord Welles,” she said in a relieved voice. “You shouldn’t tease me about such a thing.” She wagged a finger at him. “You nearly had me with your ‘improper’ suggestion. I thought you were serious.”
Tony sat transfixed. He’d seen her smile and look politely amused. But he’d never seen her genuinely laugh. Or giggle like a schoolgirl. Unable to look away from the pale line of her throat, he had the urge to press his lips to the spot where her pulse beat and shock them both.
Miss Lainscott giggled again, this time pressing a gloved hand to her stomach in her amusement.
Apparently, Tony’s request to seduce her was incredibly humorous. Well, that was something he hadn’t experienced before. He’d never made such a request to a virgin of good breeding and based on her reaction, he wasn’t sure he’d ever do so again.
“I’m not teasing you. Or mocking you.” He shrugged. “Youdidask what I wanted.”
Her head snapped back up in shock. She opened her mouth to speak then closed it, horrified by his outlandish request. And oddly fascinated. Her gaze flashed to his mouth for a brief second before a lovely rose color infused the skin of her cheeks.
“Dear God, youareserious. I can’t imagine why.”
“Humanitarian reasons, Miss Lainscott. Before you tie yourself to Carstairs, or, should you fail in bringing him to heel, Winthrop, wouldn’t you wish to experience passion? I doubt you’ll find it with either of your suitors. Think of your music, if nothing else. I am.”
The delicious blush crept back into her cheeks, but she did not look away from him. “You, my lord, arenota gentleman.”
“Alas, I’ve never claimed to be.”
She shook her head and looked out the window, refusing to look at him until the carriage rolled to a stop.
“Never mind. I rescind my request for your assistance.” Miss Lainscott placed a hand on the carriage door. “We’ve arrived at my aunt’s. I bid you good day, Lord Welles.”
7
Margaret paced back and forth across her bedroom floor, as she had most of last night and all of the morning. She hadn’t slept a wink thinking of her conversation with Welles. She couldn’t decide if he had been serious or not.
He had certainly seemed serious.The very idea sent a tremor of excitement up her spine.
Passion. He should have made a much more convincing argument. As if playing the piano for him in her underthings would inspire her musically or—
Arouse me.
Bollocks.The problem was, Margaretdidfind the thought of such a thing to be arousing, just as she did the improper innuendos he seemed determined to shock her with. The idea that Lord Welleswantedto see her in her stockings and chemise was nothing short of astonishing. And highly erotic.
Her pulse skipped a beat as she turned to view the invitation to Lady Masterson’s garden party. It had arrived earlier that morning and Eliza had brought the note upstairs with Margaret’s breakfast tray. Walking over to the invitation, she reread the words printed upon the fine vellum. A party to be held in the gardens of Lady Masterson’s estate just outside of London. Nature-themed dress was encouraged.
