Page 17 of A Gentleman's Wager
“My sister?” Joshua enquired.
“Settled and awaiting your arrival.”
“Oh, I doubt that she’s awaiting my anything.” He strode towards the front door seemingly as eager to get inside as Louisa.
“Do you wish to see her?”
Joshua shook his head. “Can’t see the point. This ball of yours is due to start soon, best we concentrate on making ourselves presentable, eh, Louisa?”
“Coles, you’ll escort my guests to their rooms.”
“Yes, my lord. This way, Miss Stanley, Mr Rushdale.”
Louisa dutifully followed. Up in her assigned room, she found Bella’s maid waiting for her. She’d been rigorously avoiding her since happening upon her entertaining Joshua a few days back, and flushed a deep crimson in remembrance the moment they came face to face.
“Goodness, you’re in a right fluster, Miss.” Emma immediately set to unpacking Louisa’s valise. “Don’t you fret now. I’ll have you spruced up and set to rights for this here ball fast as you please. There’s not time for a bath, but I’ve some of that rosewater that belongs to Miss Rushdale that you like so much, and I’ve already done up her hair, so there’s time enough for you to take a breath. You ain’t so late, and even if you was, ain’t no one ever told you that it’s fashionable to be so?”
“My aunt was always most particular about punctuality.”
“Aye, but here in the countryside, folks aren’t so pernickety. Look, you settle right here and drink this tea. It’ll help. You’ve such a lovely complexion, Miss, you don’t want to go down all flushed and blotchy.”
“No,” Louisa agreed, taking a perch on the stool before the dressing table, where Emma had set her cup. “You’re quite right.” She wanted to look her best, so that she might impress Captain Wakefield. Although he had taken tea at Wyndfell several times now, tonight would be the first society function they’d both attend and their first chance since the night at the coaching inn where they might find a moment to slip away unnoticed. Not to do anything untoward, of course, just to enjoy a little privacy, that’s all.
Emma bustled about setting things in order, lah-ing beneath her breath as Louisa sipped her tea. She was a cheerful sort, rather difficult to dislike, even when her past wantonness was being re-staged within Louisa’s head. The wantonness, the immodesty she’d witnessed, it still curled her toes even now. Though, she supposed she oughtn’t really to be so shocked. The girl was likely only trying to better herself, in the long term and the short. Joshua was thirty and still unwed, and it wasn’t unheard of for a lonely gentleman to marry his kitchen maid, even if it was frowned upon.
About a half hour later, Louisa was ready to go down. Emma had delicately rouged her lips and fastened her hair into a chignon, with curls framing either side of her face. She had her dance card tied around her wrist and had chosen to wear a delicate cream satin she’d had made for the London Season. It was quite her favourite, having a pattern of roses embroidered around the hem, and dozens of intricate pleats in the back section. Thus, when she caught the train as she traversed the landing, she cried out in alarm.
“Do look out.” A firm hand grasped her shoulder, bringing her to a sudden halt. Louisa put her hand out for balance, whereupon it connected with thick, soft velvet.
“Whatever is it that alarms you?” The voice was soft and low, masculine and curiously insinuating, as it brushed warm past her ear. Louisa blinked slowly, conscious of the heat radiating from his body, and the taut muscles of his abdomen beneath her palm.
“Nothing, I just caught—” She looked up at the darkly clad figure into the most arresting pair of eyes she’d ever seen. They were blue, but so dark as to seem violet, and set within an angular face with strong bone structure. His lips, which edged upwards with a wicked tilt at either corner, were curiously sensual. “—my dress.”
“Whereas I appear to have caught you.”
“I...”
Trouble. Her every instinct recoiled. Her very breath sat heavy in her lungs. The man held her firmly in place.
“And who might you be, little mouse?”
“Louisa,” she gasped, surprised to find she could make any sound at all. “That is, I’m Miss Stanley. Miss Louisa Stanley, with the Rushdale’s of Wyndfell Grange, and you, sir?”
“My lord,” he corrected.
“Unhand her at once, Pennerley.”
Louisa wasn’t certain, but she thought his grip actually tightened in response to her captain’s demand. For here was Frederick, ready as ever to step in and defend her honour. Not that she was certain it required defending, but there was something about the man holding her that was altogether disquieting. He was astonishingly handsome, but the way his gaze dashed between her and Frederick hinted at some shrewd scheming being afoot.
“Momentarily. Miss Stanley and I were just becoming acquainted.”
“Now,” Wakefield seethed.
Before Louisa had any notion of what was about, Pennerley tilted her chin so that she was gazing right at him, and then he lowered his mouth, capturing her parted lips. She, of course, squeaked in surprise, but even as she did, a rush of unfamiliar sensations flooded her body. His tongue moved between her lips to graze hers, and in so doing, wakened a host of desires she hardly dared put names to. It was dizzying. Nothing like the chaste, nervous kisses she’d shared with Frederick – Frederick, who gasped behind her, and would no doubt be appalled at her behaviour. Though really, he could not blame her for this, it was entirely Pennerley’s doing.
Said devil released her, and she stumbled to grasp the banister.
“Come along, Wakefield, don’t dawdle. We’re expected downstairs.”
