Page 17 of A Gentleman's Reckoning
“Does your father approve of your attending parties like this?” he asked, the unwelcome reminder intruding on his thoughts.
She gave the tiniest lift of a shoulder. “He is not in London. Ihardly think he would be pleased with my decision, but he does seem to trust Mrs. Buxton, so I have allowed that to assuage my conscience.”
John had a view of Mrs. Buxton on his left. At least, he assumed it was her because Miss Buxton was standing at her side looking slightly bored, and she shared similar features with the older woman.
“Why does he?” He caught himself. “I mean to say, it is none of my affair, of course, but the Buxtons do not seem to be the sort of family an earl would allow his daughter to associate with.”
“They are not, I suppose. But my mother liked Mrs. Buxton, and my father respected my mother. The friendship between the women of the two families had been long established by the time my mother died. I suppose my father did not want to take anyone else away from me, so he allowed it to continue.”
“That was considerate of him,” John replied in a carefully neutral voice. He would have to take care not to reveal any of his true thoughts concerning the earl.
“My father is a considerate man.”
Two matrons passed by where they were sitting and stopped to greet another small group, closing off the Buxtons from his sight. As they congregated in front of him, with the heaviest matron standing in the center, the group effectively cut off their view of not only the dancing, but nearly all of the room. John thought about Lady Eugenia’s words concerning her father. Did he truly show consideration to his own flesh and blood—or was she dissembling?
The women continued to gossip in front of them, facing the ballroom, and likely never having noticed they were there. He swiveled in his chair to face Lady Eugenia, wondering if she had noticed that they had been granted a momentary private haven.
Despite her perfect posture, she appeared relaxed. Their conversation was of such an easy nature he suspected she was ascomfortable with him as he was with her, despite the attraction that seemed to buzz between them. He had long been in the habit of keeping company with ladies of quality, but he had never met one so elevated and natural all at once. She flashed him a smile then, one that went right through him and unraveled his train of thought.
“I do not know what I would do without Margery’s friendship.” When he looked confused, she leaned in to explain, “By Margery, I mean Miss Buxton.”
John froze at her proximity, noticing the perfection of her pale skin, her pert upturned nose, and lips that begged to be kissed. He could scarcely keep track of the conversation, so he uttered a mundane reply, forcing his eyes away.
“She seems like a pleasant companion.”
Against his will, his mind went back to his rakish ways when he thought nothing of stealing a kiss from any set of desirable lips that was near enough to make such a thing possible. He glanced at her again, but this time with the stark reminder that she was a gently bred lady, besides being daughter to a peer. It was easy to forget the fact when she was so approachable, and even friendly.
“Yes. She makes me laugh, and I don’t always have much of that.” Lady Eugenia had not moved from him, and it occurred to him that perhaps she longed for the closeness as much as he did. This time the temptation proved great, and he allowed his eyes to rest on her face.
“Do you like to laugh, then?” His lips quirked upward as soon as he asked it. There was much he wished to know about her, but suddenly this was the thing he wanted to know the most.
“I love it,” she said, smiling, and suddenly he saw it. He saw the warmth and humor bubbling up like a spring out of the earth. She was not a cold person. Certainly, her posture was stiff, and her beauty of the glacial kind. When she was unsure orwhen meeting someone new, as in their first encounter, she appeared to be distant. But now he noticed that her smile caused her eyes to sparkle. He could not stop staring into those eyes now.
“If I were in your life, I would attempt to induce such smiles all the time,” he said. “They are very pretty.”
Her blush deepened. The sounds in the room became indistinguishable, and the candlelit atmosphere impossibly romantic. Never had he been so powerless, so prey to the influence of a temptation that he was ready to surrender to it as though his own will was as weak as straw. He could not help himself as he leaned in, almost closing the distance between them so that his lips were a hand’s breadth from hers. Her eyes widened, and her mouth formed a perfect “O.”
Two of the women in front of them broke away, and with the influx of sudden light, the room came back into focus. Along with that was the sight of the people who might have witnessed their indiscretion had his intention to kiss her not been interrupted. He had been hopelessly lost to their surroundings, and the fact disconcerted him. When had that ever happened to him before? Such a thing could not be permitted now, not when he had much to lose.
He dared to glance at her, and her eyes were trained straight ahead. The pink tinge had not left her cheeks, yet he could not guess at her thoughts.
“Why are you working at an asylum?” she asked without looking at him. At first, he was too flustered to understand her question, but when its meaning reached him, he grew wary. He had forgotten himself and let down his reserve.
She dropped her gaze to her lap before looking ahead at some distant point. “I know you said you have your personal reasons, and I do not wish to pry. It is only…”
When she did not go on, he could not help but to prompt her. “It is only?”
She turned her eyes to him then, answering softly, “It is only that you seem so very much a gentleman.”
The words pierced him with guilt and confusion and brought him fully back to his real situation. It was not a good beginning, not if he wished to redeem his reputation. And hehadto redeem his standing in society. It was all he had.
He hesitated—wrestling within himself—before turning back to her. “I assure you, I am no gentleman. I am sorry if that is unpleasant news to you.”
She sighed softly, placing her hands between her knees, rocking them back and forth in a way that seemed out of place for a ball, and for an earl’s daughter. It seemed like something a young girl might do, and it only endeared her more to him.
“It is not unpleasant, no. I do not care so much, as long as you faithfully manage the orphanage and find a way to use the donations to help more children.”
He had the overwhelming urge to ask her if she found it unpleasant on a personal level because she could not entertain any thoughts of courtship if he were no gentleman. She could not—could she? Surely he would never have a chance with her as plain Mr. Rowles, working as steward at the asylum?
