Page 58 of When the Viscount Seduces
Would he meet her at Tamsin’s again if she asked? She could send a note first thing in the morning and request they meet tomorrow afternoon.
“I can see you are planning something already,” Ellis said, her eyes twinkling.
Gwen laughed. “I can’t help myself. Thank you for your counsel. I deeply appreciate it.”
What exactly did she intend to say? She wasn’t sure. Thankfully, she had all night and tomorrow morning to think of it. But as soon as she got home, she would draft another reading exercise so she could give that to him when they met. Or perhaps she would send it with the letter asking him to meet.
Just in case he said no.
What if he refused her request?
She wouldn’t think about that. She would simply say she needed to see him, and could he please meet her at the Droxfords’ house at two.
If he did indeed decline her invitation, that would need to be the end of it. She wasn’t going to write him a note saying she had romantic feelings for him.
Was she in love? Gwen had no idea what that felt like and wasn’t ready to commit to something so…big.
Not yet.
Just admitting that she had a tendre for him was a huge step. He was not the sort of man she should want or who would want her.
Nevertheless, she wanted him, his roguery be damned.
CHAPTER 13
After leaving the park, Lazarus had spent a few hours in a dither. Closeting himself in his study, he’d drunk two glasses of whisky. Almost two glasses. He’d stopped because it wouldn’t serve him to have a clouded mind. He needed a plan, and he needed it fast.
He realized he also needed help.
Which was how he found himself knocking on Droxford’s door. Not only was he the best person to advise him—he would keep an even head—but he was likely the only one home this evening. Shefford and Price and likely Keele would be at the Phoenix Club assembly or someplace else. And Wellesbourne had his hands full with a new child.
Droxford’s butler admitted him and a few minutes later showed him to the study where the baron was working. “Evening, Somerton,” Droxford said, standing from behind his desk. “This is a surprise. Shouldn’t you be at the Phoenix Club?”
“I don’t go outeverynight.” Actually, he did practically, so to act as though he didn’t was a bit disingenuous. But he wasn’t here to discuss his social activities. “I am in need of advice on a very…delicate matter.”
Droxford’s brows shot up. “I see. Let us sit.” He gestured to a pair of chairs angled near the hearth. “Do you want a drink?”
Lazarus shook his head. “No. I’ve had enough whisky.” He sat down on the edge of the chair, nervous energy coursing through him.
“It’s a whisky problem, then.” Droxford sat opposite him. “Whatever you tell me will be kept between us.”
“Thank you. I appreciate that more than I can say.” Lazarus exhaled as he ran his hand through his hair. Too late, he realized he’d ruined his valet’s careful styling, but it wasn’t as if he were going anywhere else. And surely Droxford didn’t care if he appeared impeccable or not.
Hell, Lazarus was prevaricating in his own bloody mind. He met his friend’s gaze. “A woman I met at a fox-hunting party says I got her with child. I don’t remember taking her to bed. I don’t even remember kissing her. And I definitely don’t remember wanting to do either of those things, let alone actually doing them.” He’d spoken more quickly with each statement, a sort of panic rising within him.
“That is…troubling. But you recall her from the party?”
“I do. She is the granddaughter of the host.”
“I received an invitation to this party, I think, though I declined,” Droxford said. “Lord Haverstock’s fox-hunting party?” At Lazarus’s nod, he blew out a breath. “I would not want to run afoul of Haverstock. His temper is quite nasty. I got into a rather vicious argument with him once about the impact of the war on the price of food, and he was most belligerent in his ignorance.”
Lazarus only knew him socially. That was because until recently, Lazarus hadn’t been seriously engaged in his position in Parliament. Hearing this made his stomach knot. “That is not encouraging.”
“Does he know about the babe?” Droxford asked.
“No, nor does her father. Her mother does, however.” Lazarus thought of the woman’s icy glare in the park that afternoon. Perhaps the entire family had horrible tempers.
“This party was, what, last November?” Droxford flattened his lips. “Why is she only telling you now?”
