Page 103 of Thief of the Ton
“But Papa…”
“What your father doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” Lady Betty gave a conspiratorial wink. Then she resumed her attention on Marlow. “I’m entrusting you with my charge, sir, but do not take my trust as leave to do as you wish—if you harm her in any way, you’ll have me to answer to. And though you may consider me a weak woman, let me remind you that I have weathered widowhood and vilification. I care little for my reputation, which renders me a danger to those who value theirs. My extensive acquaintance among the members of White’s enables me to reduce a man’s desirability among the demimonde to almost nothing by a mere word or two about flaccidity brought about by the pox.”
What the devil was she saying? But as Lavinia glanced toward Lord Marlow, she saw shock in his expression, followed by understanding, and finally respect. Then he threw back his head and laughed.
“My dear Lady Betty, you’re wasted on London Society, for they don’t appreciate you as much as you deserve. If only all chaperones were like yourself. While it would render Society somewhat…wicked, it would make for a more amusing Season and, I suspect, happier unions.”
Lady Betty’s eyes sparkled in the sunlight. “I see we understand each other, Lord Marlow.”
She slipped her arm through Lord Marlow’s free one. “Come,” she said. “Let us take a stroll before I place my charge into your care.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The afternoon lightstreamed in through the windows overlooking the street and stretched across the Aubusson rug.
There wasn’t a speck of dust to be seen—not even in the beam of sunlight, where dust motes continually swirled in the air in Cousin Charles’s townhouse. The gilded wood in Lord Marlow’s parlor gleamed, as if servants polished it daily.
In all likelihood, they did—probably twice daily, given the number of servants that had been milling about the place when Lord Marlow ushered her inside after they took their leave of Lady Betty.
He approached the window, teacup in hand. The sunlight illuminated his hair, forming a halo about his face, as he regarded Lavinia with a blend of apprehension and desire.
This is a mistake. I shouldn’t be here.
He held out the cup. “Tea?”
Her hand trembling, Lavinia took the cup, which clattered against the saucer.
“You’re wrong,” he said quietly.
She lifted her eyebrows in question.
“Youshouldbe here,” he added. “This room is better with you in it.”
Then he shook his head. “Forgive me—that was a crass thing to say, even if it’s true.”
Sweet heaven—was he nervous? He sounded like a naïve young man seeking the approval of his…
His what—his intended?
Don’t be a fool.
“You’re safe here with me,” he said. “I won’t bite.”
She took a sip of her tea, then set the cup aside.
“Unless, of course,” he continued, “youwantme to.”
A wicked smile curled his lips. Then he colored and looked away. “Forgive me, Lavinia. I didn’t invite you here to take advantage of you—I wanted to apologize.”
“What for?”
“For my father.” He sat beside her and offered his hand. “May I?”
She nodded, and he took her free hand, interlocking their fingers. Her stomach fluttered at the feel of his skin, and a crackle of need fizzed inside. He lifted his free hand and cupped her chin. Then he tilted her head until her eyes met his.
“I believe you might have spoken the truth when you said my father was instrumental in your father’s ruination.”
She flinched. “Imighthave spoken the truth?”
