by Edith Layton
She stood still, barely managing to remember to nod a bow to him. Sheridan just stared at him.
“I am Ashford. You are…?” he asked Sheridan, raising a thin black eyebrow.
“This is my brother, Sheridan,” Eve said.
Sheridan bowed, while staring, like an automaton.
“Then do call me Aubrey. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Sheridan,” Aubrey said.
That seemed to break the spell. “That’s a bang-up rig you have there,” Sheridan said eagerly. “Your team looks like prime goers too.”
“Thank you,” Aubrey said. “I’m pleased with them. And I thank you again because you give me an easy way to make my proposal.”
Sister and brother went still again, eyes wide.
Aubrey smiled. “Since it was such a fine day, Miss Faraday, I thought we might go for a ride around the park.”
“Oh,” she said with relief. That kind of proposal. She thought about it. It was a way to get away from her brother’s insatiable curiosity. He’d be sitting between them all morning if he could. But it was also unnerving to think of being alone with Ashford. Still, because of the things she had to say, she decided it was for the best. “Why, yes, so it is a lovely day,” she said. “I’d be delighted. But will there be room for my maid?”
“If not,” Sheridan put in hurriedly, “I can hang on to the back.”
“But we’ll be driving in an open phaeton,” Aubrey said. “And so there’s no need for a chaperone, Miss Faraday. Even the strictest arbiter of fashion can’t think anything wrong in us tooling around London in an open carriage. We won’t stop, I promise you, not even if my horse throws a shoe. And we’ll have my tiger hanging on the back, Mr. Faraday. I’m afraid your additional weight would overbalance us. What if I take you out and let you try the reins another day?”
Sheridan looked like an excited puppy, Eve thought with disgust. If he had a tail it would be wagging.
“Yes, thanks!” Sheridan said. “And call me Sheridan, that is, Sherry. Everyone does.”
“I will, and I’ll be glad to let you run my team through its paces. That is,” Aubrey added, with a glance from under his long dark lashes at Eve, “if your sister finds me fit company.”
“That,” Eve said crossly, forgetting her awe of the man, “is nothing more than blackmail, sir.”
“Yes!” Aubrey laughed. “Exactly. Shall we go?”
They drove off into the heart of London.
“Yes, I agree,” Aubrey said pleasantly after a while, as he steered his team around a corner. “London is enough to render anyone awestruck, not to mention dumbstruck.”
Eve turned her head to look at him from under the brim of her bonnet, and under her eyelashes, as though the sun was blinding her. She was blinded, in a way. She couldn’t look at the way the sunlight teased dark moonbeams from his hair, showed the texture of his perfect skin, and mostly, showed the sparkle deep in his eyes.
“I’m not awestruck by the City,” she said grudgingly. “Or dumbstruck. I’m accustomed to London. We always stay at our town house in Season. At least we have for the last several years. This isn’t my first Season, you know.”
“I do. More’s the luck for me,” he said fervently. “But you see, this is my first Season here in London in a long time. I’ve been living in Italy and touring the Continent whenever it’s not at war with itself.”
“Watch the road!” she said in alarm, as another coach came toward them from the other direction. She took a deep breath as he deftly moved their carriage to the side and looked at her, one brow lifted.
“I promise you I won’t spill us into a ditch.”
“It’s not that,” she said. “I’m quiet because I’m nervous. I’m thinking of how to say what I must say to you.”
“Say away,” he said. “I’m hard to offend.”
“Well, I don’t mean to offend you,” she said in a rush, “but none of this makes any sense. You offered for my hand. After two dances.”
“Yes. I’m a fellow who knows his mind,” he said mildly, as he steered into the park.
“All very well for you,” she said, staring at him directly. “But me? Please. Let us be realistic. I’m not vastly rich or titled. I’m certainly not a siren. I’m not spectacular in any fashion. I know my assets, and they are my mind. I mean, my brain. And at that, there are females who are smarter than I am as well. Mind, I’m not ugly. I do have my moments, and have had suitors, but why the most glittering fellow in the London social world should ask for my hand upon clapping eyes on me, I do not know. Nor does my father, or brother, and they really love me.
“Not glittering,” she corrected herself. “That’s tawdry. You’re not that. You glow. You know it too. Now, please, before we go on with this farce: why me, why this?”
She sat back, feeling lighter, and light-headed too. He’d slowed the horses as they went down a single lane through the park, and was staring at her. And she was staring back, enchanted.
It was his eyes, she thought. They had deep hidden depths; more rich chocolate than mere brown, with starry lighter brown striations that ringed their centers.
“Because,” he finally said, pulling up in the shade of an ancient tree. “Precisely because you are the only woman I know who would say such things about yourself.”
“Piffle,” she said, and wished she had the courage to say something stronger. “Hogwash,” she added.
“Because though you underrate your looks, they give me great pleasure,” he said, smiling. “Everything about you uplifts my spirits. Did you know your nose tilts up? Of course, I suppose you do. But did you know the bow of your lips tilts upward too? And your breasts, they also tilt provocatively…”
She gasped.
He fell still, but grinned.
She settled herself and gave him a gimlet-eyed stare. “Rot,” she said. “There are dozens of females with tilted eyes and noses and whatnot. Try again. You know,” she mused aloud, “the more you speak, the less enchanted I become.”
“And because of that,” he said.
She stared at him, crossing her arms over her chest. It was true. He no longer glowed. Not that he wasn’t still wondrous to look at, but her anger was working like the wind blowing away the morning mists.
He cocked his head to the side. “You don’t believe me?”
“Not by half. Look you, Mr. Ashford, you have your pick of women here in London, and I suspect in Paris and Rome and, and—in Zululand too, for all I know. Mind you, I may not be a great beauty, but I’m content with what I am. Still, I know I’m not the kind of a female a man like you would single out in a crowd. Or even a small gathering. No sense beating around the bush. I won’t be angry if you tell me the truth. Was it a wager? A test? Some kind of a jest? Whatever, tell me, and let’s be done with it.”
“You look wonderful when you growl,” he said.
Her eyes narrowed. She wanted to throw her parasol at him, the pointed end first. He laughed and put up a hand in surrender. “All right,” he said. “The truth is that I saw you, and you reminded me of someone I once knew.”
“Oh,” she said, growing quieter. “Someone you loved?”
“I was too young for that kind of love but, yes, I suppose, that’s it too.”
“Oh,” she said again. “A relative of mine? I don’t look much like my mother, as I recall. Or my father, for that matter. Maybe one of my cousins? I have distant cousins everywhere.”
“Not your mother, not a cousin. The lady I recall is long gone. But I can’t forget her. Do you mind?” he asked, watching her closely. “You look like the woman I was looking for. It’s true that I don’t know who you are. But tell me: how is a man to get to know a woman in your world if he doesn’t keep company with her? If we talk too long at a party or any kind of social occasion, the gossips will have it that we’re involved anyway. I can’t dance more than two dances with you. The only way to get to know you is to become engaged to you.”
She tilted her head to the side, a
gain, considering this. She held up one finger. “But what if I didn’t suit you, and I turned out to not be the kind of female you wanted?”
“Did you say yes to my offer?” he asked with amusement.
“No, I didn’t say anything. That’s why we’re driving out today, to talk and to meet each other. And as to that, I certainly don’t know if I will say yes,” she said, sitting up straighter.
“And so I thought. And so where’s the harm?” he asked, picking up the reins again.
“But what if I were the kind of woman who held you to your offer?” she insisted.
“I knew you weren’t,” he said.
“How?” she persisted.
“I have excellent judgment,” he said, sounding a little bored.
His sounding displeased grated on her ears, suddenly she wanted desperately to be in his good favor again. She mentally shook herself. It shouldn’t matter that the fellow had a magnificent profile, a magnetic personality, and a melodious voice. But it did.
Still, who was he? What did he want? Should she believe his faradiddle about her resembling the woman he was seeking?
“Let me tell you a little about myself,” he said.
And he did, as they drove round the park in the dappled sunlight. He told her about his estate in the countryside and made it sound beautiful and magical. He told her about his travels and made her laugh and sigh. He told her so much she had trouble taking it all in, and soon just sat, wide-eyed, charmed by his storytelling skill, lulled by his voice, pleased at the attention he was paying her, and slowly, but surely, wanting to move closer to him. She watched his wonderful face and found herself wanting to feel his breath in her ear, and feel the beating of his heart next to hers.
She knew what sexual attraction was, of course. She’d felt it for a stable boy when she was twelve, and a neighbor when she was thirteen, and Douglas McKenzie when she was sixteen. The stableboy had kissed her once, and that had been fine. Her neighbor had trapped her in the butler’s pantry one night when she’d been visiting, and pressed an openmouthed kiss on her. She’d kicked him and stalked away, and that was fine too, because he’d been married. And Douglas had kissed her several times, and then rode off to war, and had never come back. He hadn’t been killed, only married to a woman he’d met in Spain while recuperating from a war wound. It hadn’t broken her heart. She hadn’t been sure Douglas was good for much more than kissing. But she’d been very annoyed because he hadn’t come back to her.
Eve had felt twinges of yearning since. But once she was of marriageable age, she’d controlled her desires. Now a stolen kiss could lead to marriage, and she wanted to be entirely sure of the man she finally wed. So she’d learned to suppress desire, and found that it wasn’t that hard to do. Until now.
What could she make of Aubrey Ashford now? Except for the fact that so much as he lured her, she knew, deep down, that he was far too much for her, and she trusted nothing about him, from the top of his handsome head to his elegantly shod toes. Still, she couldn’t help thinking about what his kiss would be like. He had such a beautiful mouth, such elegant manners, such a strong warm body. And surely, when he kissed, he’d close those knowing eyes, and she’d be more comfortable, not worrying about the notion that he was looking into her very soul.
The very idea of kissing him both thrilled and frightened her. He was not for her, though he insisted he was. Such a man could never be faithful, would never be constant. But he was such a man!
From time to time she shook herself free of her fascination and asked him questions. She hardly listened to his answers.
But as time went by she felt the need to be her own creature intruding on her pleasure in his company, and began to feel foolish and childish because of the way he so totally seduced her senses.
She shook her head to clear it. She felt like she was struggling out of a long, warm, pleasant dream. “Lord!” she said. “You can tell a story! So here I am, sitting mumchance, listening like a babe in its cot being lulled to sleep. No wonder you’re so popular. I think you could have gone on the stage and made your fortune.”
“But I already have one,” he said mildly. “I told you about it, but you didn’t seem interested.”
She shrugged. “I’m happy for you that you’re not in need, but not only is asking about funds vulgar, in truth, it didn’t interest me. If we were going to be wed, I’d have to know. As for now, I don’t. You know,” she said, tipping her head to the side and considering him, “you’ve entertained me wonderfully well. But I can’t say I know one more thing about you than I did before we set out on this drive.”
“You are certainly not enchanted by me,” he said ruefully.
But she did feel easier with him. “Well,” she said, as a jest, “I do prefer blond gentlemen.”
He looked surprised for the first time since she’d met him.
She smiled. “If you can actually ask for a stranger’s hand in marriage because she reminds you of someone long gone and not find that odd, why should my preference in a fellow’s coloring be considered trivial?”
“Right,” he said with a crooked smile. “I’ll have my hair dyed instantly. Gold or silver? Which do you prefer?”
She laughed. “Neither. You are who you are. As I am who I am. If we are to continue seeing each other…are we, by the way?”
“I hope so,” he said.
“Then I’d like you to remember that I am myself, and not your lost lady.”
He nodded. “I shall. Believe me, I shall. Now. Another tour of the park? I think we just have time to miss the rain I see approaching from the west.”
“Yes,” she said, sitting back, feeling very pleased with herself.
She asked a few more questions, he told her some more tales. Whenever she looked at his face and he turned his head to look at her, she had to glance away. Because the longer the time she passed with him, the more she wanted to be closer to him. As they rounded the last street to her house, she realized that she couldn’t remember having a better time with a gentleman. She’d had a delightful morning with him. But she still didn’t know him.
“I know,” he said, as they drew up to the curb in front of her house. “I see it from your expression. Somehow, I’ve disappointed you.”
“I still don’t know you,” she said with a slight frown.
He laughed. He stood, gave the reins to the boy who was his tiger, jumped down from his high perch, came around and held out his hand to Eve to help her down. “Good. Now you’ll have to see me again. I may not know everything about you either, but I can easily see that curiosity is your besetting sin.”
She stood, took his hand, and looked down at him. She paused. “You think curiosity is a sin?”
His face sobered. “I don’t know what a sin is, exactly. I do know there are more than the seven deadly ones the priests go on about. But I’d wager my soul, if I have one, that curiosity isn’t one of them.”
She took his hand. “You don’t know if you have a soul?”
“A figure of speech,” he said, laughing. “Do I look like one of the undead? Or a devil?”
She stepped down and stood looking up at him, then said, “Undead? You must have been reading Monk Lewis or Mrs. Radcliffe’s gothic novels. But no, never undead. A devil?” She cocked her head to the side. “Perhaps.”
His smile was genuine. “Now that, my dear Eve, I can promise you I am not.”
“And so you are…?”
“Your devoted servant,” he said. His expression grew tender, and he took her hand in both of his. “Ah, Eve, what a courtship this will be. I’ll have to beguile you a dozen different ways. Because I very much fear if you saw how ordinary my ambitions are, I’d bore you. I want to marry you. I’m convinced you’re the woman for me.
“For some reason you don’t trust me. I aim to change that. And if I have to do it by telling nothing but the truth, so I will. But you will allow me to embroider it a bit, won’t you?”
She nodded, too busy thinking
about how warm and strong his hands felt as he grasped hers to come up with a quick witty answer.
“You will see me again?” he asked.
“You know that,” she said.
“But you won’t say you’ll marry me.”
She drew herself up, and took her hands from his. “No. I don’t know you,” she said. “And I’m not a fool. Marriage is forever.”
He hesitated, a faraway look in his eyes. “Nothing is forever. As close to forever is good enough for me.” He straightened. “Tomorrow evening then? I’ve an invitation to a ball.”
“I’m engaged for tomorrow night,” she said with real regret.
“Then the night after? I’ve been invited everywhere. We can go to a musicale. Decent musicians will be there. After that? There’s a ball in London every night this Season.”
“You can’t mean to see me every night?”
“I can,” he said. “And do. How else are we to know each other?”
“I don’t believe in rushing into anything,” she said, drawing back.
“Reasonable,” he said. “But how are you to get to know me? All right, if you have reservations, we can at least ride in the afternoons; and surely I can join you for tea, can I not?”
“Yes,” she said meekly.
He took a small notebook from his pocket. “And so what about a ball too? Say, a week from next Saturday evening? It might be even more amusing. You’ll have a week to get ready. You should know me even better by then. It’s a costume ball. Will you come with me?”
“Yes,” she said, bemused. “That does sound like fun. What will you dress as? Do you want me to match you?”
“Yes, I want you to match me,” he said, looking into her eyes. “But however you dress will be right for me. Because you are.”
She scowled. This was too much passion, too soon.
He nodded. “A misstep, yes. Too much, too soon. We’ll speak more about it as time goes on. Until tomorrow night then.”
He bowed, and left her at her door.
She looked after him as he strode back to his phaeton. She watched until he disappeared, still as wary as she was fascinated.