“Lady Gwen?” he pressed. “Do you want to end now?”
She frowned at him. “I still need to work on the pots to carry the flowers from Lincolnshire,” she said, telling him that she was not nearly as flustered as he was. Her mind had gone straight back to work, which was almost insulting. Could she dismiss his kiss that easily? He’d just trifled with her! She should be furious with him and not thinking about any damned flowerpots. “Could you call on me tomorrow? I should like to discuss them with you.”
“Of course. Just after luncheon, if that would be acceptable.”
“Yes, erp—” Her maid shoved a bonnet on Lady Gwen’s head and was tying the ribbons with furious movements. “Stop, stop!” she huffed at the woman. She grabbed hold of the ribbons and stepped back from her maid, but her eyes remained on him. “Tomorrow then, my lord. We have much to discuss.”
“I shall be prompt,” he said as he bowed to her. By the time he straightened up, she was already out the door and all he could see was the maid as she pushed Lady Gwen toward a waiting carriage. Behind him, the shopgirls and Madame Juliette sniffed loudly—again—then turned their backs on him.
He deserved that. He deserved all of that and more. And yet, he couldn’t resist whistling as he gathered up his coat and headed for the door. Lady Gwen’s color had been very high, and she had looked spectacularly beautiful. Perhaps he had just found a way to make her re-introduction into society even more incredible.
A well-timed kiss before she entered a ballroom, perhaps. Or a scandalous whisper into her ear. If she hadn’t been offended today, then she would probably allow it then. And maybe even a bit more.
The idea was intriguing and the graphic images in his mind matched the pounding hunger in his blood. But he was not a man ruled by his passions. He used them judiciously. Carefully. And in this case, scandalously, if it meant that Lady Gwen would present his flower to thetonin the most spectacular way possible.
Chapter Ten
Gwen made ithome late for something her mother had scheduled. It didn’t matter. She barely even waved at her sister before collapsing onto her bed, her clothes still on. She’d been taking off and putting on clothing far too much for one day, she would not do it again. Besides, she was exhausted. Also exhilarated, which was something she never experienced except in the throes of some new scientific passion.
She’d felt this way with her first microscope so many years ago. She spent every moment of the next month putting things on slides so she could look at them under magnification. She fell asleep next to it most nights, much to her nanny’s consternation.
She’d felt this way when she first thought of her formula against sheep lice. She spent weeks that summer mixing and testing her creation. Butterflies captured her attention next. That was her nod to the traditionally beautiful creatures that all girls loved. She studied the process of making a cocoon and spent months trying to create a synthetic thread as strong. She’d failed in that, though she still held out hope that someday she’d figure it out.
She’d felt this particular exhilarated exhaustion many times in her twenty-eight years, but never, ever had it happened because a man kissed her.
She was just closing her eyes, determined to examine this bizarre aberration in her person when her bedroom door burst open and ended all thought of peaceful reflection.
“He kissed you and changed your dresses? What have you done?”
Her mother was out of breath and yet still able to be unfortunately loud. Instead of responding, Gwen shot an accusing glance at her maid. The woman sniffed loudly as she straightened her spine.
“He should not have done that,” Webster said firmly. “It was my duty to tell your mother.”
Gwen pursed her lips. “I am of age,” she said sternly. “On the shelf,” she shot at her mother. “There is no need to tell anyone about anything I do as it is not—”
“Do not cut up at Webster,” her mother interrupted. Then she settled down on the edge of the bed as if they were the best of friends. But they had never had comfortable cozes together, and they would not start now. Gwen was about to tell her mother exactly that when Lilah drifted forward.
“Gwen, dear, we’re just terribly confused. Did Lord Sayres attack you?”
There was true concern in her sister’s voice, which was ridiculous. “Of course not!” Gwen said. “And any suggestion to the contrary is a blatant lie.” She shot Webster a glare. In response, the woman curtsied with all appearance of respect, then left the room to no doubt regale everyone belowstairs with the tale.
“But did he kiss you?” her mother pressed, and Gwen had to sit up at the note of hope in the woman’s voice.
“It was a mistake,” she said as she studied her mother’s face. “He apologized immediately afterwards.”
“A mistake?” her mother scoffed. “Did he trip and fall on your lips? It’s just as Isabelle said. He’s a libertine and he’s taking advantage of your naivete.”
“He did nothing of the sort!” Gwen retorted. “He’s not a libertine and he didn’t trip. It was…we were celebrating. We’d been there for so long and there is so much more to do, but he said we should celebrate, and he spun me in a circle.”
No one spoke for a moment, and Gwen realized that she’d done it again. She’d completely botched a simple explanation and now they were going to start pecking at her again. Typically, mother went first.
“And did he trip when he was spinning you around?”
“No one tripped,” Gwen said miserably. How could they take a beautiful moment and make it sound so sordid?
“You mustn’t go meeting men at your dressmaker’s. And definitely not such an unseemly hour.”
“It was half past four.”