Though Millie’s mother had loved her father despite his flaws, her father’s presence only ever inspired fear in his daughters. In public, the squire had been a celebrated and beloved Member of Parliament. In private, he had been critical and cruel to his wife, the aristocratic daughter of an earl, and their children. Millie suspected he resented them all for the by-birth connections they could not help, even as he used those connections for his own ends.
“I don’t know what we would have done, had you not taken us in,” Millie admitted.
Fondness softened Lady Asquith’s expression. “That’s all in the past, now, dear. You’ve your future to consider. If you’d just give the gentlemen of thetona chance, I think you’d find at least one young man you are able to tolerate as well as you tolerate my son.”
“Doubtful,” Millie muttered.
She sensed most men of the gentry were cut from the same cloth as her father; Asquith was the only one she saw as an exception.
For one, Asquith could ride almost as well as she could.Almost.Plus, he was a decent shot. And even after theguardianship of herself and her sisters had been transferred to him per his father’s will, he had never treated her as if she required his “superior” instruction.
Unlike Neville. Ever since Millie had arrived in London, criticism of her had become Neville’s favorite pastime.
But—she sighed—a marriage like she might have with Asquith, of solid mutual regard and completely free from romantic entanglement, was out of the question.
As Lady Asquith had suggested, marriage between guardian and ward was generally frowned upon. Worse still, Millie’s younger sister Lenora—presently concealing herself among Lady Jersey’s debutante bees and doing her best to appear as if she were having a good time—had long been hopelessly infatuated with Asquith.
If anyone deserved to break the guardian-ward rule, it would be Lenora.
Pity Asquith always kept a respectful distance from Millie’s sister. Except, of course, on a few notable occasions, like the time last summer when the three youngest Wainwrights had schemed to create a chance for Lenora to meet privately with Asquith.
Just as they’d planned, Lenora had lured Asquith into the Ravenswood yew maze. Unfortunately, Lenora had yet to tell Millie what had happened. Millie hadn’t asked, either. Not because she hadn’t wanted to know, but because she had her own reason to avoid questions about whoshe’dencountered in the maze that night.
Neville.
Again, she took in the little lordling’s profile—broad shoulders, dark hair, angled features, stern mouth. Of course, he was scowling.
These days, he was always scowling.
Candlelight picked up the sheen of his brushed coat as he reached out and touched the top of Blackwell’s closed fist. Then, he opened his hand and looked down, and his ears reddened.
What could those silly simpletons be doing? She shifted on her feet, hoping to get a clearer view. Had they been drawing lots as part of a wager?
Impossible. She could not imagine Neville doing anything so morally questionable asgambling.
At that moment, Neville turned. Their gazes locked, and a wave of heat licked upward from the valley between her hips straight into her cheeks, a startling connection that thrust her back into the twilight, back to last summer and to the very moment she’d vowed to forget.
Millie had only followed Neville into the maze to prevent him from interrupting Lenora’s secret meeting with Asquith. But then a giant, black raven had burst from the interior of a hedge, spreading wide, chillingly onyx wings. As the bird took flight, Millie had leapt away, and Neville had swiveled. Then, with a hideous thud, she’d landed against his chest.
Shestilldidn’t know why she hadn’t immediately pulled away.
She did recall, however, that Neville had smelled of leather, bergamot, and clove—an unexpectedly heady combination. And she remembered how his heat and scent had radiated from a compellingly solid form.
Right now, she didn’t have to ponder how those hints of heat and scent had made her feel, because the same warm and prickling sensation was springing from the same mysterious, internal place.
Lud.
She refused to relive another second of the disastrous encounter. Instead, she exaggerated her fanning motion, hopingthe increased flurry of air would dry the sheen cooling her temples.
Across the room, Neville set his lips in a firm line. And then, with grim determination, he began striding in her direction.
She stared in horrified fascination. He couldn’t mean to ask her to dance, could he?
Here? Now?Why?
Hadshebeen the bet’s subject?
Oh, Heavens!It would be just like those useless bucks to have been casting lots to decide who among them must sacrifice themselves to “rescue” her. None of them could conceive that an unattached young lady mightchoosenot to dance.