accustomed to the gentleman’s gentle smiles and the teasing light in their eyes. There was nothing soft, or teasing about Geoffrey. He was as different from Alexander as the day sky was from the night.
Perhaps that explained the tug of unwarranted and unwanted interest in Lord Redbrooke…the gentleman who’d been quite clear in his intentions for her cousin, Beatrice. Beatrice, however, had been equally clear that she’d little interest in making a match with the viscount.
Silent pity filled her with the knowledge that Beatrice would never welcome his intentions.
Abigail shifted back and forth upon her feet. “You should return home.”
He arched a single, icy, wet brow. “Are you suggesting we not finish our walk?”
“Well, no. Not considering the state of…oh, you’re making light of me.”
Hmm. So it appeared, Geoffrey did have some degree of humor. Even if the firm set to his mouth and frown at the corners of his eyes suggested him incapable of cheerfulness.
Abigail studied the lace in her hands, and then looked up to find Geoffrey’s heated gaze trained upon the distracted movement of her fingers.
“You should leave, Miss Stone.”
She tilted her head back and leaned closed, whispering, “In light of last evening, and today, do you still believe we shouldn’t call one another by our Christian names?”
“It…”
She held her fingers up, so close to his mouth they might as well have been touching, so close, that the hot, seductive scent of brandy upon his breath fanned her skin. “…wouldn’t be proper,” she finished for him.
If they hadn’t been so close she might have failed to note the way his throat bobbed up and down, the first real indication that Lord Redbrooke, Geoffrey, was not as indifferent toward her, as he led her, and mayhap himself, to believe. But she was this close. And she saw it.
He yanked his stare to a point beyond her shoulder. “Madam, we are in public. And you are making a spectacle of you and me. If it hasn’t been clear to you before this point, I have launched a formal courtship of your cousin, with the intention of marriage to Lady Beatrice. Therefore any of this improper closeness and attention you are demonstrating is to cease immediately. Is that clear?”
Her stomach clenched at the pained reminder of his interest in Beatrice, and more than that…the clear condemnation in his eyes, that indicated he’d judged her and found her wanting. In that moment, she forgot about his rescue at Lord and Lady Hughes’s and his recovery of the scrap of lace given her by Lizzie. In that moment, she hated him for making her feel less than the gravel under his sopping boot. And more, she hated herself for having given away her virtue to Alexander Powers and proven this pompous lord correct.
“It is abundantly clear,” she said, when she trusted herself to speak. “Thank you for the lace, my lord. I bid you good day.”
Abigail remembered to dip a curtsy. The servant who’d been hovering discreetly in the distance rushed to keep up with Abigail. As she fled, Geoffrey’s heated gaze fairly scorched a hole upon her retreating frame.
A gentleman does not engage in common activities. Ever.
4 th Viscount Redbrooke
~9~
“My goodness, Geoffrey! Whatever have you done?” his mother screeched as Geoffrey sailed through the front doors of his townhouse, leaving a trail of puddles in his wake.
He stomped past her indignant frame and started up the stairs.
“Geoffrey!” she called, from the bottom step. He paused, and spun about so quickly he sent bits of water spraying. His mother gasped as water landed upon her cheek. She brushed it back as though he’d tossed a dead trout at her person.
He didn’t suspect Abigail Stone would be so shocked by the feel of water upon her skin. Quite the opposite, really. He imagined she’d embrace the cooling feel of it. All manner of wicked yearnings filled him, all of which involved Abigail Stone laid out upon satin sheets,
Perhaps that explained the tug of unwarranted and unwanted interest in Lord Redbrooke…the gentleman who’d been quite clear in his intentions for her cousin, Beatrice. Beatrice, however, had been equally clear that she’d little interest in making a match with the viscount.
Silent pity filled her with the knowledge that Beatrice would never welcome his intentions.
Abigail shifted back and forth upon her feet. “You should return home.”
He arched a single, icy, wet brow. “Are you suggesting we not finish our walk?”
“Well, no. Not considering the state of…oh, you’re making light of me.”
Hmm. So it appeared, Geoffrey did have some degree of humor. Even if the firm set to his mouth and frown at the corners of his eyes suggested him incapable of cheerfulness.
Abigail studied the lace in her hands, and then looked up to find Geoffrey’s heated gaze trained upon the distracted movement of her fingers.
“You should leave, Miss Stone.”
She tilted her head back and leaned closed, whispering, “In light of last evening, and today, do you still believe we shouldn’t call one another by our Christian names?”
“It…”
She held her fingers up, so close to his mouth they might as well have been touching, so close, that the hot, seductive scent of brandy upon his breath fanned her skin. “…wouldn’t be proper,” she finished for him.
If they hadn’t been so close she might have failed to note the way his throat bobbed up and down, the first real indication that Lord Redbrooke, Geoffrey, was not as indifferent toward her, as he led her, and mayhap himself, to believe. But she was this close. And she saw it.
He yanked his stare to a point beyond her shoulder. “Madam, we are in public. And you are making a spectacle of you and me. If it hasn’t been clear to you before this point, I have launched a formal courtship of your cousin, with the intention of marriage to Lady Beatrice. Therefore any of this improper closeness and attention you are demonstrating is to cease immediately. Is that clear?”
Her stomach clenched at the pained reminder of his interest in Beatrice, and more than that…the clear condemnation in his eyes, that indicated he’d judged her and found her wanting. In that moment, she forgot about his rescue at Lord and Lady Hughes’s and his recovery of the scrap of lace given her by Lizzie. In that moment, she hated him for making her feel less than the gravel under his sopping boot. And more, she hated herself for having given away her virtue to Alexander Powers and proven this pompous lord correct.
“It is abundantly clear,” she said, when she trusted herself to speak. “Thank you for the lace, my lord. I bid you good day.”
Abigail remembered to dip a curtsy. The servant who’d been hovering discreetly in the distance rushed to keep up with Abigail. As she fled, Geoffrey’s heated gaze fairly scorched a hole upon her retreating frame.
A gentleman does not engage in common activities. Ever.
4 th Viscount Redbrooke
~9~
“My goodness, Geoffrey! Whatever have you done?” his mother screeched as Geoffrey sailed through the front doors of his townhouse, leaving a trail of puddles in his wake.
He stomped past her indignant frame and started up the stairs.
“Geoffrey!” she called, from the bottom step. He paused, and spun about so quickly he sent bits of water spraying. His mother gasped as water landed upon her cheek. She brushed it back as though he’d tossed a dead trout at her person.
He didn’t suspect Abigail Stone would be so shocked by the feel of water upon her skin. Quite the opposite, really. He imagined she’d embrace the cooling feel of it. All manner of wicked yearnings filled him, all of which involved Abigail Stone laid out upon satin sheets,
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