twinkled.
"All you need to do," he continued, "is smile and look up at him with those big brown eyes and he will be lost to you." He gave a rueful little laugh. "I guarantee it."
"Thank you, Adam." Her skin still tingled where he'd touched her. "I appreciate your advice, even though I know you do not approve of what I'm doing."
"I do not disapprove, my dear. If I said anything to the contrary the other night, you must blame it on the drink. You are entitled to your pleasure. But you must permit me to be provoked that I cannot be the one to share it with you." He flashed a wicked grin.
He was teasing, of course — he was always teasing — but she wished he would not. It only encouraged impossible fantasies.
"So, have you made your way through the list yet?"
"Almost," she said. "I have not yet seen Lord Aldershot this evening, but Sir Arthur and Mr. Gilchrist have been most attentive. Not to mention Lord Hopwood."
"Hopwood? I don't recall discussing him."
"We didn't. It was an impulse."
"Hmph. He is too old for you."
"Nonsense. Oh, and there was Mr. Fitzwilliam as well."
"Fitzwilliam? Egad, another impulse?"
"Yes, as a matter of fact. Just because I didn't think to put a man's name on my list does not mean I cannot consider him if I so choose."
"Fitzwilliam is too dreamy. The man always has his head in the clouds."
Marianne laughed. "Adam, you are hopeless. You think no one is suitable."
He leaned down and placed his lips so close to her ear she could feel his breath. "No one is good enough for you, my dear."
His breath and his words sent a shiver down her arms. Lord, how on earth did people survive in such a charged atmosphere? How had she lived almost thirty years without recognizing it all around her? This new self-conscious sexual sensitivity she'd felt all evening with every man who danced with her was even stronger around Adam. Had it been there all along, the whole time she'd known him, but she'd been too self-absorbed to notice?
* * *
"Got caught in parson's mousetrap, eh, Cazenove?"
Lord Ombersley guffawed loudly and slapped Adam on the back. If Adam heard that old chestnut one more time he'd be driven to violence. But it seemed every man at White's had to comment upon his betrothal.
"Pretty little thing, though," Ombersley said. "Should make a sweet armful, eh, what? No hardship in that duty, I'll wager."
His bawdy laughter was picked up by other gentlemen in the cardroom, and Adam was forced to endure more commiseration and backslapping as he made his way through. Clarissa's youth and beauty were much remarked upon, as though those were the only qualities that mattered in a wife. Of course, they had been his primary reasons for choosing her, so he should not be offended by that attitude. He was no different from the rest. He did have hopes, though, that there would eventually be a deeper connection between them. She was very young and their betrothal was still new, but Adam hoped the skittishness he often noted whenever he tried to kiss her or touch her would melt over time.
He finally extricated himself from the general bonhomie and made his way across the room. Before he reached the door and his escape, the words "Mrs. Nesbitt" rang in the air, followed by laughter. Adam turned to find Lord Aldershot among a group of men standing near the window. A genial, good-looking man, he was one of the few candidates whose name remained on Marianne's list. If the fellow was making sport of Marianne's name in public, by God, Adam would be sure he was struck from that list.
Adam accepted a glass of wine from a waiter and wandered casually toward the group.
"Ah, Cazenove," Sir Neville Kenyon said. "I understand we are to wish you happy. Miss Leighton-Blair, is it?"
"Yes, she has done me the honor of accepting my offer of marriage."
"Very pretty girl. Good family. Well done, old man."
After more talk of his betrothal, conversation moved on to an upcoming race at Newmarket. Adam managed to ease
"All you need to do," he continued, "is smile and look up at him with those big brown eyes and he will be lost to you." He gave a rueful little laugh. "I guarantee it."
"Thank you, Adam." Her skin still tingled where he'd touched her. "I appreciate your advice, even though I know you do not approve of what I'm doing."
"I do not disapprove, my dear. If I said anything to the contrary the other night, you must blame it on the drink. You are entitled to your pleasure. But you must permit me to be provoked that I cannot be the one to share it with you." He flashed a wicked grin.
He was teasing, of course — he was always teasing — but she wished he would not. It only encouraged impossible fantasies.
"So, have you made your way through the list yet?"
"Almost," she said. "I have not yet seen Lord Aldershot this evening, but Sir Arthur and Mr. Gilchrist have been most attentive. Not to mention Lord Hopwood."
"Hopwood? I don't recall discussing him."
"We didn't. It was an impulse."
"Hmph. He is too old for you."
"Nonsense. Oh, and there was Mr. Fitzwilliam as well."
"Fitzwilliam? Egad, another impulse?"
"Yes, as a matter of fact. Just because I didn't think to put a man's name on my list does not mean I cannot consider him if I so choose."
"Fitzwilliam is too dreamy. The man always has his head in the clouds."
Marianne laughed. "Adam, you are hopeless. You think no one is suitable."
He leaned down and placed his lips so close to her ear she could feel his breath. "No one is good enough for you, my dear."
His breath and his words sent a shiver down her arms. Lord, how on earth did people survive in such a charged atmosphere? How had she lived almost thirty years without recognizing it all around her? This new self-conscious sexual sensitivity she'd felt all evening with every man who danced with her was even stronger around Adam. Had it been there all along, the whole time she'd known him, but she'd been too self-absorbed to notice?
* * *
"Got caught in parson's mousetrap, eh, Cazenove?"
Lord Ombersley guffawed loudly and slapped Adam on the back. If Adam heard that old chestnut one more time he'd be driven to violence. But it seemed every man at White's had to comment upon his betrothal.
"Pretty little thing, though," Ombersley said. "Should make a sweet armful, eh, what? No hardship in that duty, I'll wager."
His bawdy laughter was picked up by other gentlemen in the cardroom, and Adam was forced to endure more commiseration and backslapping as he made his way through. Clarissa's youth and beauty were much remarked upon, as though those were the only qualities that mattered in a wife. Of course, they had been his primary reasons for choosing her, so he should not be offended by that attitude. He was no different from the rest. He did have hopes, though, that there would eventually be a deeper connection between them. She was very young and their betrothal was still new, but Adam hoped the skittishness he often noted whenever he tried to kiss her or touch her would melt over time.
He finally extricated himself from the general bonhomie and made his way across the room. Before he reached the door and his escape, the words "Mrs. Nesbitt" rang in the air, followed by laughter. Adam turned to find Lord Aldershot among a group of men standing near the window. A genial, good-looking man, he was one of the few candidates whose name remained on Marianne's list. If the fellow was making sport of Marianne's name in public, by God, Adam would be sure he was struck from that list.
Adam accepted a glass of wine from a waiter and wandered casually toward the group.
"Ah, Cazenove," Sir Neville Kenyon said. "I understand we are to wish you happy. Miss Leighton-Blair, is it?"
"Yes, she has done me the honor of accepting my offer of marriage."
"Very pretty girl. Good family. Well done, old man."
After more talk of his betrothal, conversation moved on to an upcoming race at Newmarket. Adam managed to ease
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