One Whisper Away by Emma Wildes Page A

cautiously. “It is my true home. I realize I’ve inherited my father’s title, but England is not where I was raised, after all.”
    “Why weren’t you?”
    The forthright question took him by surprise, but then again, at least she was interested enough to ask. Jonathan shrugged. “I was not quite two years of age when my mother died. My father didn’t want me reared by nannies and governesses and tutors. He also wanted me to appreciate my heritage, and that would never happen in England. My mother’s younger sister wanted me, and once he remarried, his new wife did not. He divided his time between his two families.”
    And having experienced the sting of rejection on that level, he vowed that Adela would not.
    Ever.
    “I understand.” Cecily glanced down at her clasped hands. “I was also very young when my mother died. We have a lot in common.”
    A half-breed with an illegitimate daughter and a beautiful debutante who was the darling of the ton ? He almost laughed, but stopped himself. It was odd, but he thought she seemed sincere. Then again, maybe he was blinded by her graceful, tempting form and those topaz eyes. That susceptibility was what had him in such a tenuous position in the first place. A respectable earl should not abscond with a young lady during the middle of a ball , he reminded himself; though respectability was a new concept. He had his own set of morals, of course, but his way of thinking did not adhere to the English system that applied to polite society.
    If he didn’t put too fine a point on it, he’d reacted in a visceral fashion when she approached him, not a logical one, and that was the power of just the touch of her gloved hand on his arm. He was not the one in charge, and it bothered him. He said in a level tone, “Thank you for the empathy, but I am still unclear as to why we are having this discussion.”
    She nodded as if the answer was what she wanted. “You are very eligible, my lord.”
    Jonathan had absolutely no answer for that frank declaration. He finally managed, “I don’t think so.”
    “You are an earl.”
    To that he was able to give a brief nod. Whether he wanted to be or not, that was true. It wasn’t that he was unaware that his title and fortune made some ladies of the ton overlook his mixed blood. He just had had no idea that Lady Cecily thought along those lines.
    “So,” the young lady across from him said as if addressing a courtroom, “I assume you must be under a great deal of duress to choose a wife? My brother is a ducal heir and a marquess, and I know he is being pressured already to find a suitable young lady and produce a son.”
    Not that Jonathan would mind going through the process required to conceive a child with the delectable woman currently racketing about the streets of London with him, but he had to admit he was unsettled by her matter-of-fact approach to what seemed to be a very outrageous proposal so far. He found his voice. “I am afraid I don’t waste a lot of time worrying over other people’s expectations of me, my lady.”
    “No.” Her smile was faint and trembled a little. “I would guess you do not. But, still, hear me out, if you will, my lord.”
    “I admit I am fascinated by this conversation. It would be difficult to tear me away. Go on.”
    The carriage took a corner and she braced her hand on the seat. Jonathan did his best to ignore the subtle sway of her breasts under the bodice of her fashionable gown, but he didn’t succeed very well.
    “Is it possible we could invent an engagement and benefit both of us by having our families retreat in their quest to marry us off?” She added quietly, “This is very important to me.”
    Who knows what he might have said, but at that moment there was a horrible crack, the vehicle lurched sideways, and in an unconscious reaction, he lunged forward, caught her, and enfolded her in his arms before the carriage listed to its side and nearly toppled over.

Chapter 8
    E leanor