Our Wicked Mistake by Emma Wildes Page B

eager for her favor had a lot of options. She didn’t have to settle for illicit pas sion with a man who had no intention of doing more than offer transient pleasure.
    He wished he could, he realized as he stood there in the semigloom, just watching her sleep, his throat curi ously tight.
    He very much wished he could.
    And that was a disturbing revelation.

Chapter Nine

     
     
     
    H er brother might have shaved and changed his clothes, but Elizabeth wasn’t fooled when Luke strolled into the sunny breakfast room. She was a light sleeper and she’d heard him come in just as the first streaks of light touched the horizon. Her suite of rooms was opposite his, and she had most definitely heard the sleepy voice of his valet and his answer, and then the closing of the door. It was now midmorning, but if he’d slept more than a few hours she’d be surprised.
    “You look cheerful for someone who was out carousing all night,” she observed in a dry tone, since it was just the two of them. Miles had risen early to meet with solicitors and bankers over his precious shipping company. Uncle Chas and Aunt Gloria had returned to the country estate in Berkshire, and their mother rarely rose before noon.
    Arched brows rose, clear amusement in his eyes, as he chose a seat opposite. “I wasn’t aware my arrivals and departures were so closely monitored.”
    She passed him the rack of toast. “You left the Masterses’ gathering quite early but didn’t come home. Miles said you weren’t at your club either.” Elizabeth studied him openly. He did look somewhat tired, but not quite as . . . distant. Or abstracted might be the right word. No, that wasn’t right either. He didn’t look as shuttered . That fit better.
    A window had opened somewhere, and she was curious as to how and, more importantly, by whom , though she had a fair idea.
    “Ah, your spies are everywhere, I see.” He helped himself to the rasher of sausages, and a footman unobtrusively brought in a fresh, steaming platter of eggs. “Unfortunately for you, London is a rather large city. I could have been anywhere. Perhaps you could hire a Bow Street runner to investigate my absences.”
    “Very amusing. And I am not spying on you. Count it as sisterly concern.”
    “Elizabeth, I survived a war. I think I am capable of managing my own life, thank you.” He stirred sugar into his coffee. “I’m your guardian, not the opposite.”
    “ Did you survive it?” She said the words quietly. “You are quite different from when you left.”
    “I imagine all soldiers are.” He carefully set aside his spoon. “You were a child when I joined Wellington on the Peninsula. I was younger then too, and, yes, I think enduring a bloody war would change anyone.”
    “I’d like to see you happy again.” She paused delicately. “Did Lady Brewer inspire that particular smile you wore when you strolled in here?”
    “I was afraid there would be gossip,” he muttered and shook his head. “If anyone noted, she left alone in her own carriage.”
    It was interesting he hadn’t answered her question. “She’s very beautiful,” Elizabeth murmured as casually as possible. “I assume you’ve noticed.”
    “I am still breathing, I believe. Yes, I’ve noticed. Can we change the subject? For instance, can you tell me why Lord Fawcett sent me a missive requesting an audience this afternoon?”
    It was her turn to be discomforted. She concentrated on smearing marmalade on her toast. “He’s been very attentive.”
    “Yes,” her older brother confirmed dryly. “The fragrance of roses has become rather cloying lately if one passes the drawing room. Your feelings on his lordship, should he wish to offer a proposal?”
    She wasn’t sure. The marquess was charming and handsome enough, she supposed, and she’d never heard rumors that indicated he was a scoundrel or gambled and drank excessively. Of the eligible bachelors openly looking for wives this season, he was certainly