with relief that Jordan had had the foresight to spin the key in the lock the prior evening.
“I’m not dressed.”
“For pity’s sake. It’s after nine. Get up before I tell Mother.”
“What do you want?”
“I’m going for a ride in the carriage. Lord Redvers was supposed to accompany me, but he’s nowhere to be found. Will you come with me instead?”
“Yes.”
“When, exactly, will you drag yourself downstairs?”
“I’m getting up this very second. I’ll be down in the foyer in ten minutes.”
“You’d better not keep me waiting any longer than that!”
“I won’t. I promise.”
She stomped off, and as her strides faded, the intimacy between them had been shattered.
“I should go,” he said.
He slid to the floor, seeming unaffected by their near discovery.
He tugged on his shirt, his boots, then he glanced in her mirror and ran a hand through his hair. With that minimal adjustment, he looked completely put together, providing no discernible evidence that he’d just debauched her.
Coolly, he assessed her, then he leaned over and kissed her hard and fast on the mouth.
“We shouldn’t be doing this,” Mary advised as he drew away.
“Why not?”
“We’ll be caught. You know we will.”
“Oh, don’t worry about her,” he scoffed as if Felicity was of no account whatsoever. “I’ll stop by again tonight. After everyone is abed. What time is best?”
“Jordan!” she protested. “Will you listen to me?”
“How about midnight? Don’t lock your door. I’d hate to have to kick it down.”
He walked over, peeked into the hall, and sneaked away.
Chapter 8
“HELLO, Mrs. Stewart. I thought I might find you here.”
Without waiting for an invitation to sit, Paxton pulled up a chair.
“Hello, Mr. Adair.”
“Were you suffering from insomnia again? Or were you loitering in the hopes that I’d join you?”
“I couldn’t sleep, Mr. Adair. You had nothing to do with my decision.”
“I’d be delighted if you would call me Paxton.”
“If I referred to you by your Christian name, it would indicate a heightened regard.”
“Yes, it would. What keeps you up? Bad dreams? Bad memories?” She glared, but didn’t answer, and he added, “I’ve heard all about your husband. If I’d been married to him, I wouldn’t be able to sleep, either.”
The remark brought a ghost of a smile to her pretty lips. She wasn’t immune to his many charms—no woman was— and eventually, he would seduce her. He was too much of a cad not to.
She was holding a deck of cards, and he took it from her. He shuffled, then dealt a single card, facedown, one to her and one to himself.
“Let’s play,” he said.
“I’d rather not.”
“You wouldn’t? You’d rather mope in the quiet and the dark?”
He went to the sideboard and poured two brandies. She accepted hers without complaint, keeping an eye on him as if he was a wild animal that might bite.
He extracted a cheroot from his pocket. “Do you mind if I smoke?”
“No.”
He touched it to the flickering candle, and she was particularly focused on the glowing tip. He offered it to her.
“Would you like a taste?”
“You won’t be shocked?”
“I’m un shockable.”
“Thank you.”
She reached for it and puffed away, and she appeared so comfortable that it couldn’t have been the first occasion she’d indulged. He imagined her passing the long hours of the night, lost in rumination, alone, depressed.
Oddly, he was saddened to think of her being so tormented, and he actually wished she’d confide in him, that he might have a chance to ease her woe.
His relationships with women were always fleeting. He had few attachments, and he viewed life as a grand lark where he expected—at the end—he’d feel he’d lived extravagantly and well.
If he behaved despicably toward her, it would be typical conduct for him. But if he was kind—if he was a friend—now that would be peculiar.
“Let’s play,” he said
“I’m not dressed.”
“For pity’s sake. It’s after nine. Get up before I tell Mother.”
“What do you want?”
“I’m going for a ride in the carriage. Lord Redvers was supposed to accompany me, but he’s nowhere to be found. Will you come with me instead?”
“Yes.”
“When, exactly, will you drag yourself downstairs?”
“I’m getting up this very second. I’ll be down in the foyer in ten minutes.”
“You’d better not keep me waiting any longer than that!”
“I won’t. I promise.”
She stomped off, and as her strides faded, the intimacy between them had been shattered.
“I should go,” he said.
He slid to the floor, seeming unaffected by their near discovery.
He tugged on his shirt, his boots, then he glanced in her mirror and ran a hand through his hair. With that minimal adjustment, he looked completely put together, providing no discernible evidence that he’d just debauched her.
Coolly, he assessed her, then he leaned over and kissed her hard and fast on the mouth.
“We shouldn’t be doing this,” Mary advised as he drew away.
“Why not?”
“We’ll be caught. You know we will.”
“Oh, don’t worry about her,” he scoffed as if Felicity was of no account whatsoever. “I’ll stop by again tonight. After everyone is abed. What time is best?”
“Jordan!” she protested. “Will you listen to me?”
“How about midnight? Don’t lock your door. I’d hate to have to kick it down.”
He walked over, peeked into the hall, and sneaked away.
Chapter 8
“HELLO, Mrs. Stewart. I thought I might find you here.”
Without waiting for an invitation to sit, Paxton pulled up a chair.
“Hello, Mr. Adair.”
“Were you suffering from insomnia again? Or were you loitering in the hopes that I’d join you?”
“I couldn’t sleep, Mr. Adair. You had nothing to do with my decision.”
“I’d be delighted if you would call me Paxton.”
“If I referred to you by your Christian name, it would indicate a heightened regard.”
“Yes, it would. What keeps you up? Bad dreams? Bad memories?” She glared, but didn’t answer, and he added, “I’ve heard all about your husband. If I’d been married to him, I wouldn’t be able to sleep, either.”
The remark brought a ghost of a smile to her pretty lips. She wasn’t immune to his many charms—no woman was— and eventually, he would seduce her. He was too much of a cad not to.
She was holding a deck of cards, and he took it from her. He shuffled, then dealt a single card, facedown, one to her and one to himself.
“Let’s play,” he said.
“I’d rather not.”
“You wouldn’t? You’d rather mope in the quiet and the dark?”
He went to the sideboard and poured two brandies. She accepted hers without complaint, keeping an eye on him as if he was a wild animal that might bite.
He extracted a cheroot from his pocket. “Do you mind if I smoke?”
“No.”
He touched it to the flickering candle, and she was particularly focused on the glowing tip. He offered it to her.
“Would you like a taste?”
“You won’t be shocked?”
“I’m un shockable.”
“Thank you.”
She reached for it and puffed away, and she appeared so comfortable that it couldn’t have been the first occasion she’d indulged. He imagined her passing the long hours of the night, lost in rumination, alone, depressed.
Oddly, he was saddened to think of her being so tormented, and he actually wished she’d confide in him, that he might have a chance to ease her woe.
His relationships with women were always fleeting. He had few attachments, and he viewed life as a grand lark where he expected—at the end—he’d feel he’d lived extravagantly and well.
If he behaved despicably toward her, it would be typical conduct for him. But if he was kind—if he was a friend—now that would be peculiar.
“Let’s play,” he said
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