Evening Star (Star Quartet 1)

“I am not a girl, Mr. Arlington. I am forty-four years old.”

“Then you should be mortified, my dear. A lady of your advanced years standing in the middle of the street, her mind filled with daydreams.” She wanted to protest that there was rarely a daydream in her mind, but he was already pulling her toward the waiting brougham.

“Incidentally,” he said as he handed her up, “you may call me Damien. I’ve never been a ‘mister.”’

“Then what are you?”

“My dear girl, I am the gentleman who is taking you to lunch tomorrow.”

“Lunch?” Aurora repeated. He was a total stranger, and here he was calling her, Aurora Van Cleve, by her first name and ever so confidently settling her in his brougham.

“Yes, my dear, Should you like that?”

She should have told him that he was impertinent, but instead, she nodded. “Yes,” she said, “I should like that.”

“Excellent. I will come for you at precisely ten o’clock tomorrow morning.”

“Ten o’clock for lunch?”

He gazed at her, a black brow winging up in surprise. “Why, yes, Aurora. You see, my dear girl, my favorite restaurant, the Iron Horse, is in Windsor.” He lightly patted her hand, told his driver their direction, and settled back beside her.

“But I did not buy my bonnet,” she said, pointing helplessly toward Mademoiselle Blanchette’s shop.

Damien Arlington turned to smile at her. “We will buy any number of bonnets, after we return from Windsor tomorrow. I have excellent taste, you know.”

“But I don’t even know you.”

“We must begin to remedy that tomorrow at lunch, my dear. I am quite a respectable fellow, you need have no worry for your virtue or your reputation. I say, you aren’t thinking of bringing a chaperon, are you? That would be a deuced nuisance.”

“Her name is Faith,” Aurora said.

“I knew you were a clever minx.” Damien smiled and patted her hand again.

“Surely, sir,” Aurora said, “you have better things to do with your time than help me buy bonnets?”

“Well, of course,” he said, “but that must wait until we know each other a bit better.”

“I am not a a loose female, sir.”

His silver eyes glinted down at her. “Neither am I a loose gentleman, Aurora. Now hush, my dear. Although Ned is an excellent driver, I like to keep my eye on old Spartan here—he is not terribly fond of city traffic.”

Aurora settled back against the soft leather squabs, unable in any case to think of anything further to say to him.

When they arrived at Belgrave Square, she directed him to the Van Cleve mansion. It was on the tip of her tongue to inform this impossible man that she was occupied on the morrow, but his hands were suddenly strong about her waist, lifting her down to the flagway.

“How very beautiful you are, Aurora,” he said, his silver eyes locked on her upturned face. To her horror, Aurora blushed like a schoolgirl. He touched the tips of his long fingers to her cheek. “You go inside now, my dear, and rest. You are doubtless possessed of an exquisite calm, and I wish you to regain it.” He took her arm and walked with her to the deep steps at the front door.

“Until tomorrow morning, Aurora,” he said. He turned about and strode away from her, his step jaunty.

Aurora gazed after him. He waved to her as the brougham turned down the street, and without precisely deciding to, she raised her arm in answer.

“Madam,” Lanson said as she stepped into the entrance hall, “Miss Giana awaits you in the salon.”

Aurora murmured a faint thank-you to Lanson and passed into the drawing room.

“Mother,” Giana said, picking up the silver teapot, “we have time for a cup of tea before we meet Thomas and Drew. Mother?”

“Yes, love?”