The Earl She Despised (London Season Matchmaker 3)

And then, an image of Miss Wells thrust itself into his memory with such sharpness that he caught his breath. His heart began to pound furiously, a trickle of sweat running down his back as he tried to regain his composure. What was it about Miss Wells that continued to plague him? Why had he thought of her at the very moment he told himself he did not wish to seek a wife?

“Lord Weston?”

Lady Reid’s tone was a trifle angry now, clearly irritated with his manner.

“Your beauty takes my breath from me, Lady Reid,” he croaked, pulling out his handkerchief and dabbing lightly at his brow. “I am overcome.” It was a foolish excuse and one that he knew she would not believe, but it was all he could say. Fully aware that he was making a cake of himself, Thomas stuffed his handkerchief back into his pocket and cleared his throat, doing his utmost to rid his mind of any thought of Miss Wells. He was here with Lady Reid, and therefore she should be the sole object of his consideration.

“Perhaps we might stop for a few minutes,” Lady Reid said, her tone suggesting that he would be best to do as she asked. “Look, there is Lord Gladstone and Lord and Lady Phillips.”

Thomas murmured his assent and stepped from the path to lead Lady Reid over to the three acquaintances, only for his eye to catch sight of someone else entirely. Someone who had their gaze fixed upon him, so as not to miss even a single moment.

Miss Wells.

“If you will excuse me for a few moments, I have just seen someone that I wish to speak to most urgently,” Thomas said suddenly, unable to resist the urge to go out after Miss Wells and speak to her about what had occurred the night of the ball. For some reason, he had a deep urgency to explain to her that he had not meant to suggest that he had wanted to further his acquaintance with Lady Reid, even though, he realized, as he hurried towards her, that it appeared that this was now precisely what he was doing. Most likely, Miss Wells would simply turn away from him and retreat before he even had the opportunity to speak to her.

Much to his surprise, Miss Wells did no such thing. Instead, she remained precisely where she was, standing close to her mother who was in conversation with someone Thomas did not recognize.

“Miss Wells.” He bowed deeply, feeling her eyes lingering on him as she bobbed a quick curtsy.

“Lord Weston,” she murmured, no smile on her face nor a look of disdain. “You are out walking with Lady Reid this afternoon I see. Are you having a pleasant walk?”

He did not know what to say, looking down into her pale face and wondering why he found himself at such a loss when he did not feel such a way with any other lady of his acquaintance. Was he embarrassed that he had been seen by her walking with Lady Reid? He had no need to feel such mortification—surely!

“You seem a little at a loss for words, Lord Weston.” A slight tinge of pink had come to Miss Wells cheeks, her eyes flicking from his face to his shoulder and back again. “Perhaps it is I who ought to speak first.”

Thomas tried to smile, tried to say that there was no need for such a strain between them, but Miss Wells had begun to speak again before he had the chance to say a word.

“I must apologize for my sharpness with you at the ball, Lord Weston,” she said, her words coming out in a torrent, still unable to keep her eyes fixed to his. “I believe that I misunderstood what you were saying and, as such, made the mistake of insulting you in a most improper fashion.” She swallowed hard, pressing her lips together for a moment. “Forgive my foolishness, Lord Weston.”

Thomas did not know what to say. He was astonished not only at her honesty but what it was that she said. A flood of questions rushed into his mind, but he could say nothing, his mouth opening and then closing again.

“After all that has occurred between us thus far, Lord Weston,” Miss Wells continued, her voice somewhat tremulous as she attempted to speak with the same openness with which she had begun, “I cannot imagine what you must think of me. I spoke to you with the very same rudeness of manner for which I berated you. You must truly think me ridiculous.”

“Not ridiculous, Miss Wells,” Thomas murmured, finding something quite lovely about her current manner. The vulnerability she displayed spoke to him in a way that nothing had before, making his heart soften. It was a most unexpected sensation and one that he allowed to penetrate through his whole being. A genuine smile of appreciation spread across his face as he looked back at her, seeing the question in her eyes and finding himself eager to answer it. “You have nothing to concern yourself with, Miss Wells,” he continued, aware of how she seemed to relax in front of him. “I can well understand why you thought I referred to Lady Reid—for my character fully deserves such consideration. I have not been the gentleman that I have been expected to be.”

He blinked, astonished that such words had come from his own mouth, and not only that, but that they had been said to Miss Wells, who was now looking at him in surprise. Sand filled his mouth. Why had he said such a thing? There was no denying that he had fallen far short of the standards set for gentlemen of the ton and certainly in terms of what his father expected, but that had never concerned him before. Why had he admitted such a thing to Miss Wells? Was it because he somehow wanted her to believe that he was a gentleman seeking to change? It would, he supposed, make her more inclined towards him, and therefore give him better opportunity to win his wager. From that particular perspective, it was perhaps a good thing to have said.

“You surprise me greatly, Lord Weston,” Miss Wells replied, after some moments of silence had passed between them. “I had not expected you to be so honest with me.”

“You lead by example, Miss Wells,” he replied, trying to convince himself that he had said such a thing simply to further his own opportunities with Miss Wells and not for any other reason. “Might I say that this conversation has brought a great rest to my heart. Thank you for your openness. It has encouraged me to do so also.”

Miss Wells smiled and, for the first time since they had been introduced, Thomas saw a softness in her expression. He wanted to cling onto the moment, to hold it close to him so it would not pass him by with the swiftness that he knew would take it from him. It was a strange desire indeed, but Thomas did not allow his mind to question it. It was too beautiful to throw aside.

“I do hope you enjoy the rest of your walk with Lady Reid,” Miss Wells said, looking at something behind him, her smile beginning to disappear. “I should allow you to return to her, of course.”

Before she could turn away and without having had prior intention to do so, Thomas stepped forward and grasped her hand. He did so with such swiftness that Miss Wells caught her breath; her gasp audible. It was only for a moment, for he could not be seen to do such a thing in public, but it was enough to grasp her attention.

“Might I be permitted to walk with you, Miss Wells, one afternoon?” he asked urgently. “Might I call upon you with my carriage?”

Miss Wells’ eyes flared for a moment, her light green eyes seeming to darken to emeralds. Thomas felt his heart quicken, his hands clenching into fists as he waited for her to reply. There was a desperate hope in his heart that she would accept him, almost praying that she would do so in order that his pursuit of her might begin.

“I-I think….” Miss Wells trailed off, biting her lip, and Thomas could not help but close his eyes, waiting for what he feared was now her inevitable refusal.

“If you wish to, Lord Weston, then I would be glad to accept you.”

His eyes opened at once, staring at her as astonishment flooded him.

“I should like to very much,” he stammered, feeling vastly unlike the confident, suave gentleman he knew himself to be. “Thank you for your kindness, Miss Wells.”