How to Marry an Earl (A Cinderella Society 1)

Joseph gulped. “Yes, my lady.”

“Have you seen anyone else?” she asked, watching him as carefully as Conall had watched her. “Anyone at all?”

“No, my lady.”

Irritation hummed through her at being denied her prey. A feeling she had every intention of sharing with Conall. He would not have his quarry this night. “The duke sent you with the cart, I presume?” she asked Joseph. He nodded. “Oh, good. Because I do feel rather…faint.”

She’d never fainted before. Was she supposed to go rigid and tip over? She didn’t want to hit her head. And he might need Conall’s help carrying her down the stairs which would defeat the purpose. Better to droop, like a tulip in a dry vase. She fluttered her eyelashes, feeling foolish. Joseph darted forward to help support her. “I’ll take you home straightaway, my lady.”

“Thank you.” She only just remembered to take her voice breathy, instead of the usual brisk tone her Grandmaman scolded her over. She shot Conall a glance over her shoulder. “I am certain Lord Northwyck would be more than willing to stay with the exhibit until your return. Just to be safe.”

He watched her, frustrated, but also reluctantly faintly amused, as though she’d impressed him despite himself. “Of course.”

Persephone slid fromthe cart before Joseph could clamber down to help her. The birds were starting to sing in the hedgerows and the light had changed, turning misty and pink. “Thank you, I’m much better!” she announced.

“Shall I see you to the door?”

“No need,” she assured him, “And Lord Northwyck is waiting for you.”

“If you’re sure, my lady.”

She nodded and stood there smiling politely like a ninny until he finally drove the cart away, the horse nickering softly. She hoped no one had heard the clomp of hooves or squeaking of wooden wheels. She would be sunk if the butler opened the front door and found her there. Pretending to take a morning walk in the gardens was one thing, being escorted home in a pony cart was another.

She went round the side of the house and the dew was chilly as it soaked into the hem of her dress. She eased through the prickly rose bushes and back through the window she’d left open. She would murder for a cup of tea, but she knew that Conall would hurry back as soon as he could and would demand to speak to her if she wasn’t already safely ensconced in her chamber. No tea and none of the crumpets she could smell baking. The kitchen staff was well into their work with the sun easing above the horizon.

She darted upstairs and closed her door softly behind her. She couldn’t avoid him forever, but she’d take a few hours to sort through her thoughts. She couldn’t ignore the feelings he’d stirred in her either: desire, need, and an unfurling heat she had never felt before, even during her ruination. She might not be able to ignore them, but it didn’t mean she had to give them credence. Or feed them in any way. Even if she could still recall the feel of his warm hands on her. And might always.

She certainly still recalled the duke’s house being haunted by his violin. The music trailed from room to room, down the long hallways, sneaking into corners. But mostly he liked to play in the bluebell woods with birds and caterpillars for an audience. He’d been shy, calm. She still didn’t entirely understand the Conall who danced a waltz and flirted over champagne flutes. The Conall who stood in the darkness of an abandoned assembly hall with burning. The one from this morning was a new version altogether.

She watched him now stride up the laneway, white gravel crunching under his boots. His hands were in his pockets, his brow furrowed, his dark hair tumbling over one eye. He was already unfairly beautiful and the way he moved was unlike any other gentleman she had ever known; he didn’t take small steps, didn’t let his posture droop as though he were a delicate flower full of ennui. And he didn’t stomp to show his strength. Everything about him was leashed, graceful, dangerous.

He looked up then, and it was as if he could see her there, watching him. She stepped back, a warm shiver dancing up her thighs. She heard the front door open and not long after, his footsteps approaching down the hall. She held her breath. For some reason, she had to fight the urge to wrench the door open. She tucked her hands behind her.

His steps paused outside her door, and then finally, finally, he walked away.

If she was warm, it was only because she was overtired.

Overset.

She’d suffered a setback and then been accosted in the dark gallery, after all.

Deliciously accosted.

Percy, stop it.

Overset. That was it. Clearly.

Never mind that she had never been overset a day in her life.

Persephone’s grandmother casta critical eye over her as they descended to breakfast. “That shade of blue is not all the thing, Percy,” she said. “You need an under-eye treatment. A lemon and egg white mixture perhaps.”

“I woke too early, that’s all,” Persephone replied, fighting a twinge of vanity. What did she care if she didn’t look her best? The house party didn’t care and Conall was clearly using her company to some other purpose.

Only Henry mattered.

She had every intention of heading straight back to the Druid’s Sickle assembly hall to sort through the crates and then onto the duke’s, but her grandmother accosted her on the lading and would not be gainsaid. As skipping breakfast would only slow her down when hunger befuddled her, Persephone allowed herself to be dragged along. Holly met them at the bottom of the stairs, her cheeks red. Raspberry jam was smeared over the neckline of her white dress.

“Oh dear,” Lady Blackwell tutted. “Never mind, dear. Your maid will be able to get that out before the stain sets.”