How to Marry a Marquess (Wedded by Scandal 3)
He glanced down. “I’ve seen you casting up your accounts. Under the current circumstances, I believe we have gone past the bloody need for strict formality.”
Her eyes widened, and she retreated a few steps. At least she hadn’t swooned or dissolved into a fit of hysterics at his lack of subtlety. He sent a swift prayer to the heavens for small mercies. “Will you permit me your name?”
She scowled and remained muted. Apparently, he’d encountered a young lady who did not find him charming. After an awkward silence, he said with a short bow, “Lord Richard Maitland at your service.”
She canted her head to one side, her curious eyes considering him, dissecting him with their beautiful piercing quality. “Are you a despoiler of innocence?”
Well…he’d not expected that bit of forthrightness. “I beg your pardon?”
Her eyes flashed. “Are you a rake, a libertine, a degenerate, a despoiler of innocence?”
Good God. He reflected on the reputation that had been following him. A libertine of the first order. “No.”
She made a skeptical sound. “How are you acquainted with my family?”
“Lord and Lady Gladstone are your parents?”
She nodded.
“I am good friends with your brother, Elliot, Viscount Ravenswood. We were friends at Eton and then Oxford. We share a love of thoroughbreds. He invited me here. Are you his little Evie who hounded him to play tea whenever he visited from school for the holidays?”
The mistrust in her eyes abated, and she took a deep breath, then offered him a radiant smile. Bloody hell.
“I never knew Elliot spoke of me with affection.”
“It was more mild annoyance.”
She sobered and he felt extraordinarily bereft to see her smile vanish. He vaguely recalled Ravenswood hammering about his younger sister with affection. Good Christ, the man had made it sound like she was an annoying child with pigtails. This young lady inspired lustful thoughts of tangled limbs atop pristine sheets. Not well done of him at all, to even have such a thought of the young lady.
“I daresay all brothers believe sisters are nuisances.”
“Though there were a few amusing anecdotes that hinted at affection,” he hurriedly said, in the event he’d bruised her sensibilities.
Her eyes twinkled as if she knew he fibbed. “I am pleased to meet you, Lord Richard, though the circumstance of our acquaintanceship is rather worrisome. I’m Lady Evelyn Chesterfield. My friends call me Evie.”
“Pleased to meet you…Lady Evelyn. Would you like to rinse?” he asked, offering his champagne glass.
She stepped forward, searching his face. “I…yes, thank you,” she said so politely it pulled a smile to his lips. She clutched the glass and took a large mouthful, before turning away. Seconds later she bent slightly and spat the contents from her mouth. She faced him and held the glass to him.
“You may drink it, if you wish.”
“It would be impolite of me to do so.”
Richard arched a brow. He would never understand the infernal rules that governed women of society. “I shall not inform a soul.”
She blinked, then glanced down at the golden liquid in the glass. Without speaking, she tipped it to her mouth and consumed it all. Then she licked the small droplets from the corner of her lips. The front of his breeches tightened embarrassingly. His passions had never behaved in such an unruly manner before.
What is it about her?
It was her mouth, he finally decided. Her lips, in particular, he found alluring. Interest stirred inside him along with a dash of arousal. Now they stood so close, he realized she was much younger than he’d initially surmised. “How old are you?”
“Fifteen.”
His heart lurched in acute discomfort, and he stepped away. His cock had gotten hard for a mere girl. Bloody hell, he was a cad. Richard scrubbed a hand over his face.
“Where is your chaperone? Your governess?” he demanded through gritted teeth. It hardly mattered some debutantes on the marriage mart married at fifteen, he found the notion distasteful. “Why are you alone in the gardens?”
“I slipped away,” she said, as if it should have been evident.