The Lady Chosen (Bastion Club 1)

Her blush intensified but she refused to look away. “No.” Remembered pleasure flooded her, gave her strength to waspishly state, “You know perfectly well I enjoyed…all of it.”

“So that didn’t contribute to your aversion to marrying me?”

It suddenly occurred to her what he was asking. “Of course not.” The idea he might think such a thing…she frowned. “I told you—my decision was reached long ago. My stance has nothing to do with you.”

Could a man like him really need reassurance on such a point? She could tell nothing from his eyes, his expression.

Then he smiled, gently, yet the gesture was more predatory than charming. “I just wanted to be sure.”

He hadn’t resigned the battle to get her to accept him—that message she read with ease. Determinedly ignoring the effect of all that lounging masculinity mere feet away, she fixed him with a polite look and asked after his cousins. He replied, allowing the change of subject.

The audience started returning to their seats; Mildred and Gertie rejoined them. Leonora was aware of the sharp glances both her aunts cast her; she kept her expression calm and serene, and gave her attention to the stage. The curtain went up; the play recommenced.

To his credit, Trentham made no move to distract her. She was once again aware his gaze remained primarily on her, but refused to acknowledge the attention in any way. He couldn’t force her to marry him; if she held to her refusal, he’d eventually go away.

Just as she’d imagined he would.

The notion of being proved right for once brought her no joy. Inwardly frowning at such a hint of susceptibility, she forced herself to concentrate on Edmund Kean.

When the curtain came down, tumultuous applause filled the theater; after Mr. Kean had taken countless bows, the audience, finally satisfied, turned to leave. Swept away by the drama, Leonora smiled easily and gave Trentham her hand, paused beside him as he lifted the curtain to allow Mildred and Gertie to pass out, then let him guide her in their wake.

The corridor was too crowded to allow any private conversation; the jostling crowd, however, gave plenty of scope for any gentleman wishing to tease a lady’s senses. To her surprise, Trentham made no move to do so. She was highly conscious of him, large, solid, and strong beside her, protecting her from the pressure of shifting bodies. From his occasional glances, she knew he was aware of her, yet his attention remained focused on steering them efficiently through the throng and out into the street.

Their carriage drew up as they gained the pavement.

He handed Gertie and Mildred up, then turned to her.

Met her gaze. Lifted her hand from his sleeve.

Holding her gaze, he raised her fingers to his lips, kissed—the warmth of the lingering caress spread through her.

“I hope you enjoyed the evening.”

She couldn’t lie. “Thank you. I did.”

He nodded and handed her up. His fingers slid from hers with only the faintest hint of reluctance.

She sat; he stepped back and closed the door. He signaled to the coachman. The carriage lurched, then rumbled off.

The impulse to sit forward and peer back out of the window to see if he stood watching nearly overcame her. Hands clasped in her lap, she stayed where she was and stared across the carriage.

He might have refrained from any illicit caress, any attempt to ruffle her senses, but she’d seen—experienced—enough to appreciate the reality behind his mask. He hadn’t given up yet.

She told herself he would. Eventually.

Seated opposite, Mildred stirred. “Such polished manners—so masterful. You have to admit there are few gentlemen about these days who are so…” Lost for words, she gestured.

“Manly,” Gertie supplied.

Both Leonora and Mildred looked at her in surprise. Mildred recovered first. “Indeed!” She nodded. “You’re quite right. He behaved just as he ought.”

Shaking free of the shock of hearing Gertie, the gentleman-hater, approve of any male—then again, this was Trentham, the charmer—she should have expected it—Leonora asked, “How did you meet him?”

Mildred shifted, settling her skirts. “He called this morning. Given you were already acquainted, accepting his invitation seemed perfectly sensible.”

From Mildred’s point of view. Leonora refrained from reminding her aunt that she’d said an old friend had given her the tickets; she’d long known what lengths Mildred would go to to get her into the presence of an eligible gentleman. And there was no doubt Trentham was eligible.

The thought brought him once more to mind—not as he’d been in the theater, but as he’d been in the golden moments they’d shared in the upstairs bedroom. Each moment, each touch, were imprinted on her memory; just the thought was enough to evoke again, not just the sensations but all the rest—all she’d felt.