The Lady Chosen (Bastion Club 1)

She’d tried hard to keep the memories from her, not to think or dwell on the emotion that had filled her when she’d realized he intended drawing back from consummation—the emotion that had driven her to utter her plea.

Please…don’t leave me.

The words haunted her, the memory alone enough to make her feel acutely vulnerable. Exposed.

Yet his response…despite all, regardless of what else she knew of him, how she judged his character, his machinations, she owed him for that.

For giving her all she’d wanted.

For being hers to command in that moment, for giving himself to her as she’d wished.

She let the memory slide from her; it was still too evocative to wrap herself in. Instead, she turned to the evening, considered all that had and hadn’t been. Including the way she’d reacted to him, to his nearness. That had changed. No longer did her nerves leap and jump. Now, when he was close, when they touched, her nerves glowed. It was the only word she could find for the sensation, for the warm comfort it brought. Perhaps an echo of remembered pleasure. Regardless, far from being on edge, she’d felt comfortable. As if rolling naked together on a bed indulging in the act of intimacy had fundamentally changed her responses to him.

For the better, as she saw it. She no longer felt at such a disadvantage, no longer felt physically tense, keyed up in his presence. Curious, but true. Their time alone in the box had been comfortable, pleasant.

If she was honest, totally enjoyable despite his probing.

She sighed, and leaned back against the squabs. She could hardly upbraid Mildred with any sincerity. She’d enjoyed the evening far more, and in quite a different way, than she’d expected.

Chapter Ten

When he called to take her driving in the park the next morning, she was stunned. When she tried to refuse, he simply looked at her.

“You’ve already admitted you don’t have any engagements.”

Only because she’d thought he wanted to tell her about his investigations.

His hazel eyes remained fixed on hers. “You should tell me about the letters you sent to Cedric’s acquaintances. You can tell me just as well in the park as here.” His gaze sharpened. “Besides, you must be longing to get out in the fresh air. Today is not the sort of day to let slip by.”

She narrowed her eyes at him; he was seriously dangerous. He was right, of course; the day was glorious, and she’d been toying with the idea of a brisk walk, but after her last excursion hesitated to go out alone.

He was too wise to press further, but simply waited…waited for capitulation as he was wont to do.

She pulled a face at him. “Very well. Wait while I get my pelisse.”

He was waiting in the hall when she came down the stairs. As she walked by his side to the gate, she told herself she really should not allow this ease she felt with him to develop much further. Being with him was altogether too comfortable. Too pleasant.

The drive did nothing to break the spell. The breeze was fresh, tangy with the promise of spring; the sky was blue with wispy clouds that merely flirted with the sun. The warmth was a welcome relief from the chill winds that had blown until recently; the first swelling buds were visible on the branches beneath which Trentham steered his greys.

On such a day, the ladies of the ton were out and about, but the hour was still early, the Avenue not overly crowded. She nodded here and there to those of her aunts’ acquaintances who recognized her, but largely gave her attention to the man beside her.

He drove with a light touch she knew enough to admire, and an unthinking confidence that told her more. She tried to keep her eyes off his hands, long fingers expertly managing the ribbons, and failed.

A moment later, she felt heat rise in her cheeks and forced her gaze away. “I sent the last letters off this morning. With luck someone will reply within a week.”

Tristan nodded. “The more I think of it, the more likely it seems that whatever Mountford is after, it’s something to do with your cousin Cedric’s work.”

Leonora glanced at him; wisps of her hair had come loose and flirted about her face. “How so?”

He looked to his horses—away from her mouth, her soft luscious lips. “It had to be something a purchaser would get with the house. If your uncle had been willing to sell, would you have cleared out Cedric’s workshop?” He glanced at her. “I got the impression it had been forgotten, dismissed from everyone’s minds. I hardly think that applies to anything in the library.”

“True.” She nodded, trying to tame her wayward locks. “I wouldn’t have bothered going into the workshop if it hadn’t been for Mountford’s efforts. However, I think you’re overlooking one point. If I was after something and had a reasonable idea where it might be, I might arrange to buy the house, not intending to complete the sale, you understand, and then ask to visit to measure up rooms for furnishings or remodeling.” She shrugged. “Easy enough to get time to look around and perhaps remove things.”

He considered, imagined, then relucantly grimaced. “You’re right. That leaves us with the possibility that it, whatever it is, could be just about anything secreted anywhere in the house.” He glanced at her. “A house full of eccentrics.”

She met his gaze, raised her brows, then tipped her nose in the air and looked away.

He called the next day and swept aside her reservations with invitations to a special preview of the latest exhibition at the Royal Academy.