The Beguilement of Lady Eustacia Cavanagh (The Cavanaughs 3)

Mary went on, “If he needs you to hold his hand, do so. If you get him back out here, I’ll help, and so will the others.”

Stacie nodded. “If you and Ernestine will hold the fort here, I’ll see what I can do.”

She made her way into the front hall. After smiling and farewelling two of the older ladies, before anyone else appeared, she hurried down the corridor to the parlor. She didn’t knock but opened the door and whisked inside, closed the door, and turned—and was unsurprised to find Frederick slouched in an armchair and arching his brows at her.

“Have you come to take refuge, too?”

“No.” She marched across, halted beside his outstretched legs, and looked down at him. “I’ve come to inveigle you back out.”

Frederick raised his brows higher. “Have they all left?”

“Thus far, only a few have gone.”

“In that case, I prefer to rem

ain here.”

He heard her sigh.

“It’s not a question of preferring but of what’s needed to ensure the major hostesses, especially, continue to support our events in the future.” When he glanced up, she trapped his gaze. “You committed to this enterprise—as Mary pointed out, having dangled the lure before the beast, we need to deliver what they expect, or the ladies will be miffed.”

“They can remain miffed for all I care. Regardless, when I play again, they will come.”

Her lips tightened. “You don’t know how difficult some of the major hostesses can be.” Her gaze locked with his, she drew breath and said, “I don’t know what’s behind your obvious aversion to the ton, but we need you to set it aside and show those who’ve attended tonight that if they come to future events, you will be approachable—available to speak with—at least for a little while.”

Before he could respond, she clasped her hands before her and went on, “If you need help dealing with the grandes dames, the hostesses, and others, I’ll gladly stick by your side throughout, but we can’t risk allowing the hostesses and the grandes dames to leave feeling shortchanged.”

He stared up at her. He wasn’t actually afraid of crowds. He disliked—intensely disliked—the cloying, smothering attention, but if he truly wished, he could endure it. Possibly cuttingly, but ignoring the aggravation and dealing with anyone who wished to speak with him…that really wasn’t all that hard.

And if she promised to remain by his side…

It hit him then, the real reason he’d quit the music room and the crowds. He’d put up with the guests well enough while she’d been beside him, but once they’d become separated, he’d lost interest in being guest-prey and had seized on the excuse of dealing with his protégés to retreat—and he’d stayed in the parlor because he’d known that at some point, she would come looking for him…

He was there and had remained there precisely to engineer this moment.

This interlude alone with her, because he preferred talking to her rather than to anyone else, even his peers.

He’d allowed his gaze to unfocus while his thoughts streamed through his mind; he refocused on her and saw the genuine worry in her fine eyes, noted the way she was unconsciously gripping—not quite wringing—her fingers, and was appalled by his silly intransigence, his selfishness. He’d left her to shoulder the social weight of the evening, and now, on top of deserting her, he’d dragged her away from her guests.

He should have come to his feet when she’d entered. Where were his manners?

Abruptly, he drew in his legs and stood.

Only to realize, too late, that she’d been standing too close; instinctively, she stepped back, trod on her hem, and with a smothered squeak, arms flailing, toppled backward.

He lunged and grabbed her about her waist, but his feet got tangled in her multilayered skirts, and he tripped, then he was falling, too.

With a massive effort, he flung them sideways, toward the chaise.

At the last second, he twisted and landed stretched full length on his back, with her on top of him.

Her elbow rammed into his chest, and his breath left him, just as the sensations of her body impacting on his—her lush breasts squashed to his chest, her hips and thighs cradling his—slammed into his awareness, and a ravenous desire he’d been endeavoring to suppress roared to full-blown life.

He froze.

So did she. She wasn’t breathing any more than he was.

Her gaze locked with his; he saw the change in her wide blue eyes as she registered that the softness of her stomach was cradling that part of his anatomy the state of which he couldn’t control.