The Beguilement of Lady Eustacia Cavanagh (The Cavanaughs 3)

He didn’t say anything; neither did she.

What could she say? She had instigated the kiss, and it had happened.

And it had spiraled out of control.

Perhaps she should apologize, but she’d be lying. She wasn’t sorry at all.

Two young ladies preceded two gentlemen into the folly.

Stacie stepped away from Frederick and turned to face the newcomers.

Smoothly, he captured her hand and set it on his sleeve. “Come,” he said, and his voice held its usual even tone. “We should head back to town. We have those two balls to attend this evening.”

A reminder that, notwithstanding the drama of the last minutes, their charade had to go on.

She gripped his arm, signaling her agreement, then, after exchanging politely distant nods with the four who had invaded the folly, she allowed Frederick to guide her back to the steps and followed him down.

The following day—after they’d weathered two horrendous crushes that had been bad enough to have Frederick seriously question how long he could continue his campaign to win Stacie—he called in Green Street to find her in the front hall, preparing to leave the house.

He looked at her. “I came to ask if you would like to go for a drive in the park.” That had been Mary’s suggested activity for this morning—a quiet breather after the two balls last night.

“Oh.” Stacie blinked, then said, “I need to go shopping for gloves.” She waggled her gloved fingers at him. “These have worn too thin.”

He rapidly rejigged his plans. “Where are you headed?”

“My glover’s shop is on the corner of Bruton and Old Bond Streets.”

He smiled. “My curricle’s outside. I’ll drive you there.”

She eyed him suspiciously. “And then?”

He shrugged. “I’ll escort you around, then drive you back here. Who knows? I might buy myself a pair of gloves, too.”

Stacie studied him, then nodded. “Very well.” She took his arm and allowed him to escort her to his curricle and help her up to the seat.

She couldn’t broach any sensitive subject while they were in the open carriage, not with his tiger on the box behind. But they hadn’t yet spoken of the heated moments in Lady Waltham’s folly; during the previous evening—through the balls they’d attended, both of which had been unbearably crowded and packed with many who knew them well and far too many who had been watching them like hawks—a suitably private and appropriate moment hadn’t presented itself. Indeed, their only private moments had been in the shadowed dimness of the carriage as they’d traveled around Mayfair’s streets, and she hadn’t been game to mention that subject in such close and potentially intimate confines.

But she was determined to raise and address the incident and, hopefully, lay it to some sort of rest.

She’d expected to toss and turn last night, but instead, had instantly fallen asleep—and dreamed of that kiss. And of him. Given they weren’t truly engaged and really shouldn’t pursue what had flared between them, that he’d invaded her dreams—the first man ever to do so—seemed particularly unhelpful.

He drove them to Bruton Street. Leaving the curricle in the tiger’s care, they set off along the pavement.

Now was her moment; they might be surrounded by the fashionable, but no one ever listened to comments exchanged by others walking past. “About what occurred in Lady Waltham’s folly.” She shot a glance at his face. “That wasn’t supposed to happen.”

His expression was, as usual, unreadable, but he dipped his head her way. “No, it wasn’t.” Then, almost as if he couldn’t hold back the words, he added, “But I’m not sorry it did.” He caught her eyes. “Are you?”

She felt compelled to answer truthfully. “No.”

He smiled—a surprisingly sweet and charming smile. “Good.” He looked forward. “In that case, there’s nothing more to be said.”

She wasn’t sure what she’d expected but… As they’d reached the corner of Bruton Street and Old Bond Street and the door to her glover’s shop, she inclined her head in tacit agreement and let the matter drop.

Frederick escorted her into the shop, then ambled in her wake as she looked over the merchandise and the little glover scurried around, showing her this pair and that.

For his part, Frederick was in a good—nay, excellent—mood. The revelations of the previous day had left him even more convinced that his instincts had steered him correctly, yet again, in prompting him to pursue Stacie. Her confession that she wasn’t sorry about that eye-opening outburst of unrestrained passion set the seal on his satisfaction; his campaign was proceeding even better than he’d hoped. They’d cleared a hurdle he hadn’t known how to approach; she as well as he now knew with a certainty that they were compatible in that highly pertinent sphere, in much the same way as they were in others.

Victory was possible, if not yet assured; for today, that was enough.