The apple doesn’t fall far from the treehe’d once overheard someone from Eton saying about him. Everyone equated him with his father. Didn’t sons long to follow in their fathers’ footsteps?
He’d had a time of it making friends at Eton and had spent much of his years there alone and lonely. It was only when he’d first entered Oxford and met three young men who had been there for a while but despised their fathers as much as he did his that he finally found friendship.
And eventually wealth but neither was enough to wash off the stench of the earl, to no longer be judged by his father’s reputation but by his own. That had taken adhering to the strictest of proper conduct. While his friends had developed reputations as scoundrels, he’d been viewed as a saint. He never took advantage of women. Never stole a kiss, never snuck a young lady into a darkened corner for a bit of exploring. Daughters and sisters were safe from his advances because he never did what he ought not.
Until tonight. Until Miss Garrison had entered his life. In that alcove, kissing her, he’d yearned for so much more, had been tempted to break the vow he’d long ago made to never risk bringing an illegitimate child into this world. Miss Garrison could prove to be a danger to his vow and his sanity because he’d never wanted anyone with the intensity that he yearned for her.
If he was wise, he’d avoid her in the future. She made him want to be wicked, wicked as he’d neverbeen. No, it was more than that. She made him crave wickedness.
Was that how it had been for his father? This yearning to possess that blocked out all reason, that made it difficult to think of anything other than the intimacy he might share with her? How he yearned to see her unveiled. How he longed to touch all that no other man had ever skimmed fingers along, had ever kissed.
Even now he burned with a need to return to that alcove and lift her up until her legs were wrapped around his waist and her cries of pleasure were echoing around him.
Christ, what the hell was wrong with him? He wanted her with a hunger he’d never before known, one that was terrifying.
Best then to keep his distance. But even as he had the thought, he feared he didn’t possess the strength to resist her.
Making her way to the ballroom, slowly and cautiously, without being spotted was easier than she’d expected. Rook had been masterful at clearing the way for her and she rather imagined he’d done so with the efficiency of those who swept the streets clear of horse dung.
The unexpected challenge she encountered, however, was that her legs remained weakened from the blistering kiss he had delivered. She made her entrance as unobtrusively as possible and settled near a mirrored wall where several ladies stood. She didn’t know how many dances she might have missed and didn’t recognize the tune presently playing, but surely beforethe next dance began, her partner would find her. She would move to a more visible spot once her breathing returned to normal and her legs were steadier.
Taking a quick but intense glance around the ballroom, she had no luck in sighting Rook. Maybe he’d gone to the cardroom or was filling a plate from the food-laden tables in the refreshment room. Or was off searching for something stronger than champagne. She’d welcome a glass of whiskey, herself.
She fought off the sorrow at possibly never seeing him again—at least not until the demonstration next week. She would ensure he received an invitation. Tomorrow she would visit a stationer to have them printed. Although she should probably use the writing machine to create them. Yes, that was what she should do. Shouldn’t take more than a day or two. Mama wouldn’t help, of course, and Sam would use the excuse that he needed to be out moving about London in order to interest various parties in the notion of investing.
But she drew comfort from the clack of the keys as they did their work. To her the sound was as beautiful as a rhapsody played by the finest of orchestras. She’d taught her fingers to know precisely where each key was, so she no longer needed to even look at them to create words on paper. She suspected others might find satisfaction in conquering the keys in the same manner. Perhaps she should create a book to help toward the endeavor in much the same way one mastered piano keys.
“Miss Garrison.”
Jerking her head around, she smiled at Lord Chidding, a viscount to whom Lady Knightly had introduced her earlier in the evening. “My lord.”
He held out his hand. “The next waltz is ours.”
“Of course. I’m looking forward to it.” She slipped her hand in his and went with him to the edge of the dance floor.
His timing was perfect. The music went silent for several beats and then another tune began to float out from the orchestra, and she found herself moving over the dance floor with Viscount Chidding. She fought to keep her focus on him and not to begin searching the passing couples to see if Rook had returned to the ballroom and with whom he might be dancing.
“You seemed to be lost in thought before I approached,” Chidding said kindly.
“I was contemplating our writing machine, a device we’ve created to make it easier and faster to produce correspondence. Finding investors who also believe in its potential is one of the main reasons”—main? It was theonlyreason they were here, even if she had gotten sidetracked by a luscious pair of lips—“that we made the journey to your lovely country.”
“Ah, yes, Knightly mentioned something about it.”
She was gratified to know it was being talked about. “Favorably, I hope.”
“He did indicate it was an interesting, if somewhat...” His voice trailed off as though he’d suddenly realized he was talking of things that were boring to ladies or maybe he feared hurting her feelings with whatever followedsomewhat.
“Interesting but somewhat?” she prodded because encounters with other men and hearsay over the years had taught her to buffer herself against the hurtful until it could do little more damage to her pride than the sting of a bee to her flesh.
“An interesting if somewhat confusing prospect. He’s confounded regarding the reason we need a machine to write.”
“I’ve heard his handwriting is difficult to read.”
Chidding grinned, a warm, kind grin and she found herself liking the man immensely. “He recently wrote out some investment opportunities I should look into. Fortunately, he also told me about them. I don’t know how long it might have taken me to decipher what he’d written, otherwise.”
Her heart gave a little jump of excitement. “You invest?”
He seemed embarrassed, his cheeks burnishing pink. “I’m a novice, only recently dipping my toe into the waters, so to speak.”
