Penelope had seated all the gents at one end of the table, so they could discuss gentlemanly things like cheroots, Kentucky bourbon, and the increasing migration of settlers across America. Rook hadn’t been paying a great deal of attention or contributed to the discourse. Instead, he’d watched Miss Garrison lift her wineglass and carry it to her lips. He’d been mesmerized by the gentle movements of her throat as she’d swallowed. And he noticed the tiniest drop of wine that clung to the corner of her perfect mouth. He wanted to dip his tongue into that shallow alcove in order to taste the wine and her. Trace his tongue along that seam and urge her, once again, to open herself to him. Only he wanted her to open more than her mouth. He wanted her to open all of herself.
Although he suspected she’d require he reveal himself entirely as well, andthathe wouldn’t do.
He didn’t know why it hadn’t occurred to him that the American at the Elysium would be the husband-hunting sister King had mentioned Garrison had brought with him. Perhaps because several deuced American husband-hunting women were racing about of late, with their enormous dowries and their bold ways. They wanted titles, to be addressed asmy ladyorYour Grace. They yearned for the instant respectability that came with landing a lord.
They believed marrying into the nobility would offer them a life of ease. They had little understanding of precisely what it was they were gaining. Therefore, Rook had no patience for their machinations. Not thatany of it affected him because marriage was not a path he intended to traverse.
It would be selfish on his part to subject any woman to the legacy he would inherit along with the title. If that meant he never obtained an heir, he wasn’t altogether certain it would be much of a loss. Better to bring an end to this branch of the family tree rather than let it flourish. He had a cousin who was next in line, a cousin whose father was known for his philanthropic nature.
Not one who was abhorred for his libertine ways. Rook had once thought his father could embarrass him no more than he already had. He’d believed, unlike all the other children his father had played a role in bringing into the world, that he—as the Earl of Elverton’s legitimate son and heir—had been loved by his sire. But his father held no more affection or respect for him than he did the others. Providing an heir was an obligation he had met—and he’d sought to take advantage of his son, as he did every other person in his life. No one had been safe from his sire’s need to dominate and destroy, to cause harm.
“Are you striving to cook the partridge a bit more with that heated glare?”
Rook swung his attention to Mrs. Garrison, who’d been rude enough to put him on the spot. Her eyebrows, thicker and heavier than her daughter’s, were arched in query. “My apologies. I was distracted with thoughts of my father. He is unwell.”
“Oh?” Now a speculative gleam shined from those blue eyes, a shade that matched her daughter’s, and yet were not nearly as lovely or pleasant to gaze into. Windows into the soul, indeed. This woman caredonly for herself and her own interests. “What rank is he, pray tell?”
“He is an earl, madam. The Earl of Elverton.”
“Which you will become when he dies.” As if incredibly pleased by that discovery, she lifted her wineglass with a victorious smile, and he was surprised she didn’t make a toast to his father’s ill health and speedy demise.
“Mama,” Miss Garrison chastised.
“Don’t take that disapproving tone with me. It’s important to know which men will be elevated within Society and which are where they shall remain. If you’d pay more attention, I wouldn’t have to.”
Miss Garrison looked on the verge of growling, and he’d have growled right along with her. He didn’t know if he’d ever met a more unpleasant soul, one who took no pains whatsoever to disguise her disagreeable nature.
Her facial features suddenly going serene, as though the lessons of a lifetime had taught her how to survive the harsh demands of her mother, Miss Garrison directed her attention to him, sincerity and true concern reflected in her blue eyes. “I do hope his health improves.”
It’s quite unlikelyrested on the tip of his tongue. Instead, he said, “Thank you. I’ll convey your good wishes.”
Someone had once told him, “Meet the mother and you’ll know the daughter.” The man had been striving to make the point that the daughter would be a replication of the mother in later years, but Rook was left with the impression that wasn’t the case here. Miss Garrison wasn’t at all as uncouth as her mother. Shepossessed a refinement and graciousness that the older woman lacked. He wondered how she might have persevered to develop those qualities when the harpy who’d raised her offered no example to emulate.
He found himself more curious about the young lady than he’d been that night at the Elysium. But now was not the time or place to satisfy his curiosity, so he glanced around the table. “Do carry on. I believe Bishop has yet to explain how he was once suspected of committing murder.”
With a grin and a wink, Bishop tipped his wineglass in a salute toward the area where the ladies sat. “Until my wife came to my rescue.”
Rook had the odd desire to rescue the husband-hunting Miss Garrison, although he also suspected she was perfectly capable of rescuing herself. Which made her all the more intriguing.
Chapter 4
Eight courses. Leonora suffered through eight excruciating courses. When dessert was finally devoured, she was more than ready for the moment when the men went off for a cigar and scotch while the women adjourned to the parlor for tea.
Except that wasn’t what happened. Everyone went to the library for a refreshment of their choice. Unfortunately, absinthe wasn’t available. She would have liked to chug back an entire bottle of the stuff simply to forget this horrendous night and the number of times her mother had surreptitiously pinched her arm in an attempt to convey that she needed to carry on a conversation with the only eligible gentleman at the table. Her prodding had served merely to incite Leonora’s obstinacy and ensure she didn’t speak to the gent.
Not that she could think of anything polite to say to him anyway. Everything she’d considered had seemed grossly impolite and had more to do with how far beyond kissing his services went. At the moment, however, she did manage a polite thank-you after he strode over and handed her a snifter of brandy.
“My pleasure,” he responded, and the heat coursedthrough her at the manner in which he managed to makepleasuresound anything except innocent.
Why did he have to use that particular word when it carried such potency? Was he intentionally seeking to remind her of the wondrous sensations that had swept endlessly through her like waves crashing upon a shore? Not that she was having any success in not thinking about how her body had responded to his kiss. It was as though having experienced it, every aspect of her was constantly on alert, ready to jump into the fray in order to enjoy the pleasure again. She was striving to think of something appropriate to say.You have such powerful hands. Your lips are exquisite. Your mouth is far too skilled at delivering what a woman craves.
A loud clearing of a throat nearly had her jumping out of her skin. Had her thoughts somehow communicated themselves to the others in the room? Her mother often used a throat-clearing to indicate she was none too pleased with something Leonora had done or said.
But it was only the Duke of Kingsland, seeking everyone’s attention as he lifted his glass. “To the success of all future ventures in which any of us might engage.”
“Hear! Hear!” echoed throughout the room.
In an unladylike manner, Leonora gulped some brandy, relishing the burn, hoping it might distract her from more pleasant musings and help her focus on the reason they were here.
