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“Yes, that’s probably it,” he said wryly as he climbed inside her elegant carriage. “And may I ask what you’re doing out so late, my lady?” He rapped at the roof before taking the seat across from her.
“I’m returning from a soiree, of course,” Lady Emeline said. She smoothed the shawl that covered her knees. The carriage lurched forward as they started again.
It was dim inside the carriage, the only light a single lantern by her face, but he could see that she was dressed very grandly. She wore a flame-red frock with some type of pattern in yellow. The skirt had been drawn aside to reveal a petticoat in yellow and green. Above, her bodice was square and very low, her breasts pushed up until they formed two soft, white mounds that nearly glowed in the lamplight. Heat seemed to radiate off her, warming his bones.
“It was rather dull, so I came away early,” the lady continued. “You won’t believe, but the punch was gone by ten, and there was hardly much for a midnight supper—only a few meat pies and fruit. Quite scandalous. I can’t think what Mrs. Turner was about, serving such poor refreshments to everyone who matters. But the woman always has been a wigeon. The only reason I attend her parties is in the hope of seeing her brother, Lord Downing. He is a terrible gossip.”
She paused, probably because she’d run out of breath. Sam stared at her, trying to figure out why she was speaking so fast. Had she been drinking spirits at her party? Or was she...? He felt a smile forming and worked to suppress it. No, it couldn’t be. Was Lady Emeline nervous? He’d never thought to see the sophisticated widow out of sorts.
“But why were you about so late?” Lady Emeline asked. Her hands, which had been busy playing with the lace that trimmed her bodice, stilled. “Or, perhaps that is none of my business.” Even in the dim light, he could see the blush that stained her cheeks.
“No, it isn’t your business,” he replied. “But not for the reason you think.”
If she’d been a little black hen, her feathers would’ve ruffled. “I don’t know what you mean to imply by that, Mr. Hartley. I am sure—”
“You think I’ve been to see a whore.” He smiled and slid lower in the carriage seat, canting his legs to the side so that he might cross them. He slipped his fingers into his waistcoat pockets, enjoying himself. “Admit it.”
“I will do no such thing!”
“But that blush on your cheeks says otherwise.”
“I...I—”
He tutted. “Your thoughts are very lewd. I am shocked, my lady, quite shocked.”
For a moment, all she could do was sputter; then her eyes narrowed as she recovered. Sam braced himself. God, he liked sparring with this woman.
“I couldn’t care less how you conduct yourself after dark,” she said primly. “Your affairs are of absolutely no importance to me.”
She’d made an entirely proper statement and was obviously uncomfortable on this ground. If he was a gentleman, he’d let it—her—go, turn the conversation to something dull and polite such as the weather. The problem was that once the prey was within his grasp, it was so very difficult to let go.
Not to mention that polite conversation had always bored him. “My affairs should be of no importance to you, but they are, aren’t they?”
Her brows drew together as she opened her mouth.
“Ah. Ah.” He held up a finger to forestall her denial. “It’s past midnight, and we’re alone in a dark carriage. What’s said here will never see the light of day. Humor me, lady, and be frank.”
She inhaled deeply and sat back, her face entirely hidden by shadows now. “What difference does it make to you if I do find your affairs to be of interest, Mr. Hartley?”
He smiled wryly. “Touché, my lady. I’m sure a sophisticated gentleman of your society would deny it to his death if he was moved by your interest, but I am made of simpler stuff.”
“Are you?” The words were whispered in the dark.
He nodded slowly. “So I tell you: I am moved by your interest. I am moved by you.”
“You are frank.”
“Can you admit the same?”
She gasped and for a moment, he thought he’d gone too far and that she’d retreat from this dangerous game. She was a lady of standing, after all, and there were rules and boundaries in her world.
But she slowly leaned forward, her face emerging into the small pool of light cast through the window. She looked him full in the face and arched one black eyebrow. “And if I did?”
And he felt something within his chest leap that she dared to pick up his gauntlet—something like joy. He grinned at her. “Then, my lady, we have a point of mutual interest that bears further discussion.”
“Perhaps.” She sat back against her plush red cushions. “What were you doing out on the streets this late at night?”
He shook his head, smiling slightly.
