Page 68 of The Gentleman’s Leading Lady

She snorted and looked about, her eyes soft as if she were envisioning, as he was, what this room could be. “Some will claim it is a matter of birth, but I disagree. Look at the Regent sitting on the throne this moment. He has the highest birth in the land, but would you call him a gentleman?”

He smiled and drew near. That unending urge to be near her. “I hope no one heard you. You’ll be clapped in irons and hauled away for treason.”

“You’ll find many agree with me. Being a gentleman is more a matter of conduct. Dress well, uphold manners and standards of good taste, make yourself agreeable to those around you, and there will be many a one who will believe you’ve earned the right to be called a gentleman.”

He stared, the earth shifting beneath his feet. “I could never put Esquire behind my name.”

She opened the tall door to step onto the terrace, or what would become the terrace. A ray of sun fell across her, and she turned her face up as if soaking in the life-giving warmth. She was the most alive creature he had ever met in his life.

“You own this house.” She glanced his way, and her face was so radiant, he groped for the threads of the conversation. He lost his way around her.

No, that wasn’t true. He’d found his way to her. And now that he was with her, the things that had once mattered deeply fell into a different perspective. It would only matter if he were thought a gentleman so she might be respected as his lady.

“I do own this house.”

“And how many acres?”

“Fifteen, I think.”

She raised her brows. “Then you are on your way to being a gentleman already.”

“You think so?”

“Give yourself a handful of years, complete a brace of admirable commissions, like our theater—” She paused to smile— “and you will be much admired. No one will quarrel if you style yourself Mr. Manelli, Esq., of Cheltenham.” She looked around again. “What will you call this place?”

“I haven’t yet settled on a name. What do you recommend?”

“You want my thoughts?”

He stood very close. They were even more exposed now, yet he couldn’t for the life of him care if anyone watched and disapproved. He was with Cerys, and she was at ease with him, and that awareness flowed always between them, that keen sense of anticipation.

“I have one thought,” he rumbled, staring at her mouth.

She smiled. “Not here, Manelli,” she said, echoing Dot’s brassy tones, and he wanted to laugh. She was an excellent mimic.

“I have a question for you.”

She glanced at the house. Her lips were damask rose, so full and kissable. “I have not seen everything.”

“I will show you the morning room. What I imagine will be my lady’s domain.” He led her through the small porch that let onto the terrace and down the inner hall, past the service stairs that curved up to the floors above, back toward the front of the house.

“Oh,” she murmured. “You intend to install a lady in the house?”

In the high-ceilinged space, quiet and full of light, and turned to face her. “This matter of being agreeable. I think we both know it is not in my nature to be excessively pleasant.”

They stood together in the sunlight falling in the windows, the scent of fresh lime breathing from the plaster. The urge to draw her into his arms was too strong to resist, so he didn’t attempt to. Her waist was supple beneath his hand, and she didn’t hesitate as she stepped close.

Her eyes danced with laughter. He had never understood that expression until he saw the way joy creased her eyes. Hell’s teeth, she was beautiful.

She traced a finger across his brows, studying him intently. “You could frown less.”

“When I have good reason.”

“You could be a little less exacting. More easy to please.”

“I have high standards.”

She sobered. “How high?”