Page 72 of The Gentleman’s Leading Lady

From somewhere behind him, an unfinished doorway, an intruder cleared their throat loudly.

“Mind your manners, you two,” Mame said. “Andover’s servants have the things set up. It’s time for our picnic.”

Cerys pulled back her face and stared at Dante, her eyes dazed, her lips rose-pink. An enormous tenderness bit through him to his bones.

He felt humbled and pierced with awe. “Cerys has agreed⁠—”

“Not yet.” Swiftly she stepped away from him, drawing her hands from around his shoulders, and the warmth of her body dissipated in a rush. “I have agreed to nothing yet.”

That marble block he had imagined earlier fell on his chest as she turned to Mame. “A picnic sounds delightful.”

And she left.

She kissed him like a divinity, like a siren, but she wouldn’t come to him until she had finished something she felt she owed her acting company.

What would it take to win this woman? To have and to hold her once and for all, and win her heart completely?

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

“So.” Mame smoothed her gloves, a pair borrowed from Cerys, and laid her hands in her lap. She strove for a serene expression despite the jouncing of the carriage on its way back to Cheltenham’s High Street. “He’s made you an offer.”

“Of marriage.” Cerys voice came out a high squeak, against her will. “I believe. Actually, he asked if I would share his house with him. But I presume he meant marriage.”

Dot widened her eyes. “Aye, you’re made then.”

“I haven’t yet given my answer,” Cerys said.

Rhoda gave a snort. “And why wouldn’t ye? The answer’s going to be yes.” She widened her eyes to mimic Dot, her expression comical. “Ye don’t have any reason not to shackle him dreckly. Gor, don let’ im dangle too long! Along’ll come another and snap up his tether, quick as she please.” She snapped her fingers as emphasis.

“Bathsheba Baeccon would like to,” Tryphenie said. “You fancy ’im, Cerys?”

“I do.” She smoothed the fabric of her day gown over her knees. It was crowded in the carriage, with the three younger girls sharing the seat, and she felt stifled all of a sudden. Her chest ached.

Dante had made her an offer. Of marriage.

Or so she presumed. He had shown her his house, the nearest thing he had to a full expression of himself. He had shown her the conservatory and what would become the terrace and gardens. He had shown her the morning room, the domain of the lady of the house. He had kissed her in the library, just as she’d wanted him to do that afternoon in Suffolk House.

She rubbed the buttons on her jacket, trying to ease the tightness around her heart. She couldn’t properly take a breath, not after that soul-searing, delicious kiss.

It was so different from their other kisses, which had been full of passion and teasing. This was want and a promise. An ache and its fulfillment both.

“And you like’im better than anything else ye might find,” Tryphenie said. “Though I s’pose as you might change your mind if a better offer comes along.”

“Tryph, you featherbrain,” Rhoda said genially. “The high folk don’t work like that. They have to make an awful ruckus to get a divorce, and Parliament gets to have a say an’ all. It ain’t like us, where we can jest walk out on a bloke.”

Mame’s mouth tightened, but she didn’t comment.

“’Sides, the high ones make less of a fuss when their wives run about on ‘em,” Dot remarked. “On account that they’ll have done their runnin’ about also.”

“Dante—Mr. Manelli is not one of the high. He’s not even a gentleman,” Cerys said.

This time Rhoda’s eyes rounded with genuine surprise. “You saw his house, din ye? He’s a genmum alright.”

“Rich,” Tryphenie clarified. “He’ll keep ye well. If you’re silly enough to say no, Cerys, I want a crack at him.”

“You do?” Tryphenie had not, in all the time Cerys had been with the company, had much to do with any man outside it, neither to flirt nor to tease.

“You’ll break poor Fred’s heart flat if you run about with a genmum,” Rhoda observed.