Page 10 of One Night with an Earl

Tomorrow would come too soon.

Their breathing slowed as he held her. He rose on an elbow and stared down at her. “How were you a virgin?”

Her eyes flew open at his brusque tone. It was an accusation more than a question. His expression wasn’t soft as she’d expected, but hard, unyielding, and furious. She thought to deny it, but looking into his fierce face, she knew she could not. “It is of no consequence.”

“Perhaps not to you, madame. But it is to me.”

Better to be businesslike, as Madame Crescent had advised. “If not you, then another man would have accomplished the deed tonight.”

A muscle ticked at his jaw, and he ran his fingers through his hair.

She tentatively reached out to rest her hand on his chest. “It was incredible for me. Was it not for you?”

His expression softened. “Yes, it was.” He cupped her cheek and brushed his lips against hers, then moved to sit at the edge of the bed.

“Are you leaving?”

“Not yet. Let me help you.”

He rose and went to a nightstand, poured a pitcher of water into a basin, and dipped a cotton cloth, then returned to her. He proceeded to gently cleanse her of the evidence of their lovemaking. She knew he was angry at her deception, and she was surprised at his tenderness.

She rose from the bed and reached to retrieve the discarded coverlet from the carpet and clutched it to her. Both their gazes were drawn to the evidence of her lost virginity on the sheets. Wordlessly, he helped her with her stays and the row of tiny buttons.

When he was finished, he brushed his lips on her nape. “I’m a selfish bastard because I don’t regret it. Not one second.”

She turned to face him, and her lips curled in a satisfied smile. “Then that makes two of us.”

Chapter Four

“Absolutely not. I don’t like the pink one.” Lady Malvern’s voice was firm.

“Mama, what’s wrong with it?” young Penelope asked.

Yes, Ana thought as she sat in the corner of the dress shop. What was wrong with the pink dress?

Lady Malvern’s lips thinned. “It’s not the color, but the cut that is unacceptable for a young lady.”

The dressmaker’s expression was one of pained tolerance. Clearly, she was doing her best to accommodate the Marchioness of Malvern and her daughter while hoping to make a large sale. Ana had sympathy for the Bond Street modiste.

“But Lady Samantha wore something similar to Lady Horton’s garden party,” Penelope protested.

Lady Malvern huffed in disapproval. “The bodice is a bit too scandalous, young lady. You must be seen, but not seen. You’ve only just begun your first Season, and it is the best chance to catch a husband. I’ll not waste it.” She folded her hands across her ample bosom and tapped her foot. “What would happen if you didn’t receive a voucher to Almack’s? Hmm? What then, Penelope?”

Ana bit her tongue. Penelope wouldn’t care. She was in love with a soldier by the name of Timothy Smithfield—formally Lieutenant Smithfield—who was currently stationed in Spain. But Lady Malvern would have an epileptic fit if she learned the truth about her eighteen-year-old daughter.

Ana liked her charge. Penelope was slender, with blonde hair and blue eyes that sparkled when she laughed. She was a kind girl and easy to please. But lately, the stress of her first season was making her more melancholy than happy.

Penelope gave Ana a pleading look as the dressmaker carried out additional dresses for her fitting.

For once, Ana was grateful for her own gray crepe dress. The cut, color, and lace cap upon her head all made her look more like a dumpling than the daughter of a baron, but at least she didn’t have to go through the painful trials that poor Penelope had to endure. If Lady Malvern had her say, her daughter’s first Season would be hell.

It wasn’t just Penelope’s season that would be difficult. As her chaperone, Ana expected her next months to be just as oppressive.

At least she’d have one night dressed as Lady Scarlet to get her through the experience and she’d forever be grateful to Madame Crescent. She’d stowed away the red gown and half mask in a chest until she could arrange to return them. For all her days, she’d recall her passionate time in Oliver’s arms. Just thinking of the man made her face grow warm, and she resisted the urge to press her hands to her flushed cheeks.

“You look flushed, Miss Gardner. Are you well?” Lady Malvern asked.

Ana’s spine straightened, and she met her employer’s questioning eyes. She had to be careful. Lady Malvern may be intolerable at times, but she was shrewdly observant.