Page 3 of How to Wed a Courtesan

There was something taboo about his nonchalance, the way he so casually broke the rules she had tiptoed around her entire life, that it left her giddy.

‘Are you blushing?’ he teased. ‘I dare say you must have the moral compass of a vicar’s daughter.’

‘Perhaps that’s because I am a vicar’s daughter.’ She grinned at the mention of her father’s profession.

‘If all vicar’s daughters were as lovely and sharp-witted as you, every man in England would attend church.’

‘Every man in England should attend church,’ she argued.

‘Yes, but then they actually would.’

She laughed at such a brazen statement.

‘I assure you, Miss Rossington, I do not jest.’

‘Do you always speak what’s on your mind?’ she asked, genuinely curious and inexplicably drawn to his cavalier demeanour.

‘I do.’ He lifted a brow at her. ‘Everyone should.’

She caught herself before issuing forth a scoff at that. ‘Even women?’ she countered.

He leaned closer, bringing with him a pleasant sandalwood scent. ‘Especially women. How are we ever supposed to understand you if you never share what is going on in those pretty heads of yours?’

She twisted her fingers absently as she considered this. Her father had always permitted her to speak her mind with him, and obviously she’d always done so with Charles. However, she had been cautioned from doing so among others, lest she come across as a hoyden.

‘Like now, for example.’ Lord Murray studied her, his head tilted to the side in an almost dreamy fashion. ‘You’re thinking something poignant. I can see it in the lovely crystal blue of your eyes. And yet you are saying nothing.’ He leaned as close as he could, which scandalously bordered on the inappropriate, and whispered, ‘Tell me.’

All the air seemed to be sucked from the room in that moment. Lottie wrestled to keep her wits about her with this charming rogue. ‘I was instructed in my youth that men do not care for intelligent women.’

A spark glinted in his eyes and he straightened, relinquishing the space around her once more so that she might draw a proper breath. Or at least as much as the bodice of her gown would allow. Being borrowed, it was made for another woman’s body and was a bit on the snug side.

‘If you are as intelligent as you are beautiful, perhaps I ought to propose this very night.’ He grinned at her—a boyish smile that hooked itself into the deepest part of her chest.

‘If you are as honest as you are charming, I might just consider such an offer.’ She had never been coy, but he encouraged a daring boldness in her. And she liked it. Just as she liked his appreciation for her intellect. That was a rare thing indeed.

He laughed. ‘You truly are enchanting.’

‘Coming from a man of blatant honesty, I take that as the highest compliment.’

‘As well you should,’ he said, nodding favourably. ‘As well you should.’

The music in the hall tapered to a close and the people around them shifted in preparation for the arrival of those returning from the country dance.

‘Dare I ask what the lady thinks of me?’ Lord Murray turned his attention away from her as he posed the question.

‘I am not so bold with my honesty,’ she replied airily. ‘I suppose you shall have to wait for my assessment.’

He turned back to her with an exaggerated look of pain. ‘You slay me, madam.’

‘Patience is a virtue.’

She recalled the words her father often said to her, more as a reminder to herself than to Lord Murray. For she was impatient and always had been. Even now, a restlessness stirred within her. She longed to know more about him. And wondered how she might see more of him.

It was foolish, of course.

Lord Murray was the first man to ask her to dance—the first who had even paid her a modicum of attention. She would be a ninny to cast her heart his way when she knew nothing of him.

For his part, Lord Murray was not at all put off by her answer. Instead, his eyes twinkled with a mischievousness she enjoyed more than she ought to admit.