Page 21 of The Rake’s Convenient Bride

Lord Darington approached Elizabeth, his dark hair slightly mussed from the vicious wind outside, lending him a wild, dangerous look, especially when paired with his sharp cheekbones and wide, generous mouth. He was taller than most men, making Elizabeth feel at once petite and delicate, as if even his very presence might consume her in the most delicious way.

It was easy to see why women were so drawn to him. That allure of his paired with the extensive wealth of his generous estate and a positive note in Debrett’s was precisely why he’d been named the most eligible bachelor for as many seasons as Elizabeth had been out.

“Lady Elizabeth.” He took her hand in his, that dark gaze fixing on her as he lifted the back of her knuckles to his mouth.

Her skin burned with the touch of his lips, and she suddenly felt breathless.

“Lord Darington,” Elizabeth said on an exhale. “It was good of you to come.”

He sat beside her and she leaned in, whispering, “I did not expect you.”

It was not entirely a lie. She had not expected him. But she had hoped he might come.

“Of course I would come.” He kept his voice low. “I should, after all, ask your father for permission to wed you. I imagine he has taken umbrage by the perceived neglect on my part.”

Elizabeth pressed her lips together and Lord Darington gave a mute chuckle. “As I presumed,” he said in understanding.

“I know this…” She indicated the space between them—the situation between them—with her index finger, “has all been rather a mess. I just wanted to apologize again and…”

He caught her hands and held them in the heat of his large palms. “Elizabeth.”

Not Lady Elizabeth.

Elizabeth.

Her Christian name.

“And to thank you,” she finished in a breathy voice.

“I confess I have somewhat of a favor to ask you.” Lord Darington’s face was near hers still as they spoke quietly to keep Grace from hearing their conversation.

A quick glance at her sister confirmed her nose was buried in a book, her head respectfully turned away.

“Of course,” Elizabeth answered Lord Darington. “Anything.”

His brow quirked. “Anything opens the door for many more possibilities than I originally had in mind, and even more that warrant consideration.”

There was heat in his gaze, as tempting as any flame. He brushed his hand over hers, his fingertips skimming the inside of her wrist just beneath the edge of her lace glove. A liberty no gentleman would ever take with a lady.

But then, if rumors of his reputation were correct, he was not a gentleman.

She pulled in a soft breath and his focus went to her lips.

“What is it you wish, my lord?” she asked, her throat dry.

He considered her for a long, searing moment, then his expression cleared, as though his mind had been made up with a sufficient reply. “I should like to invite you to dinner this week, to meet my grandmother.”

Elizabeth fought to keep from squirming and pulled her hands from him. A formal dinner to meet his grandmother?

In a flash of an instant, she thought of all the ways she might blunder such an important introduction. Stumbling into a costly vase resulting in it crashing to the floor in pieces, spilling a rich sauce over the creamy bodice of a new gown, tripping down the stairs and her skirts flying up to reveal parts of her no one should see.

Heavens, there were so many ways this could go wrong.

“I thought she would be delighted at the engagement,” Lord Darington mused. “But…”

“She’s skeptical,” Elizabeth surmised.

He tilted his head in question.