Page 36
“Or,” she offered, “I may enjoy my headache in peace in the comfort of my bedchamber.”
He regarded her thoughtfully. “If I am forced to partner with Miss Caldwell, I shall be very displeased, Miss Prescott. We have an arrangement, do we not?”
“Is there a reason you must join the party in the Long Gallery? Why not plead the headache yourself? Or an unstable digestion?”
His lip quirked in a half-smile. “I quite yearn to see my portrait in silhouette form. I am impossibly vain, you know.”
“Then you had better let Miss Caldwell do it.” She began walking, only for him to put out his arm, barring her way, his fingers wrapping around her waist.
Her heart leapt into her throat, and she met his gaze, now so close to her own.
She should have wanted him to release her, but she did not. Instead, she wished the arm that hung at his side would join the other at her waist.
This was why she should not be at this party; all her impulses were wrong.
She was not proper and respectable. She wanted Lord Dalmeer to pull her into the room he had emerged from, stare into her eyes, then press his lips to hers, for no one’s benefit but their own.
Her cheeks warmed, and her gaze darted down the corridor. “If they find us here together, tongues will wag.”
“Tongues will wag no matter what. Will you please come to the Long Gallery, Miss Prescott?”
She hesitated, finding it difficult to deny him just now—or to deny herself more time with him. All she could think about was the feel of each of his fingertips at her waist.
Down the corridor, the door to the drawing room opened, releasing the sound of happy chatter.
Nell’s eyes widened, and she looked at the earl, a sense of panic growing within her.
“Come,” he said, pulling her toward the door he just emerged from.
They slipped inside, and he shut the door softly.
His eyes stared into hers, and Nell’s heart hammered. She was vaguely aware of a billiard table in the center of the room.
“I promised I would not let your reputation come to harm, did I not?” His eyes held none of their usual humor. They were intent, their brown darker than usual, like the forest floor after rain.
She nodded, though she could not see what he intended to do to prevent it. Her own absence from the silhouette gathering might go unnoticed. After last night, the absence of them both might well occasion comment Nell could not afford.
“This way.” Taking her by the hand, he led her across the room.
Nell’s steps behind him were quick, but not as quick as her heartbeat. It was her fault as much as his that they were in this situation, for he had made it clear he expected her to participate in the silhouettes, and she had tried to sneak away despite it.
Perhaps she had even hoped he would come after her.
They passed through a door into the Tapestry Room, which was dimly lit with walls covered in fading tapestries.
“You will slip out just after the group passes.” Lord Dalmeer’s gloved hand still gripped hers as they walked to the door. He stopped at it, cocking an ear. “The one in the billiard room squeaks.”
“And what of you?” The question was breathless.
“I shall wait to join until you have all assembled in the Long Gallery.” A little smile lit his eyes. “Three minutes should suffice, don’t you think?”
She let out a shaky laugh. “The bare minimum.”
His smile widened, and he looked as though he was about to say something, but the deep rumble of footsteps increased in volume. He put an ear to the door. “Here they come.” He put a hand on the knob, then stepped aside so that when he opened the door, it would conceal him.
Nell ran her hands down her dress.
Lord Dalmeer took her hand and held her gaze. “Confidence, Miss Prescott.”
