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“I would be honored indeed.” He held out his arm and Mrs. Whitmore clutched it like a lifeline. After leading them the short distance to their chairs, he bowed.
“Would you do us the honor of sitting with us, my lord?” Mrs. Whitmore asked.
Matthew glanced around the room until he found Jennette. She frowned but gave him a quick nod in confirmation that Miss Whitmore was indeed the woman. Obviously, Matthew thought, Jennette must not know of Miss Whitmore’s reputation with certain men.
“That would be lovely, Mrs. Whitmore.”
He took the chair next to Susan and blew out a breath. While he never minded a good musicale, literary salons tended to bore him to tears. Sitting there, his attention followed Jennette as she took her seat near the front. Not once did she glance at him.
Why did he care?
He did not.
He should be lavishing his interest on Miss Susan Whitmore. But Miss Whitmore, with her light brown hair and amber eyes, didn’t appeal to him. It wasn’t her looks. He’d heard three men boast about how she fell directly into their arms with very little encouragement. When he married, he wanted a woman who would remain faithful.
As the first author rose to speak a
bout a poem, he felt Miss Whitmore’s leg brush against his. The cloying scent of her perfume circled around him like a vise, choking the breath out of him. He desperately wanted to move to a different seat. Instead, he sat trapped with her for the evening. While he couldn’t be choosy about who would be his wife, he and Miss Whitmore would never suit.
The program dragged through the evening and as each author spoke, Miss Whitmore’s advances bordered on scandalous. She accidentally skimmed her hand up the side of his thigh. Luckily, no one noticed as her skirts blocked their sight.
When the program finally came to end, he rose to excuse himself.
“Lord Blackburn, would you like to take a turn on the terrace with me?” Miss Whitmore asked with a flirtatious smile. “Several other couples will be doing the same.”
“I’m sorry, but I must speak with someone.” He bowed and walked away. He had no need to talk with anyone, but he did desire a moment alone with no nauseating perfume.
He slipped out of the room and found the billiard room just down the hall. Closing the door behind him, he breathed in the clean scent of the room. A seat by the lit fireplace beckoned him. He leaned back into the soft leather and let his eyes shut. He really shouldn’t be alone in this room. Miss Whitmore didn’t seem the type of woman who would have any qualms about coming in here.
The sound of the door opening slowly forced his lids upward. Expecting to see Miss Whitmore, he released a frustrated sigh.
“Am I disturbing you?”
“Well, this is a surprise,” he replied.
“I had to warn you before…” She hadn’t moved from her position against the door.
“Warn me about what?”
“Miss Whitmore.” She took two steps closer. “I fear I made a huge error with her.”
“Oh? And why is that, Jennette?”
She gnawed at her bottom lip. “I can’t tell you for certain. But I think she was a little too eager to meet you.”
He raised a brow in question. “So you don’t believe a woman might actually want to meet me?”
“It’s not like that,” she protested, wringing her hands. “I—I do not trust her. I followed you in here because I thought she might attempt to find you alone and try to compromise herself with you.”
Which had already crossed his mind. “And why would that be so dreadful? It would get me off your hands rather nicely, wouldn’t you agree?”
“No.”
He rose and strode across the room until only a billiard table stood between them. Leaning over the table, he whispered, “Why do you care whom I marry as long as it isn’t you?”
She closed her beautiful blue eyes. “You deserve better,” she answered softly.
No one had cared about him in so long that he had no idea how to react. “Pardon?”
