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"But you won't?" Blast, she sounded almost wistful. She didn’t truly want him to spank her again. They were rather enjoying themselves right now.
The little look that he gave her made her blush hotly and she looked down at her cards again to avoid his gaze. What was it about him that set her so off kilter? With other men it was easy to be flirtatious, to tease and tempt; with him, it seemed that things she wasn't sure she wanted to show always leaked through.
"Not this time."
Ominous enough to make her shiver. Cynthia changed the subject to the awful weather, putting on her protective social mask and taking refuge in the conversational subjects deemed acceptable for a young lady and a man. This seemed to amuse the Earl, but he followed her line.
As they played, she started to wonder if she was avoiding a spanking because she truly didn't want to be spanked, or because she was beginning to worry about her reactions to the Earl. Her emotions seemed to get rather tangled around him. Although he was somet
imes stiff and starchy, at other times he was the most exciting man she'd ever met. But he was also trying to marry her off to someone else, and so she shouldn't be thinking of his hands or his fingers or lips. She would eventually explore all the pleasures and forbidden things that she wanted to, but not with him.
The amount of disappointment that she had at that thought only confirmed to her that she needed to stop titillating herself with the Earl. Which meant no more spankings. Because eventually she'd be someone else's wife and he would never be hers.
Even though she suddenly felt like crying, Cynthia covered it with a bright smile. And then she took him for all the pennies he was worth.
******
Over the next few days, Wesley noted a change in Cynthia’s behavior. Perhaps it was because the weather had returned to normal, but he found himself unusually disgruntled by the fact that she was rarely to be found on her own. Even in the house, she was most often found with his mother.
He found himself missing her company; her conversation, her quick mind, and especially her outrageous little comments. Most especially, he missed being able to look at her as much as he wanted to without his sharp-eyed mother there. The only time he saw her on her own was when he heard the playing of the pianoforte, and he would often sneak in the room to watch and listen, but he never interrupted. It would break the spell.
Besides, he didn’t think that being completely alone with her was a very good idea. He still hadn’t decided whether or not he wanted to marry her. Although he was having the devil of a time learning more about her when he couldn’t spend any actual time with her.
They were on their way to attend another Assembly, Cynthia and his mother chattering as if nothing was odd about the fact that his ward wouldn't look at him. Not the easiest thing to do when he was sitting across from her in a closed carriage. When he helped her out, she caught his eye, blushed, and looked away again. So at least he knew he still had some effect on her. He wondered what was going through the chit’s mind, that she had so suddenly absented herself from his presence, almost immediately after telling him that she preferred company to entertain her.
Dressed in a pale turquoise gown with gold edging that picked up the golden tints in her hair and dipped even lower than the pink dress she'd worn to the last Assembly, Cynthia was absolutely resplendent. Wesley had been surprised that his mother hadn't insisted on a fichu to cover up all that creamy breast flesh - she was nearly bare to the nipple! - but the Countess hadn't even looked twice. While it was the current fashion for certain ladies in the capital, Wesley certainly hadn't noticed any young misses dressed like that. Although, he also had to admit, that he didn't often look at the young misses.
Still, he couldn't stop himself from looming over Cynthia as he led both her and his mother into the room, one on each arm, and glaring at one of the young gentlemen who nearly stumbled over his own feet when he caught sight of Cynthia. The brazen chit just smiled and waved her fan, gently stirring the brunette curls that were resting on her shoulder. Wesley had to resist the temptation to reach out and wind a curl about his finger. He counted his blessings that at least Cynthia wasn't allowed to waltz, and wouldn't be unless she was taken to London.
Not that he would have allowed anyone other than himself to waltz with her, not dressed as she was this evening. It would be too much temptation for any man.
"Miss Bryant!" An eager young buck, whose name escaped Wesley, came bounding up to grasp her hand. Annoyance flashed through him as Cynthia giggled and accepted the overly flourished bow her young courtier made. It was a poor imitation of a true rake's elegance. "I was hoping you'd attend this evening. May I claim the first dance?"
"Her first dance is mine," Wesley said sharply, gaining a look from his mother. To his surprise she didn't say anything, just raised her eyebrow at him before turning and walking towards the corner where her contemporaries and Lord Vernier were sitting. Cynthia looked up at him, obviously surprised and a little wary of his tone.
The idiot in front of them wasn't at all perturbed. "The second then, Miss Bryant?"
"Of course, Harry," she said with a smile and Wesley nearly snarled at her use of the twit's given name. The young man brightened even further at the intimacy and bowed; after taking a second glance at Wesley he scampered.
Cynthia poked him in the side with her fan.
"Ow. Gently there, baggage." He rubbed the spot where she’d poked him, even though it hadn’t been particularly hard, hoping to make her laugh. Instead she frowned up at him.
"Why were you so mean to poor Harry?" she chided him.
"Poor Harry's an idiot and a coward."
"Running away from you when you're scowling like that is a sign of intelligence, not cowardice," she countered. "In fact, I think I'll follow his example."
As she moved to pull away from him, Wesley grabbed at the hand that had been resting on his arm and yanked her back against him. "I claimed the first dance and the musicians are about to start."
She scowled up at him; unlike 'poor Harry,' she didn't look the least bit intimidated by his dark glare. Of course, that was one of the things that he liked best about her, even if it would occasionally be more convenient if she was. Still, he wouldn’t want a wife that always turned and ran the moment he glared. He needed a wife, like Cynthia, who was made of sterner stuff.
"I don't want to dance with you."
"Too bad."
Feeling unaccountably cheerful all of the sudden, Wesley pulled her towards the dance floor.
