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Shaking his head at the memory of her words, Halsten cast the letter onto his writing table. He knew he could not keep her long from London. She had already had her come-out last Season, but he knew her primary interest in London at the moment was a young man named Wilson. It was an unsuitable match, and he was quite disappointed with Sophia for having allowed the friendship between the two to occur. Distance and time would cool their interest.
If only the same could prove true for him and Miss Herwood.
* * * * *
The winnings from last night’s game of brag with Lord Rockwell remained in Deana’s purse for she had not wanted to touch them. She had no desire to keep his money, but her more frugal side would not allow her to indulge her anger by tossing the winnings. Did he think that because she had accepted his first proposition—an acceptance under duress, no less, given her need to alleviate her financial distress—that he could waltz into the gaming hall and proposition her as if she were his mistress?
But she was as indignant with herself, for a part of her wanted to accept his invitation. Still cross the following day, she took herself to the gaming hall once more despite her decision not to return for some time. She reasoned that another evening spent at the gaming hall meant avoiding her mother and aunt and their constant laments. It had not at all to do with one patronizing baron.
He was not at all the reason she had put on her best frock. The bright blue with lace trim at the décolletage lent color to the dullness of her hair and plain brown eyes. Though mostly parsimonious with her rouge and powder, she paid more heed to the ample use of cosmetics to draw attention to the few features she considered fine: her high cheekbones and unblemished complexion.
Her luck that evening proved unexceptional. She won at brag and lost at piquet. All the while she would glance at the entry of the card-room, wondering if Lord Rockwell would make an appearance. The bottle of port tempted her throughout the evening, but she was mindful of Lord Rockwell’s admonishment. She had no wish to provide him another opportunity to reprove her.
She was in the midst of a run at faro when Rockwell appeared. She fumbled her chips. Though Miss Walpole was quick to approach him as the page assisted him with his hat and gloves, he made no secret that the object of his gaze was one Deana Herwood. He did not look pleased. Deana wondered if she had offended him. No doubt accustomed to women flattered by his propositions, he must have taken exception to her rejection of him.
“I think I shall take a respite,” she informed the other players before taking her leave.
She went to the dining hall to gather her thoughts. Of course she could not hide from him all evening. What if he intended to frequent the gaming hall with regularity? A distressing thought indeed. What would she do then? Patronize another gaming hall? But why should she forsake her grounds to him? She would simply have to find a way to ignore him, a task she knew to be easier said than done. Picking at the food upon her plate, she wondered why she had ordered beefsteak when she knew she had no appetite?
“May I?”
As she was sitting, Lord Rockwell seemed to tower over her. He was alone with no Miss Walpole in sight. He had a hand upon the back of the chair opposite her, and she could not help but admire his long deft fingers. Those fingers had once fondled her most intimate parts in the most delectable manner...
Snapping her attention away from his hand, she replied, “As you wish, but I am nearly finished here.”
He eyed the uneaten beefsteak, potatoes and turnips. Without word, he took a seat at the small table. He ordered a Madeira. She should have rebuffed his request to join her. Alas, she had not her best wits in his presence.
“I am sorry to have offended you, Miss Herwood.”
She blinked several times. Though she merited his apology, she had not expected a man of his standing would offer it to someone like her.
“Indeed,” she answered, unsure of how to handle the surprise as she mindlessly moved the vegetables around on her plate.
“I had thought, perhaps mistakenly, there to have been favorable sentiments from our last proposition.”
She looked him square in the eyes. “My lord, that was a year ago. Do you suppose I have little more to attend than to wait for you to appear at a moment’s notice to proposition me?”
He bristled. “Of course not.”
“Hmmm. I am not entirely convinced,” she murmured.
His brows shot up, but then he met her grin. “Careful, Miss Herwood.”
There was a salacious quality to his warning, and she decided further conversation would not prove safe. She rose to her feet. “I appreciate and accept your apology, Lord Rockwell. Shall we be friends?”
She extended her hand as an olive branch. He looked at it, took it in the warm grasp of his long fingers, and brought it to his lips. She nearly gasped. The kiss was brief, but her whole body lit up. Her heart palpitated twice as fast.
“Friends, Miss Herwood.”
She smiled wanly, then left the dining hall as quick as she could for she doubted she could put two words together. She paused in a deserted hallway and forced herself to take a deep breath.
A page came up to her. “Pardon, miss, be you Miss Herwood?”
She nodded.
“This come by courier.”
He handed her a small note and left after receiving his tip. Deana opened the note. It was from her Aunt Lydia bidding her to come home for Adeline had fallen gravely ill.
