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Had not those words been her own? It pleased her vanity to think that he might have given much consideration to what she had said.
“Then felicitations are in order,” she said.
“Not yet. I am requiring they wait at least eighteen months. The heart is subject, too, to change.”
“That is sound.”
They fell once more into silence. Though it was dark and she would be out of his presence soon enough, she wished she had worn a better gown than her old ivory muslin. The sleeves of her spencer were a bit frayed at the edges, and she had a hole hidden at the pit of one arm. Rockwell, in contrast, was immaculately dressed in a double-breasted tailcoat and patterned waistcoat. His linen was starched and bright, the ruffled sleeves showing past the cuffs of his coat, and his cravat perfectly tied.
She searched her mind for other topics to pass the time. She had no wish to ask about Lady Isabella, though she was curious as to the state of his relationship with her ladyship. Asking about the Chateau or Madame Follet might also lead the discourse into unwanted territory. She was about to comment on the weather they were having when he spoke first.
“Why have you chosen to frequent this new gaming hall?”
She shifted uncomfortably to delay answering.
“I was having a run of bad luck at the previous place,” she said carefully. “I thought a change of scenery would improve it.”
He studied her and seemed dubious. She avoided his gaze and glanced at the stately buildings lining the street.
“We’ve taken a wrong turn,” she said and realized that they were in Mayfair, where he lived.
“I thought a midnight tea in order.”
This was highly irregular and improper. She did not want to have tea at his townhouse. In her mind, she had bid him good-bye for the final time.
“I have other engagements,” she objected.
The curricle felt small, and she occasionally bumped against his arm.
He raised his brows. “At midnight.”
“Other intentions,” she rephrased.
“At midnight,” he repeated.
She screamed inside her head. The man could not be more vexing!
“Regardless, it is most presumptuous of you to assume that I have the time and inclination to take tea with you,” she asserted.
He pulled the curricle in front of his townhouse. His stable boy met him to take the horses and vehicle to the back.
Stubbornly, she remained seated. “You told me you would see me home.”
“And I shall. After tea.” He offered his hand.
“Why not now?”
“Because we’re having tea.”
She clenched her teeth. “I would prefer to go home now.”
“Pray, do not make a scene, Miss Herwood.”
She looked to the stable boy, who watched them curiously. Relenting, she took his hand and allowed him to assist her down. She noted the encompassing warmth of his grasp. The man had remarkable hands.
Cease and desist, she told herself. She pulled at her hand, but he held it a few beats longer than necessary.
If he expects a willing and cheerful guest, he will be quite mistaken, Deana told herself. She intended to be done with tea as quickly as possible.
