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“You minx,” he said vexedly. “Do you even know what you do to me?”
I do not…but I want to know, William. “I prefer, Pippa,” she teased aloud. “Good night, William.” Then she turned around and walked back to the ballroom, knowing that William, Lord Trent, had become the only man on her list. It was ridiculous, for he was a man everyone knew swore to never marry, for he enjoyed sensual pursuits and bachelorhood far too much. The Pippa of two years ago would have been too timid to even dare, but now, she laughed, truly delighted at the idea that she wanted this man with a breathlessness that knew no bounds…and she would not shy or run from the awareness of it.
CHAPTERFIVE
After a damn restless night filled with dreams of a far too tempting and fearless chit, William entered his study only to stop as if he had run into a wall. He stared at the fresh bouquet of flowers atop his desk, flawlessly arranged so the sun slanting inside glowed on their elegant stems and beautifully furled petals. “What are these?” he asked of his butler, who traveled closely behind him with a mound of correspondence.
“They were delivered this morning, my lord.”
“Why are they on my desk?”
A small pause ensued, then his butler replied, “They are for you, your lordship.”
“For me?”
“Yes, my lord.”
His butler stoically stared straight ahead, yet William could feel the man’s impertinent amusement and curiosity.
“These were delivered with the instructions for me and not the countess?” William asked again, aware of how bemused he sounded. His mother was a beautiful woman in her prime, and his father had been gone for a decade. They could be for her from some gentleman determined to scale her closed-off heart.
“Yes, my lord. There is also a note.”
“A note?” he echoed like a damn parrot. “That will be all, Branson,” William said, dismissing his loyal butler.
The door closed with asnick, and only then did he pad over to the flowers. William stared at them as if they were a mass of writhing snakes. He was that disconcerted that someone had sent him roses. Were they not a romantic, courting symbol? He scoffed. Clearly, he was overthinking the matter. He plucked the note from the desk and flicked it open.
Dancing with you last night was wonderful. The kiss was also interesting. I hope you enjoy the roses.
A sound came from him, a cross between a grunt and a shortened laugh. She had really dared. How outrageous was Lady Pippa? Where did she find the nerve to be this unflinchingly different? How the devil had she found the courage to act so boldly? Young, unmarried ladies did not send flowers to any gentlemen.
Nor did they place facers on libertines who misbehaved, a small voice reminded him. William smiled when he recalled those fists raised in defiance to defend her honor, the stubborn jut of her chin, and that determined look in her beautiful eyes.
“Hell,” he growled in the stillness of the study. “And why was our kiss only interesting? It damn near killed me and certainly robbed me of a peaceful sleep.”
Moving to sit behind his desk, he plucked a sheaf of paper from the top drawer, dipped the quill into the ink and scrawled,What mischief is this? An attempt at courtship?
His question was just as outrageous, yet he folded the paper, summoned a footman, and ordered it to be delivered immediately. Perhaps a foolish move on his part, given that he was determined to push Lady Pippa from his thoughts. He had always been a man who loathed wasting his time and effort on endeavors that would bear little or no fruit.
William then went about his business for the day, responding to several political correspondences about the bills that needed to be debated at Parliament’s next sitting. After attending to those letters and invitations to political dinners, William would need to peruse the reports from his estate steward in Berkshire and his principal estate in Derbyshire. He would immerse himself in estate matters for the rest of the week, push that enticing lady and kiss permanently from his thoughts. Almost an hour later, Branson announced his good friend, the Earl of Wycliffe, had come to call. That surprised William though he welcomed him inside. They were not of the mind to call upon each other at their respective townhomes, given they would likely see each other at their gentlemen’s club in the evening.
His friend entered his study looking dapper in buff trousers, a matching jacket, and a dark blue waistcoat. He also had an air of happiness about him that William couldn’t help smiling to witness. He prepared two glasses of port and handed one to Wycliffe.
“I gather you have some good news,” William said, sitting on the edge of his desk and stretching his feet before him.
“My wife is with child,” Wycliffe said, taking a sip of his drink. “We will welcome a son or daughter in a few months.”
“Congratulations,” William offered, lifting his glass in a toast.
He’d never thought to see his friend this contented with his marriage. At first, the earl had seemed aloof, like it hardly mattered that he’d found himself a bride. Then a little more than a year ago, something between Wycliffe and his countess had changed, and the damn earl now wore his heart on his sleeve for his darling wife and the entiretonto see.
William stared at the amber liquid in his glass. He could not imagine owning such affections and emotions for another that he would be unable to hide it. Wycliffe cleared his throat, and William glanced up, arching a brow at his friend’s expression. “Has someone died?”
Wycliffe grinned. “No. But there is some curiosity about you and Lady Phillipa.”
For a moment, William’s mind blanked. “Good God, curiosity from whom? I only recently met the chit.”
“My countess,” the earl said with a mild grimace. “And the scandal sheets if you would be bothered to read them. You danced with the young lady last night, and everyone took notice. Rightly, my wife who swears you are a rogue no lady of decent quality should be around.”
