The Guise of a Gentleman (5 page)

She stilled at his unexpected words.

He added, “I offended you with my impulsive behavior, and I humbly beg your forgiveness.” A smile lurked around the corner of his eyes despite the contrition in his tone.

Had a man ever left her so thoroughly confused? He was a muddle of a perfect gentleman and an incorrigible tease. Truly he was a cad. She’d just have to ignore those annoyingly strong elemental stirrings he aroused in her; they would be extremely inconvenient if she, as a mother and widow, followed them.

She indicated the pearl. “Truly, this is not necessary.”

“Please take it.” He grinned with roguish charm. “Otherwise, I’ll be honor-bound to find some other way to thank you.”

Something in his tone dispelled her guard. Laughing softly at his audacity, she picked up the pearl and admired it. “Very well, I accept, lest you become even more outrageous in your expression of gratitude.”

A place in her heart was touched that he’d be so thoughtful as to have brought her a gift that possessed sentimental value, rather than merely one of monetary worth—not that she should be accepting either one from a stranger, but somehow, she could not refuse.

Archly, she said, “And as you were clearly not in your right mind after such a terrible ordeal, I forgive you for your misconduct.” She wrapped the pearl in a lace handkerchief and put it in her reticule.

His smile appeared both wicked and relieved. “I cannot express how much that means to me. I have thought of you often since that day.”

“You, sir, continually breach the boundaries of propriety.” If only she could slow down her traitorous heart and force it to accept her decision to dismiss him as beneath her notice. But she couldn’t simply dismiss someone whose very presence filled the entire garden, and whose thoughtfulness touched her more than she cared to admit.

She almost uttered a sound of disgust. When had she become so easily ensnared by the charms of a libertine? She took another step backward and lost her balance. With a cry, she teetered at the edge of the pond.

His hand shot out to catch her by the arms. Laughter leaped into his eyes while he slowly pulled her closer to his broad chest. His clean and earthy and so very masculine scent crept into her senses. For one brief moment of insanity, she enjoyed his nearness, his arms around her making her feel safe, protected, desirable.

Where had she left her wits?

“Thank you,” she whispered, dropping her eyes and shrugging off his touch.

He dropped
his hands to his sides. “Do you really fear me so? Or is it that this isn’t proper, either?”

“Of course this isn’t proper. And I’m wise to mistrust a man whose conduct and intentions are questionable, at best. Unless I have my gun, of course.”

His lazy laughter rang out, filling her with slow warmth.

She barely controlled the impulse to smile. Instead, she raised her chin while trying to look appropriately irritated. “You laugh at me, sir?”

“You are a sheer delight.” He enclosed one of her hands between both of his. Though terribly, terribly improper, the sweet possessiveness of his gesture sent giddy little thrills through her. “Do you know that in many countries, once a person has saved the life of another, that person must remain with his savior until the debt is repaid? If we were to honor that, then I must be with you, watching over you, every minute of every day.”

She considered remaining in this man’s presence every moment of every day. Definitely not. Her good sense would never survive it.

She disentangled her hand and said primly, “Fortunately, we do not have such an inconvenient custom in England.”

He chuckled. “I think you don’t really mean that.”

That sensual quality entered his voice, bringing to mind a stark remembrance of his kiss. His gaze lowered, focusing on her mouth. Her lips parted of their own volition as she remembered how soft and warm his lips were, the way she’d tingled at the touch. The way she tingled again now just remembering it.

For one brief, horrifying moment, she had the insane hope that he would kiss her again. Longer. Over and over…

She took herself in hand and drew a shaky breath. “Do you always accost women in this manner?”

“Only those who capture my interest. You see, I’ve never met an angel.”

An angel? That was probably the loveliest thing any man had ever said to her. Too bad she harbored secret desires that contradicted such a compliment. Too bad it came from a scoundrel who probably used it with every woman he hoped to seduce.

“You, sir, are a dangerous flatterer.”

He laughed with abandon. “You might as well tell me your given name. I’ll find out anyway.”

She lifted her chin defiantly. Wh
y was he so insistent to learn her Christian name? “Very well, in exchange for a satisfactory explanation of your straits that day on my property, I will tell you. But you do not have permission to address me by it.”

“I fear I may not be able to resist.”

“Exercise a measure of control.”

“Hmmm. Like the control I exercised when I kissed you?”

Her face flamed. “No!” she whispered tersely.

“I assure you, I was tempted to do far more than I did.”

Arrogant wretch! “Then truly you are no gentleman.”

“You’re right. I only pretend to be. It’s a guise I wear when necessary. No doubt my mother would be horrified.” A brief shadow touched his face. Sadness? Regret? Grief?

“My given name is Elise,” she heard herself say.

“Elise,” he repeated in a tone approaching reverence.

“But you do not have my permission to use it.”

One corner of his mouth turned up, dispelling the earlier show of emotion. “Yes, ma’am.”

A flare of light in the heavens caught her attention, and she watched a star streak across the darkened sky. “Look. A falling star.”

“Make a wish,” he suggested.

“I have no need of wishes. I have a home and a son and everything I need. I’ll make one for you. What do you wish?”

“Freedom.”

She blinked, taken aback by his unexpected answer. “Freedom? From what?”

The light in his expressive eyes dimmed. “I wish I could tell you.”

When he said nothing further, she ignored her upbringing and asked, “Why can’t you tell me?”

A self-deprecating smile touched his mouth. “You already dislike me. If you really knew me, you’d be repulsed.”

She touched his sleeve. “I never said I dislike you. Besides, we’re virtually strangers; why should my opinion matter?”

Rigid with tension, he looked down at her hand resting upon his arm, his lashes concealing his eyes.  Then he turned that lethal gaze upon her. Very quietly, he replied, “It matters.”

Stunned, she stared. Again, the mask of a playful rogue had fallen away and genuine loss shone through. A deep and poignant sadness entered the depths of his eyes, holding her in its grasp. Seized with an overwhelming desire to discover the source of his haunting pain, coupled with the urge to offer comfort, she cast about for a method to cheer him.

She indicated the starry sky. “Then I’ll make a wish for you. I wish for you to have all the desires of your heart.”

He looked at her in wonder. Just when she’d begun to think she’d been wrong about him, the wickedness returned in the lopsided upturn of his mouth. “Even if my heart desires you?”

“I…” Her heart thumped and tightness coiled in her abdomen.

Suddenly terrified at the realization that, on at least one level, she did desire him, she fled. Passing the ornamental trees and flowers, arches and statues, she ran without pause until she reached the safety of the terrace outside the brightly lit drawing room. Ordinarily she would shun bright lights that might reveal her discomfort, but she’d be safer inside away from him. From herself.

She halted just outside the doors to catch her breath. Glancing back, she looked for his pursuit but she was alone. As she smoothed her hair, she realized his ploy. In exchange for her given name, she’d demanded an explanation regarding the noose and the men who’d been threatening him, yet he’d managed to distract her without answering her question. And she’d still given him her name. She clenched her teeth. Rogue!

She entered the drawing room and hoped her guilty thoughts about the stranger weren’t apparent all over her face.

Charlotte Greymore approached wearing a wide smile. “Elise, you look magnificent.”

Elise touched her gown self-consciously. “How do you feel, Charlotte?”

“I am quite well, thank you. And you?”

Elise laughed softly. “I’m not the one increasing, Charlotte.”

Glowing with happiness, Charlotte placed a hand on her slightly rounded abdomen. “I’m over the sickness, and aside from some fatigue, I feel wonderful.”

“I’m gratified to hear you aren’t going to be ill the entire nine months as was I.”

Charlotte smiled and glanced over her shoulder at her husband. Mr. Greymore stood laughing in a circle of men.

“I’m in need of the ladies’ retiring room.” Charlotte blushed. “Excuse me.”

Elise watched her pass her husband, touch his arm, and leave the room. Charlotte seemed happier than ever now that she’d wedded her childhood sweetheart. But then, Mr. Greymore was a remarkable man.

“Mrs. Berkley. How delightful to see you.”

Elise turned to see her neighbor, Mr. Bradford. Edward and Mr. Bradford used to banter good-naturedly about the rightful ownership of the lake that spanned their adjoining land. She’d seldom exchanged more than a few words with her neighbor.

She swiftly regained her comportment. “Good evening, Mr. Bradford. How are you?”

He blinked and looked away. “I’m well, thank you. I miss Emma, of course, but we are getting along.”

Elise felt a twinge of guilt. “I must apologize for having neglected you during this difficult time. I should have been there for you more.”

His eyes widened in surprise. “You’ve always been most kind. And my daughters adore your Colin.”

Lily announced, “Ladies and gentlemen. Dinner is served.”

Mr. Bradford bowed to Elise and moved to another lady he’d been assigned to escort into the dining room.

“It appears I have the happy privilege of escorting you to dinner, Mrs. Berkley.”

She looked up into Mr. Amesbury’s eyes. He’d reconstructed his mask of careless charm, his self-possession firmly in place.

She shot a scathing glare at Lily for pairing her with Mr. Amesbury for dinner, but her friend smiled in satisfaction. Resigned, Elise placed her hand on his offered arm, again struck by his strength and that world-weariness about his face.

Those moments of vulnerability she’d seen in him moments ago in the garden had touched her inner needs to soothe and comfort. She wanted to learn his secrets, heal his hurts.

But that would be unwise, considering she had no desire to risk placing herself under the thumb of a man.

He smiled. “Are you trying to divine my thoughts?”

“I’m not sure I dare venture into such dangerous territory.”

Softly chuckling, he led her to the dining room, following the other guests according to rank and precedence, and pulled out her chair for her before taking his place at her right. Lord Druesdale sat at her left. Directly across from her sat the young widower, Mr. Bradford. She felt like a fish in a glass bowl on display for a dozen hungry cats.

Mr. Amesbury settled next to her looking amused and satisfied. As servants brought each course, Elise concentrated on her food and tried to politely include both gentlemen next to her, so as not to show any favoritism. She did not wish to give any sign that might be misconstrued as preference.

A guest sitting further down the table caught her attention. Lord Von Barondy, a viscount, was a middle-aged man with thinning hair and sharp, darting eyes. Though he and his wife were respectable members of the community, Elise found them both terrible boors.

“Yes, I suppose I have had a run of good luck,” the viscount said, his chest puffing out. “It’s nothing terribly magical, really, just a series of good business investments. I fear I have a weakness for spoiling my lovely wife.” He glanced at the lady beside him.

His wife, several years younger and wearing an enormous diamond and ruby necklace, smiled at him. He looked fondly at her, and Elise felt a pang in her heart. Her own dear husband had looked at her that way in rare, tender moments. Elise redirected her gaze to her plate and unclenched her hand.

“I wish I knew your secret,” Mr. Bradford replied.

The viscount’s wife fidgeted with her necklace with several bejeweled fingers as she ate, as if assuring herself all remained in place.

Von Barondy waved a hand magnanimously toward the other guests. “Let us not bore the ladies present with business. We’re here to enjoy ourselves. Besides, you don’t expect me to reveal all my methods for success, do you?”

Mr. Amesbury kept his focus upon his plate, giving no indication that he neither heard the exchange nor was even aware of the speakers. Yet, something about his stylishly bored manner gave her pause. It seemed too deliberate.