The Guise of a Gentleman (6 page)

She frowned. Deliberate stylish boredom? She watched him with greater focus. He gripped his fork tight enough to whiten his fingertips. An alert stillness suggested he knew at that very moment the precise location of everyone in the room and the topics they discussed.

He glanced at her. His eyes widened briefly in surprise at her unabashed stare. A mischievous grin slid into place. Then his eyes took on a rakish glint.

“Having trouble keeping your eyes off me, eh, Mrs. Berkley?” he murmured in a voice only she would hear.

She shot him a quick glare.

One corner of his mouth lifted before he turned to speak to Mrs. Carson sitting to his other side, his voice calm, his demeanor relaxed.

Elise shrugged off the foolish notion that he’d been so tense. She must have imagined it. After all, she’d not kept the company of gentlemen in years, so what did she think she knew about them, or him in particular? Keenly aware of his presence, her eyes repeatedly moved to him, but she fought to direct them away. If only he weren’t so uncommonly handsome!

He turned to her and leaned in close enough to send her heart flipping. The knots in her stomach made it difficult to eat. She glanced at him, wondering if he knew his effect upon her. Probably. The blackguard.

With perfect propriety, he murmured, “Are you enjoying your dinner, Mrs. Berkley?” His hand toyed with his glass, reminding her of his gentle touch despite his scars and calluses.

She swallowed. “Of course.” She did not dare mention in front of other guests that he sat too close.

“Tell me, Mrs. Berkley,” Lord Druesdale said, “have you any interest in Egyptian artifacts?”

Desperate to prove to Mr. Amesbury that he had no effect upon her, she gratefully turned from Mr. Amesbury to Lord Druesdale. “I, ah, no. That is, I have not become familiar with the subject. I read a great deal, but that is not a subject I have studied.” She cringed, fully aware at how badly she was failing at her attempt to appear calm.

“Pity,” replied Lord Druesdale. “It’s fascinating. I was a member of Napoleon’s excursions into Egypt and was present during some impressive and historic finds.”

“Yes, I had heard,” Mr. Amesbury rumbled. “While some of us were fighting a war, you consorted with the enemy.” There could be no mistaking his accusing tone.

Druesdale stiffened. “I was present as a scholar, not as a supporter.”

The tension between the two men crackled. Elise felt as if she’d been caught in the crossfire of a duel.

“Your presence alone could be considered support,” Mr. Amesbury shot back.

“I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

They stared at each other hard until she feared they’d actually come to blows.

Then Mr. Amesbury glanced at her. “Forgive us, Madam. You mentioned you enjoy reading. What do you like to read?”

She scrambled to formulate a reply. “Oh, many things. I especially enjoy novels by Ann Radcliff and Sir Walter Scott. I recently read one called Frankenstein—”

“Novels? You surprise me,” broke in Lord Druesdale. “I thought you the type who reads ladies’ magazines, looking at the latest fashion plates and needlepoint patterns.”

“I enjoy a wide variety of subjects.”

“Poetry?” asked Mr. Amesbury.

“Not so much” Elsie said. “I think Byron is one of the better poets, but he can be a bit dark for my taste.”

“Ah, you prefer the romantics such as Wordsworth and Coleridge,” said Druesdale.

Elise found her attention so neatly divided between the gentlemen on either side that she hardly knew where to look.

“If you must know, I read the newspaper more than anything else.” She glanced at Druesdale, who looked faintly scandalized. Through the corner of her eye, she observed Mr. Amesbury. One side of his mouth twitched in amusement. In his eyes shone approval.

Elise blinked. Approval? Most men, Edward included, disapproved of ladies reading the newspapers, viewing them as too sordid for a lady’s delicate nature.

Recklessly, she added, “In particular, I applaud the prison reforms and have made a number of contributions toward charities who seek change. I also support the idea of an educational system for the poor to give them the opportunity to improve themselves. Although I doubt we’ll see such a program during our lifetime.”

She looked at them in turn with a challenging lift to her chin.

Lord Druesdale stared with raised brows.

Mr. Amesbury grinned. “What an independent and forward thinker you are, Mrs. Berkley. You would like my sisters.”

She searched for mockery or condemnation but found none. Astonishing.

After dessert had been served, the guests raised their glasses in toasts to the upcoming wedding between Lady Standwich and Mr. Harrison. Elise offered a toast she hoped sounded heartfelt and congratulatory. Lily positively glowed as she beamed at her intended, and Elise squelched her selfish disappointment at Lily’s decision to remarry.

As dinner ended, the hostess stood and nodded to the men. “Gentlemen. You are most welcome to join us in the drawing room when you are so inclined.” She gave an affectionate smile to Mr. Harrison, who visibly softened when their eyes met.

The ladies rose and followed her out, leaving the gentlemen to their own discussion. Grateful for the separation from the man whose very presence threatened her safe existence, Elise went with the ladies.

As conversation buzzed around her, her thoughts returned to Jared Amesbury. She puzzled over his moments of vulnerability in the garden, and over her desire to soothe him. He’d needed her aid in the woods. How long since she’d had any desire to offer comfort to a man? How long since one had needed her?

A
startling clarity pierced her thoughts; she desperately missed being needed. Colin needed her, of course, and her servants and tenants depended upon her, but that was different. None of them needed her as a woman.

Then again, as much as she’d loved Edward and enjoyed their comfortable companionship, she wasn’t entirely sure he’d ever actually needed her, either.

She sat stunned by the revelation of her own loneliness.

The shields, built up by years of fooling herself, fell away, revealing the chasm in her life. The chasm in her purpose. The chasm in her heart. Her hands shook, and she stared unseeing at the wall behind Lily’s head. Then she gave herself a scolding for sinking into self pity and reminded herself that widowhood was wonderful.

At the moment, she had trouble listing any reasons why.

The gentlemen joined them, and she sensed Mr. Amesbury the moment he entered the room. Like a great, hungry panther, he prowled closer. The image shattered when he halted, offered a polite bow, and indicated an empty place next to her on the settee.

“May I?”

She thought she heard a sound of annoyance from Lord Druesdale who had reached her at almost the same instant, but forgot the lord the moment she looked up into Mr. Amesbury’s face. The intensity in his eyes drove away her powers of speech. She swallowed against a suddenly dry mouth.

Though increasingly desperate to escape his unnerving presence and regain her self-control, Elise pulled her gaze away from his and nodded toward the empty seat. “Please.”

The seat sank under his weight. His clean, masculine scent called out to her. Acutely aware of him, and disturbed by her reaction, she adjusted her skirts, flicked off an imaginary speck, and looked for something else to do to keep her eyes off him. Her earlier compassion for him vanished, leaving her only with the desire to escape his disturbing nearness.

“Lady Standwich seems delighted at the prospect of her upcoming nuptials,” Mr. Amesbury commented benignly.

“I can’t imagine why,” she said before she realized she’d spoken her thoughts out loud.

“You don’t approve of the match?”

Ashamed, she hastily added, “It isn’t that. He’s a fine man. It’s merely that I’m surprised she’s decided to remarry.”

“Are you? Why is that?”

She paused, unwilling to reveal too much. “We spent much time discussing how well we’ve adapted to widowhood and how we never planned to wed again and give up our independence. Her change of heart seemed sudden.”

“Widowed?” His mouth curved up a rather satisfied gleam entered his eyes. He shifted, bringing his leg near enough that his warmth seeped into her thigh.

A stirring arose deep inside, so basic, so elemental in its origin that it seemed at once familiar and foreign.
Lowering her gaze, she inched away.

“Have I done something to offend you, Mrs. Berkley?”

Keeping her eyes averted, she shook her head. “No, of course not.”

“Why do you look distressed?” he persisted.

“You are far too attentive.”

H
e leaned in close. “I don’t think I’ve ever been accused of being too attentive before. I have, however, been accused of just the opposite on more than one occasion.” His breath fanned the tendrils at her neck.

Her heart fluttered. She made the mistake of looking at him. The twinkle in his eye and irrepressible grin should have disarmed her. Instead, annoyance flared that he could so easily sweep away her sensible nature.

“You are bold, sir,” she hissed through clenched teeth.

“I am,” he agreed in a low voice. “So bold that I hope to hear you call me Jared some day.”

She shivered at the indirect caress of his warm breath on her skin and kept her gaze downcast rather than meet that unnervingly direct stare. What had happened to her defenses? Resisting his presence was like trying to ward off a hurricane’s blast with a mere parasol. “Sir, that is hardly appropriate.”

“Then I shall persist until it becomes appropriate.”

Her gaze shot to his, her breath catching. If her heart beat unevenly before, it positively raced now with his mouth only inches away. A longing to move closer and feel the passion of his kiss surfaced once again. Horrified at her shameless desire, and the guilt that reared its accusing head, she looked away. The other guests’ laughter and chatter seemed far removed.

His eyes glittered as he shifted closer.

“You’re infuriating,” she managed through clenched teeth as she tried to put on what others would see as a lighthearted smile so as not to betray anything was amiss.

He grinned wickedly. “Are you sure it’s I who infuriates you? Or is it your unwilling attraction to me?”

Her smile tightened. “Arrogant, as well.”

“I believe the word is ‘perceptive.’ Although, bold, infuriating and arrogant are all words that no doubt fit. Trust me; I’ve been called things much less flattering. You do owe me an apology, you know.”

Taken aback, she stared. “Oh?”

“You led me to believe you are married, Mrs. Berkley.”

“And so I was. For five wonderful years.”

“I’m very glad to learn that I shall not have to duel your husband for you.”

She swallowed her initial shock at his outrageous statement and lifted her chin. “Since you would surely have lost to my husband, it is fortunate for you no such thing will happen.”

He grinned, handsome and dangerous. “I might surprise you.”

She truly hoped he was joking. At the moment, she could not be certain of anything. Even herself. She bit her lip.

Lady Standwich stood and invited anyone interested to join a game of whist. She directed players to tables, making sure people were paired as she wished. She partnered Elise with Mr. Bradford, and as Elise took her place, she noticed both gentlemen at Elise’s table were widowed. Determined to be polite, but wishing she could escape, Elise played the most miserable hands of whist ever. However, Mr. Bradford remained perfectly gracious about their losses.

Finally, Elise rose, bid them all good night, and signaled a footman to ready her carriage and bring her wrap.

“Lily, thank you for inviting me to your dinner party. I had a lovely time.” She almost added ‘despite your attempts to foist me off on the bachelors and widowers’ but she held her tongue.

“Thank you for coming, Elise. It meant the world to me.”

Elise turned to Mr. Harrison next to Lily. “Again, congratulations and I wish you both much happiness. Good evening.”

They bid her good night and returned to their guests. As she waited near the door for her coach, she felt a presence.

“Mrs. Berkley, I’m sorry to see you leaving so soon.”

Bracing herself, she turned to Mr. Amesbury.

“I had hoped you would partner me for the next game.” The gentle seductiveness in his voice chased away any retort she might have made.

He raised her hand to his lips and actually kissed the back of her hand. She pulled her hand from his. Heaven help her if he ever kissed her hand without the protection of her gloves!

“Please don’t do that,” she pled weakly, too tired to spar with him.

He paused, the humor leaving his face, and he studied her carefully. “Why are you afraid of me?”

She looked away before she got so lost in those beautiful eyes that she forgot herself. “Anyone who calls herself a lady would be foolish not to fear you.”