He sent the man a jealous, and violently silencing, look, when the man turned toward his female companion and shrugged.
Neville kissed Mrs. Cartwright’s fingers and whispered back, “No, he’s not there. At least not yet.”
“Later,” she agreed. After sharing a sultry, intimate smile, she drew back.
Again, his stomach lurched. Never in his life had he acted falsely with a lady.
And, for her part, she’d almost made him believe she wanted him. Lies, nothing but lies. He knew very well they were not lovers, nor had any intention of future intimacy.
At least he hoped he had not created such an expectation.
Futile or not, his heart was engaged elsewhere.
Unrequitedly, yes, but engaged.
Willard had best arrive tonight. He could not possibly playact this farce again.
*
Lord Willard’s carriageinched ever closer up Bow Street, heading toward the Theater Royal’s entrance at a pace so slow a snail would be frustrated. Meanwhile, Millie gripped her neatly folded hands tightly together, and, again, refused to give into her vulgar impulse to cover her mouth and nose.
In her experience,ladieswere the ones who applied cologne with a too-liberal touch. As an illustration, Lady Asquith’s perfume occasionally made Millie’s eyes water as they were watering now. But men, she’d thought, were not prone to thesame excess. Neville, for instance, had been wearing averysubtle scent this afternoon…
Bergamot, of course. With just a touch of clove.
Instinctively, she inhaled, only to be forced to wrinkle her nose in a desperate attempt to stifle a sneeze.
Neville’s fragrance had been nice, indeed, and lightly administered, too—much as she wished to deny any commendation of the presumptuous clod. By contrast, Lord Willard’s colognesaturatedthe close confines of his lavishly appointed conveyance.
And she’d nowhere to turn to take a deep breath! To her right was a tufted wall, also heavy with scent, and, to her left, an imposing male with his legs spread wide. If Lord Willard had taken the back-facing bench instead of directing his mother to the seat, Millie might have been able to appreciate his cologne’s aroma of…
She couldn’t say.
Something nutty? Earthy? Animal, almost. Just—she sucked in her lips to prevent a scowl—male. Perhaps she was simply smellingWillard.
Between the thickly pillowed bench, the walls, her petticoats, and his legs, the two of them were stuffed closer together than plums in a pudding.
“You had, I think, some trouble convincing Lord and Lady Redver to allow you to attend?” Willard asked.
“I wouldn’t saytrouble,” she answered, breathing through her mouth. The question sounded conversational, but she detected a deeper interest. “At first, however, Eliza suggested we were not yet well enough acquainted for such an outing.”
“Didshe?” He further spread his legs.
Why must he take up so much room?
“For my part,” his voice was deep and warm, “I feel as if I have known you for an age.”
She could not say the same, though she would never be so impolite as to tell him. So, she continued, “After Eliza objected, Adrian pointed out to her thattheyhad become fast friends. And—”
She stopped herself.
Adrian had also noted that Millie had never made such asignificantrequest. But telling Lord Willard as much felt…wrong.
She flashed him a look.
She’d wanted an evening out without her usual retinue. And, though she intended to commence a slight flirtation—one she might use for her own purposes—she didn’t want to give rise in Lord Willard the same expectations her request had, apparently, implied to Adrian.
“And?” Lord Willard prompted.