“What if he remembers you?”
“Tarrington didn’t until tonight. Nor did Anabeth recognize me when I saw her at the modiste as I was being fitted for this very gown. She barely glanced in my direction. I made not the least impression on either of them as Miss Drevenport. Southwell is even less observant.” A small wince of pressure pressed against her heart. “Possibly if I was an undiscovered species of parrot or the like, he might recall our last meeting.” But she wanted Southwell to remember the Widow Culpepper tonight. Become enamored of her. Find her to be the most intriguing and beautiful woman in the room.
“You should make him fall in love with you, then cast him aside.” Emmie was watching Southwell approach. “It’s the least he deserves.”
Her cousin had said such before. “Perhaps I will.”
Honora’s skin prickled as Southwell neared, sparking along her arms and chest. Why was he still so bloody handsome? Couldn’t he have melted into something disgusting as Tarrington had?
A woody scent found its way into her nostrils when he stood before her, patiently waiting for Monteith to make the proper introductions. Southwell possessed the same intoxication for Honora that hot chocolate or scones fresh from the oven once had. A sweetness that burst upon her lips just from looking at him. Her traitorous heart refused to stop flapping about in her chest at having him so close.
“Mrs. Culpepper.” Montieth made a small bow. “Miss Stitch.”
Montieth’s imposing form towered over Honora like some sort of ogre’s from a fairy tale. She had to resist the urge to cringe. Even Emmie took a step backward.
“Lord Montieth.” Honora gracefully dipped a sharp contrast to Emmie’s stiff jerking of her knees. “How delightful to see you in attendance this evening.” Her gaze flickered to Southwell with mild interest.
“May I present Lord Southwell, Mrs. Culpepper. Miss Stitch.”
The bits of amber in Southwell’s eyes sparkled like gold as his gaze took her in, lingering over the exposed skin of her bosom. His perusal, the blatant male admiration, made Honora somewhat dizzy, the same feeling she got after a sip of brandy. Leather and tobacco mixed with the light aroma of cedar filled her nostrils as he took her hand. Tiny lines were etched at the corners of his eyes, a testament to years looking out across a sun-drenched horizon far from England’s cloudy shores. A dark brush of hair trailed along his jaw, which combined with the hair teasing at his shoulders, gave Southwell a disreputable look.
A quiver shot down her spine. A delicious one.
Outside of Southwell’s expensive clothing, there was very little of the earl she remembered.ThisSouthwell exuded the same air of capability and command, but there was an edge to him he hadn’t worn before. He seemed jaded, and unimpressed with everything around him.
Oddly enough, it only enhanced his appeal.
Emmie tried hard to hide her dislike and failed miserably as she greeted Southwell with a well-clipped, “My lord.”
Honora, in contrast, lowered herself just enough that Southwell could see directly down her bodice. She straightened gracefully if a bit unsteadily, alarmed at the flush she could feel warming her skin.
“Mrs. Culpepper, a pleasure.” Southwell leaned heavily on the cane as his fingers curled around hers. The brush of his lips against her knuckles was more sensual than polite. Or possibly Honora only imagined it to be. However, the press of his forefinger as it trailed along her palm before he released her hand was not fabrication.
Honora reminded herself to breathe.
“I’m delighted to finally make the acquaintance of the famous Lord Southwell.” Honora bestowed a brilliant smile on him, instructing her pulse to stop racing about. “Your exploits are well known, my lord.” It was practiced flattery, designed to stroke his ego.
The small dimple in his cheek appeared, charming Honora, though she didn’t want it to. Southwell seemed far more annoyed than amused by her comment. “More infamous, I’m sure. I fear I’m more cartographer than explorer these days, Mrs. Culpepper.”
“You are too modest. All of London buzzes with your adventures. What an interesting hobby for an earl—the exploration, that is, not making maps.” Honora was well versed in all things regarding maps and globes, studying such things often and dreaming of faraway places. While mapmaking had been around for centuries, the termcartographywas relatively new.
His surprise showed. “Are you interested in cartography, Mrs. Culpepper?”
Another ripple pulled at her skin. She could have replied with a mildly flirtatious remark. Or something witty, perhaps. But Honora no longer hid her intelligence, though she didn’t flaunt she had the soul of a bluestocking. Most gentlemen’s interest was more on the size of her bosom than her intellect. Not Southwell’s.
Attraction snapped in the air between them.
“My interest is moderate, my lord. I possess no skills as fine as those required for detailed work such as you do. Were you mapping the Amazon?” She knew perfectly well that was what he’d been doing.
“Yes, it’s in—”
“Brazil,” she finished for him with a sly smile. “I might not be able to accurately draw a map, my lord. But I can read one. Quite well, as it happens.”
Heat sparked sharply in his eyes, all of it directed at her.
A marvelous burst of warmth curled around Honora at having him look at her in such a way. There was no mistaking his interest. “I’ve always wondered about such faraway places, my lord. The jungles. Wild animals. Tell me, have you ever seen a jaguar?”
“Yes. One with the same color eyes as you possess, madam.” His fingers drummed the head of his cane before clasping it tightly again. “More jade, I think. Not emerald.” The low purr of his words teased along her skin.
