Miss Bening moved to serve them, allowing Elias yet another opportunity to admire her beauty. Her delicate features were unspoiled by pots of rouge or powder. The gleaming lushness of her ebony braid pinned into a simple chignon made him wonder what she would look like with her tresses freed and tumbling down her back—or across his pillows.
“Well, Lord Raines?” she said as she poured. “Your amusing story about your barouche and coachman?”
Elias laughed. “It is doubtful my story will amuse you. My brother gifted the coach to me upon my acceptance as partner at Parkerton, Hodgely, and Kane. It was terribly difficult to enjoy the company of several guests whenever I drove through the park, so I employed a coachman.”
“Your brother?” Miss Bening left the question open-ended, but Elias understood exactly what she asked.
“The Duke of Almsbury,” he said, adopting a feigned tone of warning. “Beware of him, Miss Bening. He is quite the scapegrace—but of course, I say that with all the affection my only brother is due.”
Miss Bening, the fearless lioness he was determined to know so much better, gifted him with an almost teasing smile. “And would he say the same of you, my lord?”
“Doubtful,” Elias said, and it wasn’tquitea lie. He couldn’t hold a candle to Monty’s escapades. And more importantly, he was not about to admit that he had no troubles when it came to finding a lady to warm his bed. That topic simply wasn’t brought up in polite company. “I was always the studious lad. More into books than mischief.”
The dowager used her cane to push herself to her feet and ambled to the door. She opened it as wide as it would go, then turned and looked back at them. “I am tired and do not possess the energy to pretend otherwise.” Her unsmiling focus centered on Miss Bening. “Enjoy your tea, enjoy the park, and leave this door as I have placed it.” She shifted her sharp-eyed scowl to Elias. “I want that will ready for my signature before I depart for Lady Bournebridge’s ball tomorrow evening. Are we quite clear on that, Lord Raines?”
“Yes, Your Grace.” Knowing word would never arrive from Germany by tomorrow, Elias reluctantly and silently admitted defeat on delaying the document’s finalization any longer. “I shall bring it for your signature tomorrow. You have my word.”
“Very good.” The duchess’s weary attention turned back to Miss Bening. “Door open. Understand?”
“Yes, Your Grace.” Miss Bening gave the woman a deep, respectful curtsy.
After a look of dubious approval, the dowager left them to their tea.
“Should you help her reach her rooms?” Elias asked, keeping his voice down.
Miss Bening jerked and stared at him as if she had forgotten he was there. “No, my lord. She prefers for her maid to attend to that when we are here at home.”
Elias found the lady’s nervousness concerning—as if the two of them had just become bait for the duchess’s snare. He almost smiled. As a second son, he had never had to worry about a lady leg-shackling him by using a compromising situation. He was safe from the Marriage Mart. The lovely lioness’s unease had to be from something else. “Miss Bening, are you unwell?”
“I am not.” Her sharp gaze softened, turning almost thoughtful. “Forgive my bluntness, but your concern about Her Grace surprised me.”
Elias found himself more than a little insulted. “Have you found my behavior wanting toward Her Grace or yourself? Have I been so rudely cold and callous?”
Genuine remorse shone on the lady’s lovely face. With an apologetic tip of her head, she served him his tea. “Forgive me, my lord.” A hint of a smile played across the tempting suppleness of her lips. “You have been impertinent and frustrating at times, but I have sensed no vicious intent from you.”
“And you never will.” Elias purposely touched her bare fingers again as he accepted the cup and saucer. “My intentions are nothing but the best for you, Miss Bening.”
The half-smile that so delightfully plumped her cheeks returned. “Do not push too hard, my lord. I fear you may overwhelm me.”
The sarcasm in her voice made him chuckle. “I doubt very much that anything could overwhelm you, my lady.”
“Miss Bening,” she gently corrected him, then glanced at the open door. “Or Celia, when we find ourselves indulged with a bit of loosely chaperoned privacy, as we are now.”
“Celia,” he repeated. Her name tasted sweet, and he knew without a doubt that she would taste even sweeter. “Please call me Elias.”
“Elias,” she repeated, thrilling him to no end. “A form of Elijah that meansthe Lord is my God.” She seated herself, took a sip of her tea, then smiled. “Lady Sophie and Lady Ardsmere are staying here with us. I believe you would survive Lady Sophie on a carriage ride much easier than Lady Ardsmere.” Her glance at him over the rim of her teacup was filled with mirth. “You will like her.”
“I like you, Celia,” he said, then blazed ahead as though such blunt honesty was entirely appropriate. “You are as intoxicating as the finest of wines.” At her slightly shocked reaction, he attempted to reassure her he was not a buck of the first head. “Please take no insult, Celia, for I mean none. As a second son, I am rarely fortunate enough to meet such an admirable woman who is more fitting to my station than that of my brother, the duke.” As soon as he said the words, he regretted them, because she stiffened and the room turned cold. Damn his foolish tongue!
“Ah, yes. More fitting,” she repeated. “Heaven forbid I should consider myself worthy of a duke’s status.”
“Again, Celia. I meant no insult. Please know that.”
Her jaw tightened, and her mouth went hard. “I am not insulted at you, my lord. I am insulted by…circumstances.”
“Elias.” Although he knew it to be forward, he reached across the space between them and barely touched the back of her bare hand. So soft. So silky. So in need of his protection and care. “You are an intriguing woman, Celia. I wish us to be—”
“What?” she said, cutting him off with a trembling whisper. Her green-eyed gaze enchanted him, making him willing to promise her anything to gain not only her trust but her affection. “What do you wish forus, Elias? Tell me.”
