“A walk would be lovely,” he added, setting a tuppence on the table for his tea and offering his arm as they exited Verey’s. She took it, settling neatly against his side.
She smelled nice; slightly lemony. A tart, bright scent that seemed to match her carefree manner.
He had no idea who this woman was, or what gossip he might be fueling if they were seen together, but Lyman wasn’t going to show more concern for her reputation than she did. She’d arranged this meeting, after all.
“I’m the co-owner of Bishop’s,” she began, the moment they crossed the street. “Perhaps you’ve heard of us?”
“I regret to say I have not.”
“We’re a chocolate house, exclusively for ladies. We have all the amusements one could traditionally find at a gentlemen’s chocolate house, such as White’s, for example.”
“Ah.”A gaming hell for ladies. Whatever next?
He studied Miss Danby as they reached Hanover Square, where they set down the small path that encircled a little patch of garden before the church. The sun’s rays had lightened her eyes to a rich shade of toffee that contrasted with the darker hue of her thick lashes and straight brows. Her skin was smooth and flawless.
She didn’t look like a hellcat; she looked like any other young lady of means, remarkable only in how pretty she was. But if he’d thought her daring or foolhardy for meeting him like this, it paled in comparison to her other activities. How did someone in her positionend up running a gambling club?
With a growing sense of unease, Lyman pondered what her business had to do with him.
Surely not.
But Miss Danby continued talking, confirming his fears. “We’re a unique venture, the only one of its kind in London, and I daresay the whole country. I think we’d make an excellent choice for a mention in your book.”
What presumption!Best to end this quickly, before she could get carried away. “Thank you for the suggestion, Miss Danby, but I don’t intend to add any more gaming establishments in the next edition.”
“But why not?” Her playful manner faded, leaving real confusion in its wake. The lady wore her sentiments so openly that Lyman could read her thoughts before she gave them voice. “If there’s something new and interesting, you must include it. That’s the whole point of releasing new editions, isn’t it?”
Lyman held his tongue as another couple approached them. The man’s gaze lingered a touch too long. Though Lyman couldn’t place him, there’d been a hint of recognition on his face before he turned to murmur something in the ear of his companion. Had they recognized him? He waited until they’d gone a little further down the path before he spoke again, lest they tell all their friends they’d seen the Viscount Ashton discussing gambling clubs in the company of an unmarried lady.
“Miss Danby, with all due respect, it’s agentleman’sguide. Why would I include a ladies’ club?”
“Some gentlemen have wives.”
“Only the unhappy ones,” Lyman replied, before he could think better of it.
“What a terrible thing to say.” Miss Danby’s generous lips parted in shock, though he wouldn’t have taken her for an innocent. “Ifyou’re unmarried, it’s very conceited of you to issue a blanket condemnation of something of which you have no firsthand knowledge. And if youaremarried, it’s quite cruel of you to speak that way about your wife, who would be heartbroken to hear you, I’m sure.”
She raised one dark eyebrow, challenging him to deny the assessment.
He might have said nothing. The opportunity was there, and Lyman’s instinct was to take it. Better to avoid such an unpleasant conversation with a woman he barely knew.
But that’s not the real reason you don’t want to tell her, is it?As with all things, it came back to his own selfish pleasure. There was temptation in the way Miss Danby’s gaze lingered on him as they spoke, in the teasing note in her voice, and the ever-present spark in her large, dark eyes.
She was very pretty, and she was trying to charm him. And Lyman—bastard that he was—enjoyed it.
This wasn’t a mature widow, in a position to take risks with her reputation. Miss Danby was young—in her mid-twenties, he would guess—and unmarried. In spite of her unconventional pastime of running a den of sin and ruin, she struck him as guileless. There was a certain childlike optimism in her speech and manners that warned him away.
He would drain every ounce of goodness from her spirit if given the chance, just as he had with Ellen. Better to stamp out this spark before it could burn her.
So he forced himself to say what he did next: “I’m afraid you’re mistaken on both counts, Miss Danby. Idohave firsthand knowledge of the subject, for I am married, and I assure you it has made me miserable. As for Lady Ashton, there is no need to worry about my breaking her heart. I accomplished the task years ago. If we were still on speaking terms, I’m sure she would be the first to tell you thatno sane person should enter the yoke of matrimony.”
The result of this speech was exactly as expected. Miss Danby stared at him as if he’d just dipped a kitten into a cup of tea and eaten it whole.
Monster, her eyes said.Scoundrel.
All true. And now that she knew it, Miss Danby would clutch her skirts and run back to wherever she’d come from. Her mischievous smile would never entice him again.
But she didn’t run. She drew a long breath and studied the scenery while Lyman tried not to dwell on the sensation of her hand upon his arm or her lemon-tart scent.
