Not agree with her assessment of an evening during which there had been excellent food—which may as well have been sawdust for all that Pamela had tasted it—and ample opportunity for Lady Virtue to make a match. All of it dull. She’d been able to think of nothing but returning to Hunt House and the possibility she might see Theo again.
“I was referring to the dubious evening’s entertainments,” Lady Virtue told her as they approached the imposing front door and it swept open.
“There was nothing dubious about them,” Pamela felt compelled to argue, even though she agreed.
Mere days ago, however, she wouldn’t have. Instead, she would have happily chattered about the fashion plates in the latest edition ofAckermann’sand whether or not red Morocco slippers would best pair with a morning dress of cambric muslin or black kid. She would have whispered with Lady Dilmont about the shocking way Lord Pinehurst had flirted with Mrs. Aylesbury. She would have taken solace in listening to some raucous Scottish reels sung at the pianoforte. She wouldn’t have spent every moment distracted, thinking of a place she would far rather be.
And that was a problem. A very large, very much unwanted, sinfully handsome bodyguard-shaped problem.
“If one doesn’t find engaging in meaningless conversation with tedious people dubious, I suppose,” Lady Virtue grudgingly allowed as a servant came forward and took their wraps.
“One cannot forever have one’s nose buried in a book,” Pamela pointed out crisply, ever cognizant of the fact that she was meant to be encouraging her brother’s ward to wed.
Lady Virtue was a bluestocking who preferred the company of books to the company of others.
“One cannot have one’s nose in a book at all at the moment,” Lady Virtue groused. “Particularly when one’s arrogant, meddlesome guardian has confiscated them all.”
They moved into the entrance hall, and Pamela found herself casting glances about.
Searching for Theo.
“Ridgely has taken all your books?” she asked quietly, frowning at her brother’s high-handedness.
It was quite unlike him to be so overbearing. Indeed, it was quite unlike him to take note of anything that wasn’t directly related to his own pleasure. It wasn’t that he was selfish; it was merely that he was a hedonist. He was almost never serious about anything. But he had been quite serious about Virtue. And there had been that dreadfully foolish incident in the library.
Hmm.
“Yes, he has.” Lady Virtue was frowning at her. “Do you think you might speak to him, persuade him to see a bit of reason? He has also forbidden me from entering the library.”
Pamela was about to retort that staying away from the library was likely a fine idea for her. But then she felt the unmistakable sensation of someone watching her. She turned her head ever so slightly and her stare meshed with a cool, hazel-gray gaze.
Theo stood in one of the doorways in the entrance hall, no longer soaked to the skin as he’d been when they’d last parted that morning after he had rescued her basket and herbs from the rain and then led her through the passageways. The connection, even with others surrounding them, separated by a vast marble floor and the watchful eyes of servants, made a jolt go through her. It was as if they spoke to each other with that look.
She was recalling his words in the shadowy halls belowstairs. Remembering his deep, accented voice telling her that last night had meant everything to him.
“Lady Deering?”
Lady Virtue’s questioning voice broke through Pamela’s thoughts, and she reluctantly forced herself to look away from Theo, back to her brother’s ward.
She forced a smile, hoping she hadn’t been caught. “Yes, my dear?”
“Would you speak to His Grace on my behalf about returning my books?” she repeated, still frowning. “I would ask him myself, but I haven’t seen him since…in a few days.”
Yes, dear girl. Wise not to mention when you last saw Ridgely or what you were doing with him before the servants, Pamela thought grimly.
Or ever.
“I’ll speak with my brother,” she chirped brightly, trying to pretend as if she didn’t feel Theo’s eyes on her, following her, just as surely as if he were running his callused hands all over her bare skin.
Oh dear heavens.
That was what she wanted.
She wanted him to touch her everywhere. She wanted more of what had happened last night. Only, this time she didn’t want him to stop until he was inside her.
The wicked notion made liquid heat pool between her thighs and a strange, shivery feeling tickle her belly. The reaction was so sudden, so intense, that she nearly tripped over the hem of her gown. All whilst she was calmly escorting her charge through the entrance hall. Because she was supposed to be the proper, staid widow. She was supposed to be the voice of reason. The collected one. The one who didn’t cause scandal but snubbed it out before it could begin, like a candle’s flame extinguished beneath a sturdy snuffer.
“Thank you,” Lady Virtue said softly, giving Pamela a searching look that made her wonder if the younger woman had seen her eying Theo.
