Although the sun just barely peeked through a thin layer of clouds, the breeze carried a chill. The lady beside him apparently noticed his intimate gesture but rather than show any pleasure, tightened her lips. “I am well enough, my lord.”
It seemed she’d not yet forgiven him for withholding her gift until Christmas day, when it would be more appropriate. She’d begged and cajoled incessantly, like a spoiled child, but he’d stood his ground. To present her with a gift too early would cause scandal.
He’d wait until she was his fiancé.
The thought cooled him more than the wind.
Only two days until Christmas.
Silence hovered the remainder of the drive, but for the creaking sounds of the turning wheels. As Glenstone Hollow drew near, Anthony contemplated speaking with her father this afternoon. He could make his official request for her hand and discuss contracts. He would then return the next morning to formally offer for the girl herself.
Damn, but his valet had knotted his cravat tightly today.
Again.
Two manservants approached the landau as the horses slowed to a halt in front of the elegant manor. The taller of them opened the door while the other lowered the step and assisted Miss Fairchild and then Miss Drake onto solid ground.
Anthony fought the urge to secretly grasp the maid’s hand, as though she needed his reassurances –– as though he had any right whatsoever. What on earth was the matter with him?
Instead, he rose and then followed reluctantly. Miss Fairchild awaited him at the bottom of the steps leading inside.
He bowed.
“I will see you later tonight then?” Miss Fairchild reminded him.
He’d nearly forgotten about the invitation to dine with Lord Denton and his family and guests that evening.
“I’ll be counting the minutes.” Even he nearly winced at himself this time.
He would not speak with the viscount about marriage contracts today.
She lifted her chin in a jerking motion. “Indeed.” And then addressing Miss Drake. “Fetch my parasol from Lord Mapleton’s vehicle.”
“Of course.” Miss Drake backed away from both of them, looking as uncomfortable as he felt.
But beautiful, by God.
He shook his head in a futile attempt to dismiss such thoughts and bowed once again in the general direction of his prospective fiancé. “Good day, Miss Fairchild.”
“Until this evening, Lord Mapleton.” And with a pout, she disappeared inside without affording him another glance.
He rather deserved it.
Because all thoughts of Susan Fairchild disappeared the moment she did.
Miss Drake had hopped a few times and seemed to be wiggling her behind as she struggled to climb back onto the landau. She’d almost succeeded only to fall backward, one foot remaining on the high step revealing a finely shaped ankle for him to ogle.
“Charlotte!” He stepped forward and took hold of her waist. Instead of assisting her up right away, however, he leaned forward and inhaled. “I’ll retrieve it for you.”
But neither moved. In fact, his hands grasped her tighter.
God, this was inappropriate. Dishonorable. Reprehensible even. He lashed a thousand other insults at himself but still refused to let her go.
He imagined his hands sliding around her waist––tugging her flush up against him so that he could cradle her softness with his body. He imagined removing her bonnet so that he could see if her hair was as golden as he’d imagined it to be. And then dropping his lips to taste the skin along her neck.
“My lord.” The words emerged from her on a gasp. “Please.”
Please what? Release her? Leave her be? Or spin her around and claim her lips with his own.
