“Sisters?” Althea asked in surprise.
“Yes. I am their guardian.”
Chapter Two
WhywasMissClaywellin Willanton, Preston pondered as they slowly walked back toward the mail coach. Winifred prattled on and asked Miss Claywell question after question about her journey, for which he was grateful for it gave him time to think.
Certainly, her answer, if accepted, would have come by way of a missive so that arrangements could be made.
If she was here because of his offer, then why the blazes was she traveling on a mail coach?
Her uncle and guardian was Viscount Lansdown, who was quite wealthy. His niece should not be traveling as such.
Did she even have a maid with her?
There were so many questions Preston wished to ask but was too shocked to speak or form coherent words. The woman who had haunted his dreams these past nine months was walking beside him in Willanton—the very woman that he’d made an offer of marriage.
She was just as beautiful today as she had been when he’d first spied her across the ballroom. He’d held back that first night, admiring from afar then had gained an introduction by way of his Uncle Gerald. At the second ball, the pull toward her was great, and he had gained a waltz. He remembered it as if it were last evening. An awareness had pricked at his spine and need engulfed him the likes of which he’d never experienced in all his seven and twenty years. He wasn’t even certain he could trust the experience. And frankly, it scared him as it was more than just simple lust, but he also didn’t wish to examine exactly what he was experiencing. Therefore, he’d remained away from her an entire sennight and suffered through introductions and inane conversation that left him wishing he could be gone. He certainly hadn’t danced with anyone else either. He’d rather battle the French again than be stuck in a stilted, polite conversation until the music ended.
He had envied the wallflowers then. They could remain at a ball all evening and not speak to anyone. Further, few bothered them. The same was not afforded a bachelor, not yet thirty. However, the attraction wasn’t him personally, but that he was the spare to a viscountcy with the current Viscount Melcombe having produced five daughters and no sons. Those in society saw Preston as possibly the next in line, but more importantly, the father of the next Viscount Melcombe. At the time, Preston certainly hadn’t expected to inherit, yet the duty to produce a son weighed upon him and that was the only reason he’d gone to London.
When he approached Miss Claywell for the second waltz, it had been as before, only stronger. When a couple nearly collided with them, and he had to pull her so close that her body pressed against his, it took everything in his being not to sweep her up and carry her from the ball and make her his.
Primal need to claim and keep.
Lust!
That had frightened him more than the first waltz as he wasn’t used to such strong feelings toward any person, especially a woman. Preston was not in London for a wife. He was there at the request of his brother, and to work his way back into Society, but he certainly wasn’t yet in a position to marry. He didn’t own a home, and his only income were quarterlies.
Yet, that didn’t change the fact that he’d wanted her. They’d barely spoken beyond an introduction, not even when they waltzed. Partly because his mind had been void of words, only sensations from her scent of honeysuckle that wafted about her, the heat of her gloved hand in his, the gentle sway of her body as she allowed him to guide her from one end of the ballroom to the other and the way her steps matched his with no effort, as if they were one, then imagining them being one, moving in the same rhythm, the mounting of pleasure, the heat of release, her sighs of contentment.
He had called on her, though he was certain she barely noticed him among her admirers. He held back while others read her poetry, complimented her hair and eyes, and engaged her in witty banter. He wasn’t a dandy and had no idea how to impress her with wit, if that is what she required, and began to wonder if the eight years in the cavalry had ruined him for going about in society. He didn’t even know why he called on her, except he was drawn to her.
Then, as if fate had placed them in the same place at the same time, Miss Claywell had approached him in Hyde Park. They walked and talked of so many things. Though if he were being truthful, she did most of the talking, and he hadn’t minded. The few times he managed to speak, insecurities of youth swept over him. He was never good at conversation, and often spoke too slow and took too many pauses to make certain he spoke correctly. He also made certain he spoke as little as possible if he couldn’t avoid speaking at all. The boys had not been kind to him at Eton and teased him unmercifully, which only made the problem worse.
He'd also been wrong that his worst humiliation had been last spring while talking with Miss Claywell. That had occurred during his first Season when he’d asked a very pretty miss to dance. She’d laughed at him. Her response, and he could still hear it to this day, “I only dance with gentlemen who are titled, or in line for a title. I’d never dance with a younger son, especially one that stammers.” Her friends had laughed right along with her while his peers looked on. The only consolation that night was when his cousin Alec, who also happened to be an earl, intentionally did not claim the dance she’d promised. He’d waited until it was time for the waltz, nodded to her then left. A week later, Preston bought his commission.
He'd lied whenMiss Claywell asked if the reason he’d joined the cavalry was because of that first Season. He was too embarrassed to tell her the truth, or anyone for that matter.
He hardly ever stammered any longer, and never when he was comfortable with those in his company. He also thought that he’d overcome such difficulties in the cavalry and had no trouble finding the confidence to order men, but when talking to a woman, especially one he wished to court, he might as well be ten again.
It was during their walk in Hyde Park that Preston felt the first stirrings of love, and not just lust.
How could he possibly be falling in love with a woman he barely knew?
Given she was here, perhaps he wouldn’t need to court her. That is, assuming she was here because of his offer. Which again took him back to his earlier questions of why she was traveling on a mail coach.
Winifred prattled on and asked Miss Claywell question after question about riding in a mail coach, where she traveled from, but Preston hardly paid attention, too caught up in what he should say to her once they had a moment of privacy.
He had hoped to leave Winifred with her sisters then speak with Miss Claywell, but those plans were quickly put aside when they reached the bakery, where he’d left his four remaining charges. Only Theodora and Lila were present, both sitting on the walk enjoying lemon drops.
“Where are your sisters?”
They looked up at him with wide, blue eyes.
“Do you recall which direction they went?” he asked.
Theodora pointed to the left, toward the sundries store, while Lila pointed across the street toward the hat shop which also sold ribbons, gloves, parasols, reticules, and all manner of items of interest to a miss.
