“London is becoming more lovely by the day,” he murmured to his hostess. “Excuse me.”
They met in the middle of the practically empty drawing room. Lady Braddon held back, but he could feel her curious gaze on him. He didn’t care. He raised Charlotte’s hand to his lips and let the kiss linger, sensing a heating of the air between them.
“My lady,” he said, emphasis on themy.
“Lord Harrow.” A red flush crept up her neck and her usual chattiness seemed to have vanished.
“I trust you’re well.”
“I am.” She looked over her shoulder and then down to her hands. She twisted the string of her reticule.
Her discomfort was slightly amusing. Lady Charlotte, who could talk her way through any situation, suddenly unable to exchange more than two words at a time.
The windows shook as a gust of wind drove a sheet of rain into them. “Marvelous weather we’re having, don’t you think?” he said dryly.
That earned him a raised eyebrow. “Are you mocking me?”
“Perhaps.”
She leaned toward him and whispered, not that there was anyone within hearing distance. “I can’t help not knowing what to say to you. What do two people normally converse about after they’ve…you know.”
He did know. And he wanted to know repeatedly. His whisper matched hers. “If both parties enjoyed it, then conversation resumes much the way it had previously. Until it happens again.”
Charlotte blinked. “Again?” The note of hope in her tone almost undid him.
“Assuming both parties did, in fact, enjoy it.”
She nodded hurriedly. “Yes. I…enjoyed it.” She paused, biting her lip once more, and swallowed. “Did you?”
It took every ounce of restraint he had not to drag her against him, wrap a hand around her arse, and show her just how much he enjoyed it, and how ready he was to enjoy it again.
But the drawing room was filling. Already there were curious glances sent in their direction. He took a step back so that there was a respectable distance between them. “Every second, Lady Charlotte,” he said as mildly as though he were talking about the storm outside. “Shall we?” He offered her his arm and escorted her to where the other guests were deep in conversation.
Dinner was a surprisingly pleasant affair. As usual, Charlotte spent most of the meal gossiping and flirting and keeping the conversation bubbling along. She would draw him into a discourse about everything from the current political sentiment in the Americas to whether guinea fowl or pheasant were the tastiest game.
He didn’t hate it. Talking was easier with her around, and he realized that he almost never stumbled over his words in her presence. There was something about her that relaxed him. It was like talking to Asterly or Amelia. He was so comfortable that the words came out easily.
While she chatted, he had a semi-vigorous conversation with Lady Hornsworth about the state of the nation, which primarily comprised the octogenarian pining for the days of her youth coupled with the occasional mention of Walter—“May he rest in peace. Awful business. He was so young and so charming. He made me feel like a girl again.”
“He had that impact on people,” John said, trying to keep the frustration from his voice—to ill effect given Lady Hornsworth patted his hand comfortingly. “I’m sure you have your own qualities, my boy. You’re more handsome than he was, to start with.”
John raised his brows, a little shocked at the grande dame’s flirting. “Why, Lady Hornsworth, however could I repay such a compliment?”
She arched a brow. “Well, dear, you could start with the twenty quid the previous Viscount Harrow borrowed not long before his demise.”
John sighed. “I’ll see to it.”
Despite the grande dame’s antiquated political views, the two of them got on rather swimmingly for the rest of the event. She was an amusing conversationalist. They shared a dislike of the new fashions so many young lords had adopted. They had similar opinions about King George’s spending and the increasing taxes that came with it, and she was well informed about the best farming practices. It turned out they were practically neighbors, separated only by the village that bordered each estate.
After almost an hour of deep discussion, interrupted only when called into the wider conversation of the group, he realized he quite liked Lady Hornsworth.
“Servants talk, you know,” the older woman said. “And that talk has reached my London household.”
“Oh yes?” John’s chest tightened. Not a single person had commented on his financial position. Walter had done a sterling job of hiding it. But if anyone was going to discover the truth, it would be a neighbor.
“Your farms have been terribly neglected for years. It was pleasing to hear that you put that to rights so quickly. I was very fond of the previous viscount, but I am relieved to see a man with a genuine sense of duty step into the role.”
There were no words to describe how happy her comment made him. After a lifetime of paling in comparison to his brother, hearing that, in this, he was his brother’s equal if not more, made his stomach feel fuzzy and he couldn’t stop smiling.
