“No? Well then, it seems you’ve made a tactical error already, Mr. West, for youdidagree to them.”
He didn’t reply, but looked at her for a moment with . . .
God in heaven, it looked likeinterest. His grip loosened, but before he released her, he teased his fingertips down her arm.
Eleanor’s breath caught. Had he just . . . caressed her? She gaped at him, but he only raised an eyebrow at her with a hint of lazy amusement, his eyes gleaming.
He did have lovely green eyes, and such long lashes—
For pity’s sake,not this again.
Eleanor wrenched her gaze from his and attempted to collect her scattered wits. No doubt Mr. West was accustomed to manipulating ladies who were befuddled by his good looks, but she didn’t lose her wits over any gentleman, and especially not this one.
“I suppose you could always change your mind about the two weeks now. Tell me, Mr. West. Are you the sort of man who goes back on his word? Are you a gentleman, or a scoundrel?”
To her surprise he hesitated, as if to give her question serious consideration, then, “I’m both.”
Eleanor stared at him for a moment, then retreated back under her hat to consider this alarming response.Both?Nonsense. One was either the villain or the hero. Never both at once.
He took her arm again and tucked it into the crook of his elbow. “There isn’t much difference between the two, in any case. Between gentlemen and scoundrels, that is. I’m sure we can agree on that.”
No, they could not, but if he believed they’d agree on anything, she was making a muck of this. Was it possible heappreciateda sharp tongue? He’d be the first of her suitors who ever had. The others hadn’t paid much attention to anything she said, clever or otherwise.
“One point of agreement?” She peeked out from under her hat brim to gauge his reaction. “Not enough to build a marriage upon, is it?”
He shrugged. “It shouldn’t be, but more than one marriage has been built on far less.”
Oh, this was splendid. Not only did the infuriating man appear to agree with her, but now he’d madeheragree withhim. That was far too much agreement for two people who’d never marry.
It hadn’t occurred to her he’dwanta clever wife, but then all the gentlemen who’d courted her were aristocrats whose days were taken up with dressing and visiting, afternoons at their clubs, and evening entertainments. Mr. West didn’t spend his time lounging at White’s, drinking whiskey and wagering on young ladies’ marriage prospects. He was a businessman, and a successful one. A clever, determined wife with the right social connections could be invaluable to him. She could open doors he’d never get a foot in otherwise.
Well, that put her scheme in an entirely new light, didn’t it? If he wanted a clever wife, she was about to become startlingly dim-witted.
“I await your pleasure, Lady Eleanor.”
She took his arm and let him lead her outside, where a barouche sat at the curb, the soft top down, despite the indifferent weather. Eleanor bit her lip. He did pay attention to details then, just as he’d said. With the top down, everyone on the fashionable promenade would see her in his company, and the gossip would start before they’d even made it once around The Ring.
Mr. West signaled to the driver to ascend the box, then held out his hand to her. “Lady Eleanor?”
She gave him the tips of her gloved fingers and tried not to notice the way they disappeared into his hand. His palm was so large it swallowed hers, and he’d swallow the rest of her if she couldn’t find a way out of this mess.
She was about to spring into the barouche and take the place next to Tilly when a glance at the seating arrangements made her change her mind, and she took the opposite seat instead.
Mr. West swung up after her and settled himself in the seat beside her. She jerked back like a scalded cat when his knee brushed against hers, but he didn’t appear to notice.
“Are you quite comfortable, Miss Tilly?” he asked.
Tilly gave him a non-committal grunt in reply.
Eleanor, lost in her own thoughts, ignored them both.
“. . . spend much time driving in the park?”
Goodness, his legs were long, and his thighs were . . . muscular. They took up an awful lot of room in the carriage. She hadn’t realized she’d be able to feel the heat of his thigh next to her own. She hadn’t wanted to sit next to him, but if she seated herself to his right, her hat blocked his view of her face, which made it much harder for him to carry on a conversation with her.
It gave her time to think.
“. . . perhaps some better weather before the season is over.”
