Finn shifted to the end of the stiff silk cushion, his spine rigid with the effort it took not to lean back. He’d called on Miss Somerset dozens of times since he began courting her at the start of the season, and by now he knew better than to attempt more than a precarious perch on the edge of any of Lady Chase’s overstuffed settees. No doubt the old woman chose uncomfortable furnishings on purpose, to fluster her granddaughters’ suitors.
Today, however, it wasn’t Lady Chase’s damnable settee causing the dull ache between his shoulder blades.
No, today it was Lady Chase’s granddaughter.
Miss Somerset had maintained a ladylike silence during his previous calls, preferring to leave the social niceties to her grandmother. Her reserve had never troubled Finn much, because she looked at him a good deal, her cheeks coloring prettily when he caught her gaze. He found it rather charming, and in any case, what sort of fool objected to a quiet wife?
Today, however, something was different. Today, Miss Somerset wasn’t pleased.
She’d abandoned the shy, sweet glances in favor of a piercing stare, and her silent admiration had been replaced with something far less flattering, and far more speculative. One slim eyebrow was quirked over stormy blue eyes, and an odd, tight smile played over her lips, as if the tea had left a sour taste in her mouth.
Had her eyes always been such a dark blue? He couldn’t recall having noticed it before, but then he’d never seen them narrowed on him with such intense scrutiny either, as if he were a bird caught in the sights of her hunting rifle.
Finn tried to remember if he’d ever known her to be displeased with him before the unfortunate incident in Lady Fairchild’s garden yesterday, but he couldn’t recall a single instance of it. If she’d been displeased in the past, she’d taken care to keep it to herself.
But not today. Today, something writhed and twisted beneath her scrupulous politeness. It grew more restless with every moment that passed, and it would only grow worse by the time he took his leave, because he had an unpleasant matter to discuss with his betrothed.
Lord Wrexley.
It was Wrexley who’d let Lady Beaumont into the garden yesterday.
He should have suspected it at once, but even Finn, who knew what Wrexley was, was shocked he’d gone so far beyond the bounds of gentlemanlike conduct. Once Finn arrived home that afternoon and recalled Lady Beaumont’s parting words, however, he realized she’d as much as confessed to Wrexley’s part in the scheme.
No doubt Wrexley had hoped Lady Beaumont would spill her ugly secrets to Miss Somerset. It hadn’t quite worked out that way, but whatever his intentions, Wrexley had proved beyond any doubt he’d do whatever it took to have Miss Somerset, no matter how devious, and she was far too innocent to question his behavior. Worse, Wrexley was Lady Honora’s beloved cousin, and Miss Somerset actually trusted the scoundrel.
She wasn’t going to care for what he had to say, but Finn couldn’t rest until he’d put her on her guard against Wrexley. It had to be done at once. Not only for her sake, but because he had to offer some sort of explanation for his regrettable behavior when he’d found her alone with Wrexley in the garden yesterday. Otherwise he was likely to meet an angry, scowling bride in the church four weeks from now.
“Yesterday, in Lady Fairchild’s garden, Miss Somerset,” Finn began. “That incident with Lord Wrexley—”
“If you don’t care for more tea, may I fill a plate for you?” She leaned forward to fetch a dish from the silver tray in front of her. “You’re quite certain I can’t tempt you with the sweets, my lord?”
Oh, she was solicitous, yes—excruciatingly so—but not pleased.
“No, I thank you. About that matter yesterday—”
“I understand you’re a gentleman with a ravenous appetite.” She gave him a gracious smile, but there was a hard glint in her eyes. “I wouldn’t like to send you away unsatisfied.”
Finn’s eyebrows shot into his hairline.Unsatisfied?
Good Lord, it was unsettling to hear that word spoken in such suggestive tones from such sweet, innocent pink lips.
“But perhaps you don’t expect satisfaction from your betrothed. I daresay you wouldn’t be the only gentleman to feel that way. Courtship can’t be terribly exciting for a man of your vast experience, but then perhaps that’s why so many aristocratic gentlemen go elsewhere to satisfy their cravings.”
Finn choked on the sip of tea he’d taken and had to resort to pounding his chest with his fist. When he recovered at last, he blinked at Miss Somerset through streaming eyes. “Cravings?”
She set the plate aside, her lips curved in a sweet smile. “Yes. But are you quite well, my lord? Perhaps you’d like some more tea, after all? As I said, I don’t like to send you away without attending to your appetites.”
Good God, was he really sitting on this dainty settee in the middle of Lady Chase’s drawing room, speaking to his innocent betrothed about a gentleman’s cravings and appetites? The ache between his shoulder blades had begun to fade in comparison to an unexpected ache in his breeches, but as intrigued as Finn was, whatever had provoked her sudden vivaciousness would have to wait until he’d warned her about Wrexley.
“No, no more tea, thank you, but there is something I wish to discuss with you, about that business in the garden yesterday, with Lord Wrexley.”
She’d lifted the teapot to pour herself another cup of tea, but now she paused, her hand in midair. “Yes?”
Her tone was polite, but Finn sensed the way she stiffened, and he paused and reminded himself to tread lightly.
“You must allow me to caution you against such lapses in propriety, Miss Somerset, and remind you to be more vigilant in the future. I wouldn’t like to think you’d make it a habit to wander off like that once we’re wed.”
There. Finn took a calm sip of his tea.That should do.
