SECOND THOUGHTS LEAD TO A DECISION
Meanwhile...
Anthony Comber, Viscount Breckinridge, marched out of Carlington House feeling a combination of anger and regret, disappointment and exhilaration.
“That will teach her to toy with a man,” he said to no one in particular.
He stopped short, his gaze going up and down Park Lane. The ancient coach bearing the crest of the Aimsley earldom was no where to be found, as were most of the carriages that had delivered the attendees of Lady Morganfield’s garden party earlier that afternoon.
His brother’s words came back to him in a flash. Andrew had warned him that he would be taking the coach—and Lady Danielle—for some sort of tryst.
About to walk to Aimsley House, he was stopped short when someone called out to him.
“Lord Breckinridge?”
Anthony turned to discover a driver waving at him from next to a glossy black equipage bearing the crest of the Norwick earldom.
“Yes?” he replied, turning to make his way toward the driver.
“I was told you might require a ride, my lord.”
Furrowing his brows, Anthony couldn’t imagine his brother making the arrangements on his behalf. Before he could ask, though, the driver said, “Lord Norwick, sir. He didn’t wish for you to have to find a hansom cab this time of the day.”
“Norwick?” Anthony repeated, his brows furrowing. He glanced back toward the house. He had a brief thought to ask which one and then remembered that there really was only one current earl. The other was a ghost and apparently invisible to all but him.
But had the current Earl of Norwick attended the garden party? He didn’t remember seeing Daniel Fitzwilliam amongst those strolling the gardens. Anthony indicated the house. “Is he still...?”
“I think so, sir. I can’t imagine where else he’d be. I didn’t see him come out.”
Anthony was about to step into the coach when he paused. “What about Lady Dahlia?”
The driver’s eyes darted to one side. “I’m to wait for her, too, sir.”
For a moment, Anthony thought to decline the offer. Use the opportunity to be alone for the half-hour or so it would take for him to make his way to Aimsley House.
What’s the worst that could happen if he accepted the offer of a ride, though? Dahlia and her father—or uncle—would find him in the coach. She would either insist he get out, or she would apologize profusely and perhaps propose marriage.
Or she would simply ignore him.
Surely Lord Norwick was arguing on his behalf with her right this very moment.
Wasn’t he?
Launching himself into the coach, Anthony took the seat facing away from the direction of travel and settled into the navy blue velvet squabs. The cushions were far more comfortable than those of the Aimsley coach, and he was soon dozing as images from earlier in the day flitted across his mind’s eye.
Dahlia, as she sniffed the petals of a tulip, looking every bit like the spring blooms that surrounded her. Dahlia, in the library, seated on a dark green sofa and speaking with him as comfortably as if they’d been married for their entire lives. Dahlia, in his arms as he kissed her senseless. As his hands roamed over her soft body and took liberties to which he wasn’t yet entitled.
He could certainly imagine what else he might have done. Stripped her bare. Removed his own clothing. Carried her to one of the green sofas before throwing the bolt on the door. Made mad, passionate love to her as the scents of vellum and vanilla surrounded them. Kissed her senseless and fallen asleep with her atop him, their legs entwined and her head nestled into the space between his neck and shoulder.
Given their heights, they would have required a longer sofa for true comfort, though. He imagined them instead sneaking into a guest bedchamber further down the corridor. Making mad, passionate love in a bed and then holding one another as their breaths evened and they fell asleep in one another’s arms.
Yes, that’s what he wished they could have done. That’s what they could be doing this very night if matters hadn’t taken such an awkward turn.
Anthony might have fallen asleep completely, but the Earl of Norwick appeared as if from nowhere.
“I do hope you appreciate what I’ve had to do on your behalf,” David Fitzwilliam complained as he crossed his arms and regarded Anthony with a stern expression.
Anthony hadn’t felt the coach jerk when the earl stepped in, and now he wondered if he had fallen asleep. Perhaps this was merely a bad dream. “My lord?” he responded, blinking his eyes several times. He hoped the earl hadn’t noticed his arousal.
