Yes, traveling for months at a time through dangerous and foreign lands would certainly require a deep sense of adventure.
It would also require deep pockets.
“Do you have other interests?” she asked, borrowing the sweet smile she’d worn for most ofKing Learwhen she’d played his youngest daughter, Cordelia, to not one, not two, but three standing ovations. “Such as, oh, I don’t know…the theater?”
“I hold great appreciation for the arts.”
“That is refreshing to hear.” Inexplicably, Abel’s glowering countenance flashed in front of her mind. She swatted it aside with an inward huff of annoyance. “My name is Lillian. Lillian Snow. And I’ve a theater–the Lisbon Theater–that is in great need of a benefactor such as yourself to help fund repairs and help us market ourselves to a broader audience.”
The man’s grin slipped ever-so-slightly, then quickly righteditself as he bent forward into an exaggerated bow. “Miss Snow. What a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Lord Byron White, Earl of Clearfield. And I should very much love to hear more about your theater…after a dance.”
“A dance,” she said blankly.
Lord Clearfield straightened and held out his arm. “A dance,” he said with a wink that she found to be a tad over the top, but who was she to complain when he was the first potential benefactor not to immediately slam the proverbial door in her face?
“Of course,” she said, allowing him to escort her toward the middle of the floor where white chalk had been used to draw large, elaborate snowflakes across the polished oak hardwood and assumed the following position with her weight on her left foot and her right turned slightly to the side. Truthfully, she was far more accustomed to moving across a stage than a ballroom, but she managed the fast, complicated steps of the popular Viennese Waltz with only a few small mistakes. When it ended to a loud eruption of applause, Lord Clearfield bowed again, this time taking her hand and bringing it to his mouth.
“Miss Snow,” he murmured, his breath fanning across her knuckles. “Should you like to discuss your theater further, might I recommend a…quieter venue? There is a tea house that keeps late hours not far from here.”
“I don’t have a carriage. I took a hackney here. I’m not sure how long it would take to get another.” She stared at the hand that Lord Clearfield still held, willing a tingle to move up her arm, if only to show it wasn’t the Duke of Dour Glances that had made her pulse race and heart pound. That she would have a similar reaction toanyhandsome, virile man. Especially one that was showing an interest in the Lisbon.
Tingle, she ordered her limb.
Tingle, tingle.
Tingle, damn you!
But it wouldn’t.
Her traitorous hand refused.
Somehow, it must have known that the Earl of Clearfield was not the Duke of Dorchester.
“That is of no consequence.” He kissed her hand again–still no tingle–before releasing her. “I have a carriage.”
Lillian’s brow creased. As an actress and business owner, she was already stretching the lines of what was considered socially acceptable behavior for a female.Trulyimproper acts, such as leaving a ball in the solitary company of a gentleman, would be…discussed. And the last thing she needed was malicious gossip following her around. Not when the theater was already on such tenuous footing.
“I’m not sure–”
“Not to worry.” The charming grin reappeared. “We’ll be very discreet.”
She looked around the ballroom. The majority of the guests had already moved on to another waltz. No one was paying her any attention. No one even knew–or cared–that she was there. The giant splash she’d imagined she would make had dried up into a puddle. She didn’t even see Abel’s dark head amidst the crowd. Her gaze returned to the Earl of Clearfield who was watching her expectantly.
“A tea house?” she said.
“You’ll love it,” he promised. “I conduct all of my meetings there. They have the best Battenberg cakes that you’ve ever tasted.”
“I do like a good Battenberg cake,” she admitted. “Lead the way, Lord Clearfield.”
Chapter Five
As it turnedout–and Lillian really shouldnothave been surprised, given her appreciation of a good dramatic twist–the tea house was actually an innuendo for Lord Clearfield’s bedroom; a discovery she made within five minutes of his carriage departing Foxhaven House.
“We seem to be traveling away from Grosvenor Square,” she noted, drawing back the window curtain to peer outside at the passing scenery. The snow had intensified, hindering visibility, but she was aware of her surroundings enough to know they weren’t going in the right direction. “I thought you said the tea house was around the corner?”
Slouched in the cushioned seat across from her with his thighs spread, the earl gave her a heavy-lidded look that she assumed was meant to be sensuous. “We both know you didn’treallywant to go to the tea house, Miss Snow.”
“Wedon’t know anything of the sort.” She linked her fingers together on top of her lap. “My wish was to discuss the theater–”
