Page 30 of The Luckiest Lady in London

He smiled at the older woman and Louisa could feel her own heart pitter-patter. Now Lord Wrenworth reached for his tea—poured by none other than Lady Balfour herself—and took a sip.

A small silence descended. And extended, as Lord Wrenworth unhurriedly ate a piece of Madeira cake, seemingly unaware of the breathless anticipation building in the drawing room. Louisa doggedly wielded her needle—push, pull, push, pull—while her heart thumped like a war drum in the middle of a battle.

Finally, Lady Balfour could stand it no more. “Now, would you care to divulge what brought you here today, Lord Wrenworth? It can’t be just to sample my Madeira cake.”

Lord Wrenworth set aside his plate. “Had I known how excellent your Madeira cake is, Lady Balfour, I would have presented myself at every one of your at-home days this Season. But you are right. I did come with a different purpose in mind.”

Lady Balfour’s voice rose perceptibly. “And that is?”

Another small silence. Louisa, her eyes fixed firmly to her embroidery frame, imagined him turning toward her, studying her with that sometimes inscrutable look of his.

“With your permission,” he said, “I would like to speak privately with Miss Cantwell.”

She neither dropped her embroidery frame nor poked herself with the needle. Such clumsiness would have required the ability to move. She only stared straight ahead, unable to believe what she was hearing.

“Louisa, Lord Wrenworth wishes for a word with you.” Lady Balfour’s voice boomed in her ears. “Show him to the morning parlor, won’t you?”

And then, to Lord Wrenworth, “We expect her restored to us in ten minutes, sir.”

Louisa carefully set aside the embroidery frame and rose. Looking only at the floor before her—a proper display of modesty, she was sure, except she did not feel bashful, only flabbergasted—she preceded Lord Wrenworth to the morning parlor.

The moment he closed the door, she spun around. “Have you lost your mind? What do you think you are doing? Those women in the drawing room are expecting a proposal. Of marriage. What am I to tell them when you leave? ‘No, ladies, his lordship does not wish to take me for a wife. He merely wanted to hear me recount another one of my unseemly dreams.’ ”

He drew close—she noticed for the first time the understated swagger of his gait, that of a man who’d always had everything he wanted.

“Have you been having more of those dreams?” he asked, speaking into her ear.

She shivered as his breath brushed her skin. And the woods-after-a-thunderstorm scent of him—she wanted to bury her face in his neck and inhale for all she was worth. “Of course I have. But that is not the point. The point is that—”

“Narrate one of your unseemly dreams.”

Was that the pad of his thumb tracing the line of her collar? She could barely feel it for the electricity racing along her nerve endings. “Now?”

“We still have a good few minutes. Why not?”

“Why not? I will tell you why…” Her voice trailed off as he undid the top button of her blouse. She gawked at him, her throat closing with both fright and thrill. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing? Do as I say or I’ll keep opening your blouse.”

She blinked, not sure whether she wanted him to stop.

He laughed softly. “My God, don’t tell me you want me to go on.”

“When have I ever given you the idea that I wouldn’t want you to go on?”

He shook his head. “You give me no choice. Fine. I’ll ask nicely. Please tell me one of your dreams, my dear Miss Cantwell.”

She swallowed. “That isn’t nice enough. You have to say ‘my dear Louisa.’ ”

He looked at her strangely for a moment. “Won’t you please, my dear, dear Louisa?”

Her name on his lips was pure music. She wanted to hear it again and again.

My dear, dear Louisa.

“For the past three nights I have dreamed that we are riding in a carriage together, a town coach not unlike yours, except it is made entirely of glass, even the floor. And…and I’m naked.”

His eyes were a deep, dark green, almost wintry—like a pine forest in December—yet his gaze was all volcanic heat. “Go on.”