Page 20 of A Wallflower to Win the Viscount

There had been no look. There was no lingering touch of the hand. No excessive closeness.

She took her seat in the carriage, determined to put all these absurd ideas aside.

He was simply being neighbourly by inviting her on an outing he had assumed she would enjoy. It wasn’t as if he’d asked her to a ball, or even to accompany him on one of those meaningful strolls around Hyde Park.

They drove off, through the quiet, leafy streets of Kensington, then onto the bustling roads of busy London. Beatrice chatted away throughout the journey, for which Primrose was extremely grateful because despite her admonishment to place no significance on this outing, she was feeling decidedly, and most unusually, tongue-tied in Lucian’s company.

The carriage pulled up in front of a red brick terraced building, and once again Lucian took her hand as she climbed down the carriage steps. And once again she became all tingly, fluttery and ridiculous. He took her arm, and she entreated herself to remain calm as he led her up the stone steps and into the lecture hall.

Rows of bent-wood chairs were placed in straight lines in front of a stage containing a carved wooden lectern and nothing else. Scattered groups, mainly men, mainly elderly, and all dressed in sober attire of frock coats were standing chattering with animation as if they were all old friends. Sitting near the back were clusters of earnest young men, dressed more in the manner of clerks or tutors, and even some whose appearance marked them out as being from more modest backgrounds.

It was so exciting that all these people, from all walks of life, cared as much about birds as she did.

Beatrice led the way down the aisle, as if determined to get the best seats in the house and staked out four in the very front row.

‘These seats are perfect,’ she declared as they joined her. ‘We’ll be able to see the earl, and the earl is sure to notice us.’

Primrose smiled at Beatrice, surprised and delighted that she was such a bird fancier. She took her seat and reminded herself, yet again, not to be disconcerted that Lucian was sitting next to her, particularly as the chairs had been placed rather close together.

Everyone else took their seats in the crowded lecture hall. The speaker climbed the stairs to the stage and took his place behind the lectern, while the audience applauded politely. He shuffled his pages, looked out at the audience, then his booming voice filled the room. While he spoke, his assistant projected pictures of various birds on a large screen from a magic lantern at the back of the room.

Primrose knew she should be fascinated by the talk and entranced by this modern marvel which allowed them to see photographs of the birds in such exquisite detail, but all she was aware of was Lucian sitting beside her, his legs almost touching hers, his broad shoulder just inches from her own. Despite telling herself not to, she inhaled deeply once again, loving the tantalising scent of his sandalwood cologne and almost reeling from that underlying hint of masculinity, the scent that was his and his alone.

She sighed quietly, causing him to look in her direction.

Heat burnt her cheeks. She quickly looked down at her lap to compose herself. For goodness’ sake, pull yourself together, she commanded herself in a tone reminiscent of the countess.

Her eyes, defying all instructions, slowly wandered over to gaze at his thighs. Under the fabric of his trousers she was sure she could see the outline of his long, lean leg muscles. He moved his legs slightly, and the muscle delineation became more pronounced.

Another sigh almost escaped, but before she could embarrass herself yet again, her head jerked up and she attempted to focus on the speaker, her heart once more thudding unnaturally fast.

Do not look down, she repeated to herself.

Despite her determination, as if under a will of their own, her eyes moved back down, then over to his legs. Yes, she was certain of it. She could clearly see the outline of his thigh muscles under the fabric. He shifted and the muscles flexed and rippled.

Primrose swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. What would it be like to touch those hard muscles, to feel them contracting under her fingers?

Her gaze shot up, and she clasped her hands tightly together in her lap, as if fearing they might reach out in an attempt to find the answer to that question of their own volition.

This was getting ridiculous. She was becoming ridiculous.

Focus, Primrose, focus.

Trying desperately to follow this command, she stared intently at the speaker and his slide show, not hearing a word he was saying.

Chapter Six

Lucian listened to the idiot on stage with increasing irritation. The man was obsessed, but not with birds it would seem.

His talk was entirely about tits: the Norfolk great tit, the blue tit and the bearded tit. If Lucian was still a schoolboy he might be smirking now, but it was a long time since he’d indulged in schoolyard humour.

He flicked a quick sideways glance at Miss Fairburn, or Primrose as he was now expected to call her, to see if she, too, was feeling uncomfortable.

She was an innocent young lady and would never have been exposed to ribald schoolboy jokes, which always seemed to centre around sexual innuendo. Hopefully, any coarse implications were lost on her and she did not see anything improper in this talk. But she did appear visibly unsettled, so perhaps she was becoming offended by the buffoon’s obsession.

He shook his head slightly in dismay. This gutter-minded dolt was the man Beatrice thought would make an ideal husband for Primrose. Lucian couldn’t see it. The man obviously had a disturbing fixation on tits, which had to be the clearest of indications that he was completely unsuitable.

Lucian wanted Primrose out of his life, but that did not mean they should offload her onto this sorry excuse for a man.