“That will not be a problem,” Andrew promised. Stepping forward, he offered her his hand to assist her from her seat. He was eager to touch her, in any way he could. To feel her skin against his. Would she be as soft to the touch as she looked? As smooth? As delicate? She hesitated a moment, eyeing his hand as if it were a snake that might bite her at any second. Once she seemed to determine it safe, however, she slid her hand into his.
At the contact, Andrew felt a jolt like lightning shoot through his whole body. His fingers gripped her a little tighter than he had meant too, but it was as if he had lost control of himself. Her eyes widened in shock and her lips parted in that way he was coming to love. She met his gaze, and there was a question in hers. His heart hammered against the wall of his chest. Whatever he had felt at their touch, she had clearly felt it as well.
Andrew swallowed as a lump formed in his throat. She was soft. So soft and delicate, he feared he could break her with too rough a touch. He felt that surge of protectiveness again that he had experienced in the bookstore. The urge to shield her from anything that would harm her amazed him more than his intense physical reactions to her. He had only ever felt such things for Dorothy, and on occasion the Duchess. No other lady had stirred such instincts within him to provide, protect, and cherish.
He helped her to her feet, fighting his desire to run his thumb along the back of her hand to know just how smooth her skin really was. Though he loathed the thought of releasing her, he knew they could not linger like this.
Her chaperone was watching them closely from her perch by the door. Any misstep beyond propriety would surely be reported back to the Baron. He might forbid Miss Snowley from seeing Andrew again, no matter his title and wealth if the gentlemen perceived any possible risk to her reputation. It was for that reason alone that he let go of her hand and turned to offer assistance to his sister.
Once both ladies were standing, they moved toward the door. The abigail stood as well and waited for them to pass before following them at a respectable distance. Dorothy and Miss Snowley stood shoulder to shoulder as they entered the hallway, their heads turned to each other as they continued to converse and giggle. Andrew shook his head in annoyance but moved to Miss Snowley’s other side and shortened his steps to keep pace with her. He clasped his hands behind his back to keep himself from reaching out to touch her again.
As they made their way through the manor to his parents’ gallery, he let the two ladies focus on one another as he contemplated what he would say to Miss Snowley. He watched out of the corner of his eye, admiring her profile and the graceful sweep of her walk. His hands clenched into fists as the temptation to run his fingers along the elegant column of her neck became nearly overwhelming.
At last, they reached the gallery. The space was filled with marble statues, busts, and ancient sculptures the Duke and Duchess had collected during their many travels in their youth. Framed oil paintings in a myriad of sizes decorated the walls, along with ancient tapestries and one colorfully intricate mosaic his father had brought home years ago after a voyage to Rome. It had apparently decorated the wall of an ancient temple and had been shipped home and reassembled piece by tiny, delicate piece. Miss Snowley’s eyes swept the room before landing on the mosaic. She released a little gasp of wonder.
“That is so beautiful,” she said on a breath. She turned to Dorothy. “What does it depict, My Lady?”
Now was Andrew’s chance. Dorothy was not as knowledgeable of the pieces on display as he was.
“It depicts the myth of Jupiter and the Bee,” he said, stepping closer to Miss Snowley’s side. Her eyes latched onto him, and he did not miss the heave of her chest as she took a deep breath. He could feel the heat of her body and had to take a moment to collect himself before continuing. “The figure of the man is that of Jupiter, the god of sky and thunder and king of all other gods. The smaller figure is the Bee Queen, come to ask his help in protecting her hive from mankind. She asked that he grant her the ability to kill any man that came to steal her honey.”
Miss Snowley turned back the figure. “What happened, My Lord? Did Jupiter grant her wish?”
Her tone was awed and curious, and her clear interest in the piece pleased him to no end. It was one of his own favorites. “He did, but at a price. You see, Jupiter loved mankind, and did not wish to see them harmed. So, he gave the bee her stinger, which she could use to attack and kill man, but he warned her that it would cost her own life. The stinger would remain in the wound she inflicted, and she and her kind would die without it.”
“Tricky Jupiter,” Miss Snowley murmured.
“Indeed.” Andrew watched her as she stared up at the mosaic. Then, she looked back to him, and the admiration shining in her eyes stunned him. His chest felt tight, and a wave of emotion swept through him. He wanted to find other ways to impress her so she would look at him like that again.
“You should show her some of the other pieces, Lord Romwich,” Dorothy said. He glanced at her, and she wore a knowing smile. “I am sure many of the paintings and sculptures would be of interest to her.”
Some of his ire toward his sister dissipated. “Yes, you are right, My Lady. There is plenty more to see.” He drew Miss Snowley’s attention away from the mosaic to a faded tapestry next to it. “This was supposedly made during the reign of Richard the Lionheart and depicts one of the most notable battles of his Crusade…”
The three moved about the cavernous room, Mrs. Stewart not far behind. He explained piece after piece, and Miss Snowley appeared fascinated by them all. She asked insightful questions and impressed him with her own knowledge of mythology and history. It was, of course, the norm for young ladies to be versed in such subjects, but her understanding went far deeper than most ladies he knew.
All the while they explored the gallery, Dorothy kept relatively silent. Perhaps she had realized at last that she was stealing too much of Miss Snowley’s attention away from Andrew? Whatever the reason, he was grateful to her, and by the time they finished, felt no more animosity toward her at all.
The trio came to stop at the door of the gallery.
“That was so lovely, thank you, My Lord,” Miss Snowley said with a radiant smile and pink cheeks.
He nodded his head. “It was my pleasure, Miss Snowley. I am sorry that we did not get to many of the statues and sculptures, but I would be happy to show them to you upon your next visit.”
“Yes, I look forward to that.” Her voice sounded breathless, and he noticed her squeezing her fingers tightly together. He liked how much he obviously affected her and had become more and more aware of it as they walked the room together.
She was a well-behaved lady who did not let her behavior slip in any way, but she had little tells that gave him glimpses of her true feelings. The easy way her cheeks colored was the most obvious, as was the way her lips would part when she was surprised. It was the smaller tells that really gave her away, however.
He noticed she would nibble at her bottom lip when curious or thoughtful, but bite it fully when stirred in a deeper, more intimate way. Andrew had caught her several times throughout their exploration together sneaking glances his way and biting into her lip.
Miss Snowley wanted him. She might not fully realize what that meant, or understand the feelings he provoked in her, but he could read the desire all over her face now that he had figured out the signs to look for.
Dorothy stepped forward, stealing Miss Snowley’s attention away again. “I look forward to our next meeting, Miss Snowley. As well as my eventual meeting of your brother.”
Miss Snowley nodded, the desire that had been in her expression shifting into one of enthusiasm as she gazed at his sister. “It has been a true pleasure, My Lady. Thank you for your hospitality. We had best be on our way now, before the hour grows too late.” She looked back and gave a nod to the abigail.
“Allow me to walk you out,” Andrew blurted, not yet ready to part from her.
Her eyes lit up with deli
ght and her mouth twitched. Was she fighting against a grin? “That would be most kind of you, My Lord.”
“Goodbye, Miss Snowley,” Dorothy said, turning to walk in the opposite direction when they entered the hallway. “I will see you very soon.”
“Goodbye, My Lady,” Miss Snowley replied. Dorothy departed from them, and Andrew began walking toward the front of the manor with their guest, her chaperone close on their heels.
No chance of sneaking another touch of her hand.
They moved in silence for several moments before she murmured, “It really has been the most wonderful few hours, My Lord. I have enjoyed your company very much, as well as your sister’s.”
He could not help his triumphant grin. “I have enjoyed your company as well, Miss Snowley. I am glad to have been…introduced to you.”
Out of the corner of his eye he could see a small smile grace her face. She cast her eyes down, almost bashfully.
They came to the foyer of the manor and Andrew ordered Bensen, who was already waiting for them by the door, to fetch her coat and bonnet. Standing side by side, they did not face each other as they awaited the servant’s return. Andrew was at a loss for words, his mind scrambling to come up with something to secure their next meeting or correspondence.
“May I write to you?” he uttered at last, turning so he could gaze down at her one last time before she departed.
She could not hide the exuberance in her gaze when she turned to him as well. He marveled at what a small thing she was. The crown of her dark head barely reached his chest. She had to tilt her face up to meet his eyes.
“Yes, My Lord. I would like that very much.”
He wanted to shout to the heavens in his joy, but he maintained control of himself. At that moment, Bensen returned with her spencer and bonnet and assisted her as she put them on.
When she was ready, she stepped toward the door, the abigail at her side.
“Until next time, Miss Snowley,” he called out before she disappeared.
Pausing, she turned back to cast him a shy smile that made his stomach flip.
“Until next time, My Lord.”
Chapter Ten
Penelope’s stomach was all aflutter on the ride back home. She could not believe the time she had with Lady Dorothy and Lord Romwich. Not only had the lady herself turned out to be such a delight, her brother had proven a more wonderful gentleman than she could have hoped for. She decided she must have imagined his glare earlier in the parlor, because he had been so charming and sociable to her right after. The trip around the gallery had been magical, and his knowledge of the pieces it housed impressive.
She felt her cheeks heat recalling how large he had seemed standing next to her, and how safe and secure she had felt in his company. His confidence and regal presence might have intimidated her had she not seen hints of his humor and kind heart. He had been patient with her many questions in the gallery and had indulged her when she wished to linger on a piece of art longer than he might have thought necessary.
Toward the end of the visit, she realized how much she liked him. Not just his dashing looks, but his personality as well. She had not wanted to leave him so soon. Then, when he had walked her to the door and asked if he could write to her…
Penelope could not recall ever feeling such pure, unadulterated joy.
“Madam, correct me if I am wrong, but was Lord Romwich not the gentleman we encountered in the bookstore the other day?” Mrs. Stewart’s voice sliced through Penelope’s thoughts like a blade.
It was as if the world stopped around her. She did not feel the sway of the barouche, nor the slight chill in the air that managed to seep in through the protection of her spencer. Penelope could only stare at the abigail in horrified shock.
“I…I do not recall, Mrs. Stewart,” she lied, and even she could hear how lackluster it sounded. Her tone was shaky, and she could not steady it. “I only glimpsed the gentleman at the store. I do not remember what he looked like.”
Mrs. Stewart tilted her head as she studied her charge carefully. “I do believe it was Lord Romwich. As I recall, he appeared quite taken with you that day, staring at you to an almost inappropriate degree. Such a coincidence that you should meet his sister shortly thereafter, and that she should extend this invitation to you to call on her.”
Penelope released a deep breath through her nose to try and calm her nerves. “Yes, quite the coincidence. A happy one, I dare say.”
“Indeed.” The abigail’s lips pursed in that way that showed her displeasure. “I would hope, however, that anyone aware of this coincidence would have no reason to suspect you, Lord Romwich, or Lady Dorothy of any impropriety.”
Penelope gulped. “I can think of no such reason.”
“That is good to hear, Madam. The Baron and your mother would be quite displeased were they to believe their daughter capable of any such deception. I do believe it would lose you their trust.”
Mrs. Stewart spoke her words carefully, emphasizing her point to a painful degree. Penelope had to clutch her hands together in her lap to keep them from trembling.
“Thankfully, that is not the case,” she replied, sounding bolder than she felt. “It is as I have said, a happy coincidence. Nothing more.”
She could see that the abigail did not believe her. Her glare made Penelope feel like a small child terrified of being scolded. She tried not to show it, however, and met Mrs. Stewart’s gaze boldly. Still, Penelope feared if the woman pressed her or accused her of lying outright, she might crumble and confess to everything.
Do not challenge me on this. Please, please, do not challenge me…
“Very good, Madam,” the abigail said at last. “I am happy to be reassured of your trustworthiness.”
Penelope wanted to sink into her seat in relief, but she maintained her rigid posture, careful to give nothing away so as to provide cause for Mrs. Stewart to take the matter to her mother.
“Yes, well, I pray you never doubt me again. Such suspicions would make it difficult for us to maintain our companionable relationship.”
“Indeed, Madam,” Mrs. Stewart drawled. “I would not wish to lose your good will.”
“Nor I yours.” In truth, Penelope’s life was easier when she was in Mrs. Stewart’s good graces. The woman was a terrible talebearer, and would run to Penelope’s mother with even the smallest indiscretions in her behavior. She did not need the woman poking her nose into her business where it concerned Lord Romwich.
The two stared at each other for several more moments, the tension between them crackling in the air. Penelope was the first to look away, though she did so as haughtily as she could so as not to appear defeated. Merely done with the interaction. The rode the rest of the way home in cold silence.
* * *
When Lord Romwich had requested permission to write to her, Penelope had granted it without thought. When her excitement from the day had worn off and rational thought had returned, she could not believe her own boldness. It was beyond inappropriate for her to write to a gentleman whom she was not formally courting, and she blamed her behavior on Lord Romwich’s ability to muddle her mind and steal all sense from her.
Surely, he would see how such correspondence between them was impossible at this point. Penelope had put the idea of him writing her from her mind, determining it simply impossible. She was shocked, then, when his first letter arrived not two days after her visit to his family’s home.
It was a rather unpleasant day. The weather had switched quite unexpectedly, and cold rain beat against the windows of the manor. Penelope was trapped indoors, as her mother worried incessantly over her catching her death in such deplorable conditions. Not that she wished to venture out into the cold and wet anyway, but the hours seemed to crawl by when she had nowhere to go and few people to talk to.
She was sitting in her father’s small library, watching the rain droplets trail down the glass of the windowpanes, when one of their footmen knocked on the frame of the op
en door to alert her to his presence.
Glancing his way, she said, “Yes?”
“Beg pardon, Madam, but a letter has arrived for you, and I have been given strict instructions to deliver it straight into your hands.”
Penelope frowned, confused. The post had already been delivered that morning. Who could be writing her…?
She gasped as realization set in, and pushed to her feet from the window seat. Hurrying across the room, she took the letter from the footman’s outstretched hand.
“Thank you,” she breathed, clutching the letter to her chest.
He bowed. “Madam.”
Penelope waited until he was out of sight, and that no one else was coming down the hallway, before ripping open the letter. She let out a little cry of joy when she spotted Lord Romwich’s signature written in bold ink at the bottom of the page.
Lustful Memoirs 0f A Bewitching Lady (Steamy Historical Regency Romance) Page 7
