Page 13 of Entertaining the Earl (Vows in Vauxhall Gardens #2)
T he glass rattled in the windowpanes as Susannah tried in vain to sleep.
It had rained all day, which had not displeased her, since it gave her a good excuse to stay in and read. But now the rain had turned into a storm, and she was frustrated that the noise was stopping her from falling asleep.
With a sigh, she got up and wrapped herself in her night rail.
Her fire had long since burned out, and the room was chilly.
She padded over to the window and drew back the curtains enough to look out onto the deserted streets.
Occasionally, the clouds scudded across the sky, allowing a sliver of moonlight to illuminate the street below.
It was rather eerie to see the usually bustling London so quiet, being battered by the rain and wind. She shivered, pleased that she did not need to go out in it.
She could not lie in bed for hours, desperately trying to sleep.
It felt like a futile exercise, and one in which she had no wish to participate.
If she was going to be awake, she might as well be reading.
Lighting a candle, she pulled her latest tome from her bedside table and got back under the covers, holding the candle close so she could read the words.
When she had been younger, her mother had caught her more than once reading by candlelight and had scolded her—not just for staying up past her bedtime, but because she said that squinting in the darkness would ruin her eyesight and cause her to have unsightly lines around her eyes.
Lines that no man would find attractive.
And she supposed that her mother had been right. But what was the point in ceasing night-time reading now? Everyone knew she was plain, and if anyone did propose marriage, it would only be for her dowry. She wasn’t going to give up one of her greatest pleasures for that.
She was rather disappointed to find that she only had a handful of pages left in the novel, and they were soon read. If anything, she felt more wide awake than before, and worse, now she was desperate to start a new book.
But that would involve venturing to the library in the dead of night…
She hadn’t exactly been forbidden from doing so, but she was well aware that her mother would disapprove—especially now that they had the Earl of Bourne staying with them.
As she debated what to do, her thoughts lingered on Lord Bourne. She knew what she was feeling for him was unwise. That she shouldn’t watch him across the table at supper or look forward to their dances together.
She couldn’t help it. She had never felt this way before. And if she was well aware that his feelings were entirely feigned, who was she hurting?
At the end of the Season, he would return to his estate, they would make some excuse as to why their courtship had ended, and she would go back to living her regular life.
But for now… But for now, surely she could enjoy feeling this way, something she had never felt before?
Having decided that sitting around and thinking about Lord Bourne was not a sensible use of a stormy, sleepless night, Susannah put thoughts of Mother’s displeasure aside, picked up her candle, and made her way to the library.
The corridor was dark and deserted, with only the shadows her flickering candle produced keeping her company. Occasionally, there was a creak or a bang that made her jump, but she knew it was just the wind battering the house.
She was relieved when she reached the door to the library, partly because it was unpleasant to walk through the house at this time of night, and partly because she’d been afraid she’d be spotted by her mother or father—or perhaps worse, run into Lord Bourne in a state of undress.
But when she pushed open the library door, she was surprised to find that it was not empty and dark. No, there was a fire roaring in the grate, and a familiar figure sat in the armchair before it.
*
When the library door creaked open, Colin assumed it was just a draft from the storm raging outside. He finished the line he was reading, then looked up—and was rather shocked to see Miss Lyttleton in the doorway, carrying a candle, barefoot and with her hair flowing down her back, unrestrained.
It did not escape his notice that she was wrapped in a night rail that clung to her curves and showed far more of her legs than any outfit he had ever seen her in.
He swallowed involuntarily and felt his cheeks warm.
Belatedly, he stood up and bowed his head to her—a gesture that felt rather formal, considering the situation.
“Good evening, Miss Lyttleton,” he said, hoping his voice did not betray the surprising surge of lust that had shot through him at the sight of her.
“Good…good evening,” she said, her voice shaking a little. Was she scared of him? Or just as surprised to see him as he had been to see her?
“I—I could not sleep. And I finished my book…so I thought I would come and fetch another,” she said in response to his unasked qu estion.
“The storm is rather loud, isn’t it? I will leave you in peace to select your book.” He sat back down and opened his book, just so he’d have something to stare at instead of the woman before him. Except he couldn’t seem to make himself look at anything but her.
She shook her head. “There is no need for you to leave, Lord Bourne.” Her eyes darted to the fire and to his half-drunk glass of whiskey on the table. “I will only be a moment, and then you can continue in peace.”
Colin shook his head. “It is your home, Miss Lyttleton. I would not dream of imposing in such a way.”
In truth, his chivalry was not entirely due to it being her home, but also because the thoughts in his head were not appropriate to be having at this time of night around an unmarried but marriageable young woman dressed in only her night clothes.
While he was still clothed, he had long since divested himself of his cravat, removed his boots, and untucked his shirt.
And although he had thought she was prettier than the rumors gave her credit for, he had never felt like this before.
Like how he wanted to see how she would react if he crossed the room and kissed her.
How he wanted to cup the small, round breasts he could see outlined through her night clothes, and how he thought he could tell exactly where her nipples were.
How he imagined they would be the same color as her pink lips, and how he longed to hear her lose control as he introduced her to pleasures of which she surely had no knowledge.
No, these were not thoughts he ought to be having about the woman he was pretending to court.
These were thoughts to have about courtesans, opera singers, or widowed ladies seeking a night of passion.
Not innocent young women who were expecting to make a good match—and certainly not ones in whose homes he was a guest.
“Please, I would feel terrible if your evening was disturbed because of my late-night wanderings. And I would appreciate it if you did not mention my appearance here to my mother. She would not approve.”
She flashed him one of those smiles that made him feel even more attracted to her, and he thought her mother probably had very good reasons for not approving.
If she had any notion her daughter might inspire such feelings in the young man staying with them, then she was entirely justified in her strictness.
And yet, he could not seem to say “no” to her. “Very well,” he murmured, wishing she would choose her book quickly—just as much as he wished she wouldn’t leave.