Page 29

Chapter

FOURTEEN

It was after seven by the time Lottie returned from Gravesend where she had rendezvoused with Longbottom to appraise him of the final preparations.

Almost eight before Lady Frinton and her sister finished quizzing her about whether or not he had managed to procure everything needed for the Surprise .

They wanted to know every minute detail, so it took forever before she could dash away to change for dinner.

Their inquisition left her with no time to do more than throw on a frock and splash some water on her face and because she was running so late, she tried her best not to revisit the guilt at her part in this which had plagued her for days.

She might well now consider Lord Wennington a friend but she had to be realistic.

He was a viscount. A member of the blue-blooded aristocracy.

In the normal scheme of things, a viscount and a lady’s companion weren’t usually friends and just because he was finally being civil did not mean that he thought her one.

She was employed by Lady Frinton and would leave with her next week regardless, she could not jeopardize that, so it really wasn’t her place to tip him off about tomorrow—no matter how much she wanted to.

So she would jolly well put off thinking about it until then!

Ignoring her still nagging conscience, Lottie took a cursory glance in the mirror.

After a day on horseback, her hair was an unsalvageable disaster.

With no time left to start it again from scratch, Lottie shoved a handful of pins into the bird’s nest on her head.

Who was she trying to look nice for anyway?

Two older ladies and a handsome viscount too far above her station to take any notice.

More was the pity.

The clock in the hallway began chiming eight as she ran down the stairs and hurried toward the open dining room.

She was almost there when a grinning Lord Wennington appeared out of the music room door and beckoned her over with a finger to his lips.

He grabbed her hand and tugged her inside, gently kicking the door closed behind them.

“Peas,” he said.

Or at least she thought that was what he said because he was still holding her hand and that was all it took to make her pulse have a conniption. It had quickened so much she couldn’t think straight. “I’m sorry?”

“Peas… or beans.” He shrugged, still smiling, the soft light from the only lamp in the dim room making the copper in his irises heat, much like her flesh was heating beneath the loose grip of his fingers.

“Er…” Gracious! She was so off-kilter from the effects of his touch that she had missed the most important part of that odd question—if it even was a question?

That had never happened before. Not even a thoroughly good kiss had ever had the power to scramble her wits like the feel of just her hand in his. “As in which do I prefer?”

His deep chuckle sent a shiver through her.

Like a trickle of warm honey over flesh already sensitized because he still had her hand.

“My apologies, in my excitement and because I’ve been preoccupied with it for the last two hours, I assumed you would know immediately what I was talking about.

Peas or beans. Whichever grows better in your father’s soil.

That is the apparent solution to his blight problem. ”

He paused and glanced down, bemused, to where their hands joined as if he had only just realized that they were, before he slowly severed the contact.

“Er…” His brows furrowed for a moment before he took a couple of steps back, and her body instantly mourned the closeness.

“They apparently work better than leaving an infected field fallow and the crop earns you more money in the long run as well.”

He rocked on his heels and folded his arms, looking every inch as awkward as she felt, making her wonder if he had experienced the same peculiar reaction to the unexpected contact too.

“The journal I just read actually recommends two years of legumes to begin with for really persistent blight.” Arms still folded, he flicked his fingers in the rough direction of his study.

“It also recommends adding a legume of some sort into the regular crop rotation even if you haven’t got blight as it does wonders for the soil. Legumes are a wonder crop apparently.”

Lottie couldn’t resist punching the air.

“All hail the legume!” As she had hoped, that broke the odd tension in the room and made him laugh.

“And all hail the man that can string so many sentences with the word ‘legume’ in it together so seamlessly. Especially when I was ignorant of the existence of the word ‘legume’ not five minutes ago.”

“Well, they do say that you learn something new every day, Miss Travers.”

“They do.” She was certainly learning, and fast, that an animated, smiling Lord Wennington was a dangerous thing indeed.

Especially when he was standing so close and smelled absolutely divine.

Clean and fresh like spring rain but with a hint of spice too.

Earthy. Masculine. Extremely attractive.

Of their own accord, Lottie’s feet took a step closer to better inhale it and she almost sighed aloud when she did because it was also headier than a glass of champagne on an empty stomach.

Was that all him?

Or him mixed with cologne?

Did he always wear cologne?

Surely she would have remembered a scent this potent and seductive if she had encountered it before?

She found her gaze dropping from his eyes to his lips as her errant mind wondered if he tasted as good as he smelled, then blinked when she saw them moving. “… with you later.”

“I’m sorry?” She had no clue what he was suggesting he do with her later, but frankly, she was now up for anything.

He stared at her bemusedly now. “Have you even listened to a word I’ve said?”

“I’m… a bit distracted.” Which was absolutely the truth but it probably wasn’t wise to let him see that she was thoroughly distracted by him.

“I’ve been running countless errands for your aunt all afternoon and only recently got back, so my head is still spinning from it all.

Kindly repeat what you just said—I got the bit about using legumes in the crop rotation. ”

He sighed without any malice. “Then you’ve got the gist. All I added was that I’ll give the journal to you later so that you can pass it on to your brother.”

“Ah, yes. Thank you. I look forward to reading it myself after dinner. On the subject of dinner…” She gestured to the shadowed clock on the mantel.

“We are late.” Because frankly, if she spent another minute alone with him in this intimate, darkened room, she wasn’t sure she’d survive it with any dignity left intact.

“And you know how your mother and her sister feel about tardiness to the table.”

Lottie spun around to exit, unaware that the dangling hem of her hastily donned petticoat was trapped beneath her shoe. She lurched backward as it twisted taut, tried to steady herself, and failed miserably. Her flailing hands grabbed nothing but air.

With a lunge, he caught her before she met the floor, and somehow that was so much worse than her cranium hitting the carpet.

Her semi-reclined position left her not only overwhelmed by his presence but engulfed in it.

Her arms clinging to his shoulders, his arms wrapped tight around her ribs, her breasts squashed intimately against him.

Faces inches apart. Wide eyes locked. Her positively drowning in his heavenly scent while all manner of improper sensations ricocheted around her body.

Lottie swallowed and so did he, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

Something strange was happening to all the air in the room because it felt suddenly heavier and seemed to crackle around them.

With anticipation and… excitement. The thrum of his heartbeat against hers, mirroring and matching.

Almost as loud. Almost as erratic. The copper in his eyes like fire, molten against his suddenly much darker irises.

Had desire darkened them?

Had it darkened hers too? She had no clue, but it pooled in the most scandalous recesses of her increasingly wanton body regardless.

Were they having a reckless and magical moment?

She sincerely hoped so because she was ripe for it. So ready to be kissed breathless by this vexing conundrum of a man that her nipples puckered against his chest in shameless invitation and she wasn’t the least bit inclined to stop them.

His gaze raked her face until it settled on her mouth. He edged lower until his warm breath whispered over her cheeks while she willed him to close that last inch of distance.

She had the urge to lick her tingling lips.

To caress his face and run her fingers through his hair.

To arch up and close the gap herself. To be brazen and instigate the kiss she was now convinced they both desperately craved—but didn’t.

In case she was reading all his signals wrong in her intoxicated, discombobulated, and ridiculously aroused state.

Finally, the tip of his nose grazed hers, but as her eyelids fluttered closed, in the space of a single heartbeat the moment was gone and he was dragging her upright. As soon as she was horizontal, he briskly stepped away.

“Crisis averted,” he said, looking every which way but at her. “I thought I was going to drop you.”

“Yes…” Her voice was breathy. “Thank you for catching me… and clinging on.” And because the crackling air bursting with promise had now been replaced with an oppressive cloud of awkwardness, Lottie stumbled toward the door, doing her best to fill the mortifying void with the most cringeworthy vomit of words possible.

“I do hope your cook will be serving us legumes for dinner. After all that talk about them, I could murder some peas.”