Page 5 of My Lady Rake
She smiled. When she finished eating, she set her napkin on the plate and stood. “I shall change my gown and meet you belowstairs shortly.”
* * *
When Verity reachedthe landing on her way downstairs, she saw St. Ervin waiting in the entry hall. Her stomach quivered at the sight of him, which startled her, but she allowed her gaze to travel up his lean, muscular length. Tall, almost too tall. She’d have to stand on a stool to kiss him properly. Their heights wouldn’t be a problem if they were lying down, though…Stop that. There was no point encouraging fantasies she didn’t plan to follow through on. He wanted more from her than she was willing to give, so all thoughts of his body needed to be kept at bay.
His ecru breeches fitted his muscular thighs and delightfully curved buttocks, and his navy cutaway jacket revealed a taut torso. His hair—thick, a rich gold with just enough wave to make her long to run her fingers through it—sparkled where the sun streamed through the narrow window beside the door. His eyes looked pale, maybe hazel. He wasn’t pretty, his strong features too commanding, intense. He smiled, and she took back the thought. He was beautiful.
He cleared his throat as if he felt her thoughts and was uncomfortable. “Shall we go?”
As she approached, she noticed the earnest set to his brow, his lips now pressed tightly together. What was he thinking that had him so concerned? Had he changed his mind about wanting to spend the morning with her? The idea saddened her a bit.
He stepped closer and the breeze the movement created carried his scent to her.Oh, my.He smelled so heavenly. Clean, masculine. No perfume stink. She could imagine how he’d smell all worked up in bed.
No, she wasn’t getting into bed with him. Her life was going too well as she currently arranged her assignations. She didn’t want to mess it up with entanglements, and this man before her offered nothing but. Perhaps she shouldn’t spend the morning with him alone. “I really don’t—”
“I don’t bite, snore, or hog the sheets.” He moved another foot closer, but his essence surrounded her, wrapped its arms around her and caressed her.
She inched back, shaking off the phantom sensation. “Snore? I thought we were going into the village, not your bedchamber.”
“Forgive me, I’ve been told I move too fast when I see something I want to acquire.”
Verity rose to her full five-foot-two-inch height. “I’m not for sale.”
Backing away, arms raised in a calming gesture, St. Ervan persisted. “Forgive me. I promise to keep my lame sense of humor in check, but I would really love the chance to spend the morning with you. No seduction involved.”
That made her pause. She was so used to being seduced by the young men she singled out at Tantalus, and enjoying their blossoming skills the more times she spent an evening with them. She was an expert at pushing aside any conversation that hinted at wanting something more than physical contact. Was she capable of maintaining polite conversation over the course of several hours with a mature man? She was about to find out.
With a sigh, she nodded. “You did mention a bookstore…”
His grin took ten years off the early forties she guessed his age to be. “Excellent.” Placing a hand on her back, he motioned toward the door with his other arm.
St. Ervan helped her into the curricle that awaited them on the drive, then hopped up beside her and lifted the reins. “Thank you for trusting me with your time.”
She glanced up at him with a shy smile. “You make me wonder what I have brought upon myself.”
“Oh, no, nothing is amiss. We shall have a lovely morning.”
The air was already warm, promising heat later on, and Verity wished she’d brought her parasol. Her bonnet would keep away any threat of freckles, though, and if they felt too hot on the ride home, St. Ervan could always unfold the head to give them shade. In London, she rarely accepted offers of a drive in the daytime, not wishing to be seen, so she would enjoy the fresh air and sunshine while she could.
After riding in silence for a bit, St. Ervan asked, “What do you prefer to read?”
“I will read anything I come across, to be honest.”
“Have you seen my library? I have a fairly broad selection. Even some authors who might surprise you.”
“Oh? Scholarly tomes, I take it?”
He chuckled. “Of course I have those, but I enjoy novels. Have you read, ‘The Monk,’ by Matthew Lewis?”
Verity gasped. “No, the question is, have you? And do you admit to doing so to your friends? Do Abingdon and Dainsfield know your proclivities toward the gothic novel?” She laughed lightly.
“Does that shock you? You haven’t answered my question, I’ll remind you.”
She studied him a moment, then glanced at the trees on her side of the lane. “I’ve read it. It was a bit vulgar for my taste.”
“I agree, but well done for such a young author,” St. Ervan said. He paused, briefly, then asked, “Did your husband read?”
Everything seemed to stop for Verity. Her breath, her heart, her thoughts. She forced air into her body. Levi had been gone for four years now, and it still hurt to talk about him. She needed to get past this reaction. She could talk about him to her friends, especially the group who lovingly called themselves the “Widows League”, but men seemed happy to avoid the subject. “He read very little. He said he’d read the classics in school and that was enough. He devoured the political news in the morning paper, though.”