Page 7 of My Lord Rogue
“Exist?” he supplied, grinning. “It’s a common fault of men like me. We tend to turn up at the worst possible moments.”
His candor disarmed her. She looked at him, really looked. The rakish set of his mouth, the hint of vulnerability at the base of his throat where his cravat sat just a fraction askew, the faint shadow of fatigue beneath his eyes.
He regarded her in return, not with the leering hunger of the supper guests but with a kind of detached interest. “Your hands are shaking,” he observed softly.
She curled them into fists. “Are you here to ruin me?”
He laughed—quiet, genuine. “Only if you ask very nicely. Why did you choose me, Lady Pattishall? Out of all the men in England?”
She looked away, humiliated. “I needed a shield. Someone plausible but unreachable. An imaginary man who would protect me from the real ones. I thought I made up the title.”
He digested this, then said, “You could not have chosen better. Though I would have been flattered if you’d made me a bit taller.”
She barked a laugh despite herself, the sound cracking through the tension.
He smiled, pleased. “I will play along, if you wish. I can be anything you need me to be. The question is, what do you need, Lady Pattishall?”
Theo stared at him, stunned by the gravity in his tone, the way it contrasted with the levity of his words. She did not know what she needed—except, at this moment, to escape.
She rose. “I need to think,” she said, voice shaking.
He stood too, his expression unfathomable. “Of course. I am at your service in every possible way.” He executed a bow so precise it bordered on parody, but his eyes never left her face.
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Panic was overwhelming her, her stomach knotting and her skin growing warm. She couldn’t continue this game, she needed to be alone. “I must go,” she said, her voice quavering.
Turning away, she rushed out the door and upstairs to the safety and privacy of her room. Throwing herself onto her bed, which a maid had so carefully made while she’d been eating, she broke into tears.
How she missed Charles. Missed being a married woman with a real husband, a living man whose life she knew, whose mannerisms were a comfort, and who knew what pleased her. She knew her Teddy only needed to appear to be her lover for a short time, but was she up to the task of the pretense?
The very idea was exhausting, no matter how handsome and charming he was.
CHAPTER FOUR
Josiah Cook, Baron Teddington, paced the floor near the foot of the staircase, hoping Lady Pattishall would appear soon so he could escort her to supper. He’d looked for her throughout the day after she’d made her escape after breakfast, but it appeared she’d remained hidden in her room all day.
He could imagine her distress, and chuckled as he thought about the coincidence of picking his name out of nowhere to be her secret lover. Stranger still was the fact that he’d arrived at St. Ervan’s home while she was there. Not only was he not invited, he hadn’t written to announce his plans to call.
To be honest, before he arrived, he wasn’t certain he’d be welcome, but St. Ervan had been a friend for many years. The earl had likely heard the gossip about Josiah’s most recent escape to the Continent. All of Polite Society probably heard one of several versions of the tale involving Josiah and a sweet young thing. Those who knew him well knew the words “love” and “proposal” never entered his seduction of the chit, they were only in her imagination.
This wasn’t the first angry father he’d had to escape. Several of his friends chided him for the stupidity of his lack ofdiscretion. They all had mistresses or kept their liaisons to widows or mature women with no desire for a husband. Josiah was a reformed man, he’d decided on this last jaunt through France. Widowhood was a requirement for him now. Only a woman who was deeply in love with another man would tempt him into bed. Or a discrete alcove, if needs must.
Lady Pattishall was exactly the distraction he needed before he returned home. She was prettier than most women of his acquaintance, and something in her manner when she’d tried to explain how she’d chosen him as her apparent beau had touched a part of him he’d thought he didn’t own—his heart.
He looked forward to seducing her.
Even more, he had a strange desire to know her better.
If only she’d rejoin the party.
When Lady St. Ervan approached on her husband’s arm and told him dinner would be served soon, Josiah smiled. “We’ll be there just as soon as my lady is dressed.”
The vision of helping her dress, or undress, warmed him. Later, he told himself. Once they’d eaten, he could begin his seduction.
A few minutes later he heard a gasp from the top of the staircase, and he looked up to see Lady Pattishall standing with her hand over her lips. He put on his warmest smile. “There you are, my dear. Come. I fear we’ll be the last to arrive.”
She slowly descended the steps, her features composed in a polite expression that didn’t announce a grand passion for the man she looked upon.
He’d work on that. For theatrical purposes, of course.