once more. Her wry, assessing gaze told him she'd seen him peeking, but he certainly wasn't going to affirm her suspicions by appearing guilty. Besides, the brief glance at her full bosom capped with rosy points that pressed tightly to the translucent muslin had been the highlight of his rather trying day.
Her gaze left his, however, and slid to where her mother sat opposite them, now sobbing somewhat less vociferously.
"Mother," the girl said firmly through blue, chilled lips. "T-tell this nice gentleman that you're
s-sorry."
The weeping woman uttered something unintelligible, which seemed to satisfy the girl in Dane's lap, for she then turned to look back up at him with a air of expectation. Dane hesitated, having the feeling that he was the only one who didn't know what they were talking about. "Ah… apology accepted?" he said finally.
The girl seemed to relax. "You're t—taking all of this very well, I must say," she told him as her shivers continued. "That bodes well f—for your character. You must be a man of g—great parts."
Perhaps it was the fact that he'd recently been peeking at her own rather "great parts" or perhaps it was the fact that his own "parts" were becoming more and more stimulated by the motion of a curvaceous bottom being jostled against them, but the commonplace saying struck Dane in quite a different way than it was intended to. He laughed involuntarily, then covered it with a cough. Smiling with bemusement at the very unusual creature nestled on his lap, he nodded. "Thank you. I might say the same about you." It was a pure delight to come across such a combination of robust voluptuousness and resilient poise.
The girl eyed him speculatively for a moment, then turned to her mother again. "Mama, you should allow this gentleman to introduce himself to you."
"Mama" nodded vigorously, then visibly repressed her sobs and dabbed at her eyes with a tiny scrap of lace that truly didn't look up to the task of drying all those tears.
"That's not necessary, my dear," the woman said, with a final sniffle. "The Viscount Greenleigh and I have already been introduced."
Dane sat there for a long moment with a smile frozen on his face while he racked his memory to place the red-eyed woman across from him. Finally, light dawned. Cheltenham. She was the wife of a destitute earl, but the family was of excellent lineage and spotless reputation. "Of course we have, Lady Cheltenham," he said smoothly, as if he'd recognized her all along.
Then he looked down at the self-possessed and voluptuous young woman in his arms. So this was Cheltenham's daughter…
1
« ^ »
I shall be a willing and obedient wife. I shall be a willing and obedient—
Olivia—Lady Greenleigh now!—put down the boar-bristle brush that she had been absently drawing through her fair hair. There was that word again.
Obedient
. Drawing a deep breath, she placed both hands flat on her new mother-of-pearl-inlaid vanity and closed her eyes against her reflection in the fine gilded mirror.
The bedchamber in which Olivia waited shimmered with tasteful luxury, from the creamy silk brocade bed draperies, to the generously heaped coals in the hearth, to the very nightdress she wore, a floating confection of gauzy batiste that likely cost more than all her previous wardrobe combined.
The only thing it lacked was the presence of his lordship.
Men, Olivia decided, were rather like rain. If one needed it, it never seemed to come.
It is an honor to be chosen by such a gentleman
. Her mother's voice echoed through her mind again and again.
You have little to recommend you but your bloodline. If your brother had managed to marry that awful Hackerman Shipping heiress, things would be very different for us all. If Walter had lived
…
If Walter had lived, Cheltenham would be saved, the family coffers would be full, her parents would be content, and Olivia would not be without her dear brother. She certainly would not have been constrained to
Her gaze left his, however, and slid to where her mother sat opposite them, now sobbing somewhat less vociferously.
"Mother," the girl said firmly through blue, chilled lips. "T-tell this nice gentleman that you're
s-sorry."
The weeping woman uttered something unintelligible, which seemed to satisfy the girl in Dane's lap, for she then turned to look back up at him with a air of expectation. Dane hesitated, having the feeling that he was the only one who didn't know what they were talking about. "Ah… apology accepted?" he said finally.
The girl seemed to relax. "You're t—taking all of this very well, I must say," she told him as her shivers continued. "That bodes well f—for your character. You must be a man of g—great parts."
Perhaps it was the fact that he'd recently been peeking at her own rather "great parts" or perhaps it was the fact that his own "parts" were becoming more and more stimulated by the motion of a curvaceous bottom being jostled against them, but the commonplace saying struck Dane in quite a different way than it was intended to. He laughed involuntarily, then covered it with a cough. Smiling with bemusement at the very unusual creature nestled on his lap, he nodded. "Thank you. I might say the same about you." It was a pure delight to come across such a combination of robust voluptuousness and resilient poise.
The girl eyed him speculatively for a moment, then turned to her mother again. "Mama, you should allow this gentleman to introduce himself to you."
"Mama" nodded vigorously, then visibly repressed her sobs and dabbed at her eyes with a tiny scrap of lace that truly didn't look up to the task of drying all those tears.
"That's not necessary, my dear," the woman said, with a final sniffle. "The Viscount Greenleigh and I have already been introduced."
Dane sat there for a long moment with a smile frozen on his face while he racked his memory to place the red-eyed woman across from him. Finally, light dawned. Cheltenham. She was the wife of a destitute earl, but the family was of excellent lineage and spotless reputation. "Of course we have, Lady Cheltenham," he said smoothly, as if he'd recognized her all along.
Then he looked down at the self-possessed and voluptuous young woman in his arms. So this was Cheltenham's daughter…
1
« ^ »
I shall be a willing and obedient wife. I shall be a willing and obedient—
Olivia—Lady Greenleigh now!—put down the boar-bristle brush that she had been absently drawing through her fair hair. There was that word again.
Obedient
. Drawing a deep breath, she placed both hands flat on her new mother-of-pearl-inlaid vanity and closed her eyes against her reflection in the fine gilded mirror.
The bedchamber in which Olivia waited shimmered with tasteful luxury, from the creamy silk brocade bed draperies, to the generously heaped coals in the hearth, to the very nightdress she wore, a floating confection of gauzy batiste that likely cost more than all her previous wardrobe combined.
The only thing it lacked was the presence of his lordship.
Men, Olivia decided, were rather like rain. If one needed it, it never seemed to come.
It is an honor to be chosen by such a gentleman
. Her mother's voice echoed through her mind again and again.
You have little to recommend you but your bloodline. If your brother had managed to marry that awful Hackerman Shipping heiress, things would be very different for us all. If Walter had lived
…
If Walter had lived, Cheltenham would be saved, the family coffers would be full, her parents would be content, and Olivia would not be without her dear brother. She certainly would not have been constrained to
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