A penny for an Earl

Destiny

The very first rule in the art of flirtation is to loose one’s chaperone!

That was when Nacelle, in a moment of inspired brilliance, stepped in. “Thornbridge , I hope you will excuse my cousin and me. He and I must speak with my aunt and uncle, for I see they have arrived.”

Mr. Farrington’s eyes flared. “Er, but—”

Nacelle grasped her cousin’s arm and discreetly tugged him past Penny toward the fireplace. “Come, Andrew,” she gritted. “Aunt Fanny is waving to us.”

Then, they were gone, weaving back through the crowded drawing room. Leaving Penelope blessedly alone with the fascinating lord who made her insides effervesce and her blood run uncomfortably hot.

She swallowed. “Miss Bronn speaks highly of you, my lord.”

“Call me Thornbridge.”

“She described your encounter with Mr. Bernard.”

“Did she, now?”

The air felt thick around her, turning her words breathless. “I found her tale most … captivating.”

“Why?”

“You defended her honor in a way most gentlemen would not, a way that put Mr. Bernard and all others who would insult her firmly in their place. I find much to admire in such bold actions.”

Enormous shoulders rolled in a shrug. “Nothing to admire. Bernard deserved what he received.”

“Do you enjoy dancing, Lord Thornbridge?”

“No, Miss Hollingbrook.”

She inched closer, wondering how warm he would be if she pressed herself against him. Surely a body of his size would heat her through until her skin tingled. “Are you certain? Perhaps with the right partner, you would—”

“Where is your chaperone?”

She blinked. Twice.

He glared. Hard.

“Well, I … I suspect she may be napping.”

“That explains much.”

“My aunt has an infirmity. These late evenings are trying for her. Often, she must find a quiet corner in which she may rest her eyes unnoticed, the poor dear.”

“Leaving you free to proposition men you have only just met.”

This time, she blinked at least four times while she came to the stunning realization that his disapproval was genuine.

He was outraged.

At her.

“Proposition? Silly goose. I inquired as to whether you enjoy dancing. It is called conversation, Lord Thornbridge . I trust they have such a phenomenon in Derbyshire.”

He moved closer, robbing her of what little breath she had remaining. Now, he loomed like a great granite ledge, his head bowed. Finally, his eyes had ignited.

Except that the spark of interest resembled displeasure far too much for Penelope’s liking. “I have no wish to be rude, Miss Hollingbrook.”

“A bit late for that,” she breathed, her eyes devouring every ridge and slope of his enthralling face.

“But you should know I’ve no interest in marriage.” he finished

“My, you have positively galloped ahead of me. Miles and miles. You are in another county altogether.”

Eyes of deep, coniferous green gleamed knowingly. “Am I?”

Her lips pursed on a smile. “Perhaps I am merely the curious sort.”

“I think you desire that which you perceive to be unattainable.”

“Miles and miles,” she murmured, largely because she had no better answer. He was not wrong.

“As you are Miss Beonn’s friend, I shall offer this advice: Flirtation for a woman of your beauty is a dangerous game, doubly so when one’s chaperone prefers napping to minding her charge.”

“You think me beautiful?”

He sighed. Straightened away from her. “I knew I should not attend this evening,” he muttered, his gaze drifting up past her head to the other side of the room, his jaw flexing. “No good can come of it.”

She disliked seeing his focus wander away. How could she persuade him of their obvious affinity if he did not look at her? “I beg to differ. In the unlikely event that Lady Reedham has managed to keep her third French cook, I expect you shall have an excellent meal. That is one good thing, is it not?”

Ah, yes. That did it. His eyes returned to her, both exasperated and amused. “Aye. A good meal is a good thing.”

“There you have it. Of course, if her cook has departed, we may be subject to an evening of dreadful music. You must brace for that eventuality.”

“Do you always chatter on this way?”

“Only when I wish to converse with someone who interests me.” She tilted her head in mock inquiry. “I could teach you, if you wish.”

He snorted. “No. Thank you.”

“She raised her brows. “Really, conversation, when done well, can be most … stimulating.”

Perhaps she had pushed too hard, for his green eyes narrowed and his massive arms crossed. “Miss Hollingbrook.”

“Yes?”

“I suggest you find your chaperone and remain at her side, come what may.”

“Are you concerned for my virtue, Lord Thornbridge?”

He leaned forward to murmur close to her ear. “No, lass. For mine.”

When he withdrew and strode away, his gargantuan shoulders creating their own path through the throng along one wall, she could only stand like a dizzy goose, breathless and swaying on her feet.

He smelled heavenly, like the pines around the lake near her home in Cheshire.

And he was warm.

As warm as a great hearth. Having his breath so near her cheek had sent gooseflesh shimmying over her skin.

She’d never felt the like.

She wanted him.

James Hallow, the Earl of Thornbridge.

She wanted him as she’d never wanted another thing.

Ever.

This was more than the Inkling.

This was destiny.

And he would be hers, she decided, still struggling for breath, her gloved hand brushing the side of her neck where she’d felt his words slide over her skin.

One way or another, he would be hers.