She didn’t know what that side of her was like, and didn’t know where learning more of it might lead her. But now she knew that part of her existed—an undeniably female, womanly side of her nature that she’d never explored…she couldn’t imagine not learning more.
Knew in her heart, and in her head, too, that she wouldn’t be satisfied until she’d learned more.
Much as falling in with Gervase’s stated aim went against her grain, she had no doubt whatever that warming his bed would answer her every question.
“Much as I would prefer not to pander to his arrogance”—she fixed her gaze on her reflection and spoke to it—“who else is there with whom I might learn?”
A telling point. Quite aside from the fact that in her nearly twenty-nine years he was the only male to stir her in that way—to evoke the sensual female inside her—he was also the only man she could imagine trusting enough to venture further. Quite why she trusted him so implicitly she wasn’t entirely sure, but that trust went bone-deep, beyond thought or question.
Her brush strokes slowed, halted. She stared into her eyes, then narrowed them. “I’ve never been missish in my life.”
Setting down the brush, she rose. She looked at her reflection, at the long length of her, the rippling mass of her hair, the lush curves of breasts and hips imperfectly concealed beneath the thin nightgown.
She studied the vision, then raised her chin. “Very well, my lord. Tomorrow evening it is.”
Bending forward, she blew out her candle, then retreated to her bed.
They’d known they would meet at Caterham House. Madeline arrived first. Garbed in a gown of chartreuse silk, she prowled the drawing room, impatient and restless. Having made up her mind, she wanted to get on. Lady Caterham’s party was an annual event, no dancing but with every local family of note summoned to fill her ladyship’s drawing room, overflowing onto the terrace, with conversation on every side and supper to look forward to later.
While accustomed to attending such entertainments and chatting with her neighbors with good grace, tonight Madeline felt too keyed up to relax into her usual routine; tonight, discussing tin mining held no allure.
Luckily, with such a crowd, no one was likely to notice such aberrant behavior.
“Miss Gascoigne—we meet again.”
Madeline whirled and discovered Mr. Courtland bowing before he
r. She gave him her hand, suffered him to press her fingers a trifle more meaningfully than she considered appropriate. “Good evening, sir. I take it Lady Hardesty’s company is gracing Caterham House tonight?”
Courtland blinked; unsure if there was a barb in the comment, he replied rather carefully, “Lady Caterham was kind enough to invite Lady Hardesty and extended the invitation to her guests.”
“Lady Caterham always invites everyone who is anyone around about, and naturally she includes any guests they have staying.” Of course. “However, my comment was occasioned by surprise that the invitation was accepted. This”—with a wave Madeline indicated the crowded room—“can hardly compare with London events.”
More certain now that she was censoriously inclined, Courtland paused, then said, “We found ourselves growing rather dull, so…” He shrugged.
So they’d come to see what excitement they could stir up among the locals. Madeline inwardly sniffed, then remembered Lady Hardesty, and her view of Madeline herself, one of said locals.
Sheer devilment prompted her to smile on Mr. Courtland, making him blink. “Perhaps we might join her ladyship? I haven’t had much chance to speak with her.”
Although still wary, Courtland readily offered his arm. She took it and let him guide her through the throng to where Lady Hardesty was holding court in one corner of the room.
She was, Madeline inwardly admitted, a handsome woman, her sleek dark hair piled in artful curls on her head, her gown of blue satin in the very latest style. She was about Madeline’s age, perhaps a year or so older, yet when Madeline joined their circle and Lady Hardesty smiled in polite welcome, Madeline saw that her face was a trifle hard, as if despite the creams and potions doubtless employed to keep her skin supple, despite the fine sapphires about her throat, life had treated her harshly.
But she greeted Madeline sincerely, and reacquainted her with the rest of the circle; all were Londoners, all Lady Hardesty’s guests. Robert Hardesty was nowhere to be seen.
At the end of the greetings, Lady Hardesty bent a rueful look on Madeline. “I confess I’m grateful to you, Miss Gascoigne, for breaking the ice, as it were.” She gave a little laugh. “I’m starting to think I’ll have to live here for years before the locals thaw toward me.”
Madeline refrained from suggesting that surrounding herself with her London friends was hardly conducive to encouraging locals to approach her. “Not so long. They’ll come around.” She met Lady Hardesty’s eyes. “Once they take your measure.” She paused, holding her ladyship’s blue gaze, then added, “And once you’ve taken ours.”
Correctly hung in the air.
Lady Hardesty blinked, then Mr. Courtland made a comment and Madeline turned to listen—and was immediately distracted by the sight of a curly dark head across the room. Tall enough to see over the crowd, she saw Gervase spot her and start the long process of winning through to her side.
Chatting politely, she waited. Very aware of his approach, she knew when he realized who she was with—and hesitated. She nearly looked his way, but he’d tacked to come up beside her and she didn’t want to appear so conscious of his presence. So on tenterhooks, so eager.
But then he was there, taking her hand, smoothly insinuating himself beside her, greeting the others with a chilly, aloof civility so unlike his customary ease that she nearly turned to stare at him.
“I’m so glad you joined us, my lord.” Her welcoming smile far brighter than it had been for Madeline, Lady Hardesty spoke across her. “As I was saying to Miss Gascoigne, I’m eager to get to know those who live in the area a great deal better.”