“Oh, sorry.” I smile and hold out my hand. “Lady Susanna Sumner.”
“Lady Susanna Sumner,” he repeats slowly. I like the way he says my name, how it sounds. He takes my hand and gives it the briefest shake, followed by a too-long squeeze. “It’s very nice to meet you.”
I slowly withdraw my hand from his, feeling as if I’m in a trance. My fingers and palm tingle from where they made contact with his, and the heat in his blue eyes is unmistakable, even for an unseasoned, mostly relationship-less woman like me.
He’s interested.
In me.
What a strange—and pleasant—turn of events.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you too,” I say, my voice weak.
It’s his turn to smile, and oh, what a dazzler it is. It transforms his entire face, lighting it up, making him look young and sweet, and I wonder if that’s just a ruse. Someone as large as he is who’s a professional athlete can’t be considered sweet. “What do people call you?”
I blink at him. “Pardon
me?”
“What do your—friends call you? Or your acquaintances? What with the title and all.” Cannon—such an unusual name—waves a hand toward me.
He sounds genuinely curious. In England, amongst the social circles I move in, Lady This-and-That isn’t rare. We are a dime a dozen. My title doesn’t mean a thing to those who know me, or know of me.
But an American who probably has no idea how nobility works? He might be impressed.
Cannon Whittaker? He definitely looks impressed.
“Formally, I’m referred to as my lady, or even Lady Susanna,” I tell him.
“No shit?” His cheeks turn ruddy and I’m tempted to laugh again. “Uh, sorry about that.”
I wave a jittery hand. “No need to apologize.”
“I shouldn’t curse in front of you.”
“Not like I haven’t heard it before.” My older brother’s colorful language comes to mind.
“Do they call you Lady Sumner?” he asks.
It takes me a second to process his quick change of subject. “No, I’m afraid not.” I shake my head.
“Why?” He tilts his head to the side, like a curious puppy.
“That’s…” I don’t really have a good reason as to why. “Not how it’s done.”
“According to who?” He sounds surprised.
“The peerage.”
“What’s the peerage?” Now he sounds really confused.
I smile, putting on a bright face. He does not want me to get into a conversation about the peerage. Talk about dull. “It really doesn’t matter. Just a bunch of boring rules.”
He steps closer, his gaze intense, his voice shifting lower. “What do you want me to call you?”
His nearness sends the jitters flying away, replacing them with a slow, yearning tremble. “I suppose you can call me…Susanna?” I offer, my voice weak.
His smile is slow. Intimate. Seeing it sets my skin on fire. “Then that’s what I’ll call you.” He pauses for effect, I’m sure. “Susanna.”