* * *
“Hekissedyou?Nicholas Fairbanks kissed you,” Leigh said rather dramatically. She glanced around the small intimate, but tastefully furnished parlor of her home, as if she searched for a hidden servant with a listening ear.
Cressida met the wide-eyed stare of her sister with a frown. “Why are you so shocked? And it was more like we kissed each other.”
“You are blushing,” Leigh said faintly. “Youneverblush.”
“That is all I seem to do around Nicholas,” she grumbled.
“Nicholas?”
Cressida lowered the book she’d been attempting to read. “I believe it is proper that we call each other by our names.”
“There is nothing at all proper about this entire situation.” Leigh lowered her embroidery and sat back against the cushions. “However, since you insist on this absurdity, I have no choice but to support you. However, Cress, I must caution you, to not be too reckless. Do not allow that rake to take any liberties.”
Cressida almost confided the full plan to her sister, but wisely kept her counsel.
“The marquess—”
“Please do not speak of him, Leigh. It hurts that you would also wish for me to still marry him given the circumstances.”
Her sister’s expression softened. “Oh, Cress, I am sorry. You were so excited about your season and this potential match. You do desire marriage and your own home. Have you considered that there will be a lot of talk in thetonwhen a match between the two of you is not forthcoming? Also consider that our parents will be very disappointed. I recall that mama always said your beauty and grace is such that you are only fit to marry a duke. I feel as if shesettledfor the marquess. Mama will not take your refusal lightly unless you were to present a duke on a silver platter.”
The truth of those words settled into Cressida’s bones. The ache in her heart spread to encompass her whole body. She did want to be the mistress of her own home and to have children. Dark blue eyes swam in her thoughts, and that peculiar heat flushed through her body.
“Cress, you are blushing again!” Leigh gasped. “Are you thinking about Mr. Fairbanks?”
Cressida groaned and tipped her head to the ceiling.
“You do know he is not suitable for marriage, don’t you? He is…what, a third or fourth son? Nicholas Fairbanks has no prospect and is not fit to marry the daughter of an earl!”
A knot formed in Cressida’s stomach. “Leigh, please, I was not thinking about marrying the man! I merely have this strange sensation whenever I think about him. My entire body feels hot, and I cannot help but think about that kiss. But it is more…I find that I am very curious about his character. Did I mention that he dances beautifully?”
A choking sound came from Leigh, and when she glanced at her sister it was to see a frightful blush on her cheeks.
“Now it is you who is blushing, Leigh. Dare I ask why?”
Her sister wrinkled her nose. “What you feel is…desire, Cress. You desire Nicholas Fairbanks. I only ask that you keep in mind he is not suitable for marriage, and our parents would never agree to you forming an alliance with a third son.”
Her breath hitched, and she could only stare at her sister for several moments. Cressida recalled the feelings that had crashed through her body the instant his mouth had touched hers. Those heated and curious longings still lived within her, and she did not wish to shy away from the sensations.
“Perhaps we should discuss something else,” she whispered.
“Yes,” her sister said brightly. “What will you wear to Lady Fairclough’s ball?”
Cressida determinedly turned her attention to their discourse, refusing to wonder at the thrill that lived in her heart at the awareness that she would soon sit for Nicholas Fairbanks. That night she did not sleep well. She laid awake into the early hours of the morning, thinking about desire and Nicholas Fairbanks. Cressida only fell asleep when the pale glare of the breaking dawn peeked through the slits in the heavy drapes.
CHAPTER7
Nicholas took a deep breath when a soft knock sounded at his door at precisely seven in the evening. He knocked back the whisky in his glass, appreciating the burn as it landed in his stomach. Setting the glass down on the mantel, he strode to the door and opened it. Her subtle scent of jasmine wafted on the air, stroking against his senses.
“Hello, Nicholas.”
His gut clenched. “Cressida.”
They shared a small smile, and Nicholas stepped back and allowed Lady Cressida inside his dwelling. She wore a simple peach dress with a golden sash ribbon at the waist, and the delicate mask on her face was also golden. She had remembered to wear a wig as he had suggested. Nicholas was amused that it was probably one she had found in a closet and that it had been something her grandmother or another of her generation had worn. White hair, arranged in a very full style with many artificially styled curls which actually rather suited her. He thought Cressida would probably look good in anything, and then his thoughts wandered to seeing her without her clothes and he swallowed.
Once inside his parlor, she removed the mask, her gloves, and the coat. Then she carefully removed the wig and laid it on top of her coat.