“Mr. Nesbitt,” she breathed.
Goodness, how was it that her memories from just that morning did not do him justice? She drank him in as she had not allowed herself to earlier in front of Peter and Lenora. Sun-darkened skin, so much more attractive than the pale complexions of the men of London. Inky hair that fell in thick, unruly waves over his forehead. A lean form that exuded strength and a predatory grace. And those eyes. Heavens, but they were dark, so dark she thought she might lose herself in them and never find herself again.
But what must he think of her, standing there staring at him as if he were a cream pastry. Cheeks flaming, she forced a smile. “Mr. Nesbitt. We did not expect to see you again until this evening.”
“Ah, yes, my apologies, Lady Clara,” he mumbled, sketching a belated bow and scanning the hall behind her with barely concealed agitation. “I seem to have lost track of the time.”
Not knowing what else to do, only knowing she could not leave him standing on the front step, Clara moved back. “Please, come in.”
How was it, she thought a bit wildly as he stepped inside and closed the door behind him, that the cavernous front hall could feel so intimate? The soft click of the latch, the sudden loss of bright daylight, the subsequent muffling of all outside noisemade her even more aware of the tall, powerful man before her. Flustered, she looked about for something to do, and her eyes lit upon the side table nearby. Ah, yes, his outerwear. As she turned to Mr. Nesbitt, however, intending to ask him for his things, she realized he was not wearing any. His head was quite bare, his hands as well. Hands that were incredibly strong, yet appeared as if they could be gentle were the situation to call for it…
Desperate to tamp down on her wandering thoughts, she blurted the first thing that came to her. “You have no outerwear.”
He looked utterly perplexed. His hand went to his head, and he blinked when he found nothing there. “Ah, no, I suppose I don’t. Is Peter home?”
The swift change of subject took her aback. “I’m sorry, but he’s not, though he should be returning shortly.” When he did nothing but nod morosely, his shoulders slumping almost in defeat, she took a step forward, lowering her voice. “Mr. Nesbitt, are you quite well?”
For a moment he looked as if he might either laugh or cry. In the end he smiled. It was a wide thing, filled with his usual devilish charm. It might have made her lose her breath again had his eyes not appeared as if he were burning from the inside out.
“Never better,” he proclaimed. “I don’t suppose I might wait for Peter?”
Which she should have offered from the very beginning. She flushed. “Of course. Please, forgive my thoughtlessness. I’m afraid my mind is elsewhere. If you’ll follow me?”
She turned and led the way up the stairs to the drawing room, stopping only to quietly direct a maid to bring a tray up. She cast a nervous glance out the window as she settled into a high-backed chair. Goodness, she hoped her family did not take much longer.
It was only as she turned her gaze back to Mr. Nesbitt that she realized he had stopped next to a chair and was looking down at it as if he could not fathom what he was supposed to do with it.
She offered him a strained smile. “Won’t you have a seat?”
He cast her a blank look before blinking and focusing on her. “Ah, no, thank you. I think I’d rather stand.”
She arched a brow. “I don’t know when Peter might return. It could be some time.”
“That’s quite all right.”
Truly, the man was acting most odd. She frowned. “Are you certain you’re well, Mr. Nesbitt?”
A strange noise seemed to issue from his throat, but beyond the faintest flicker of his dark eyes his face didn’t show the least change.
“Quite well,” he said, before, with only the slightest hesitation, he abruptly sat. He seemed to mentally shake himself, his demeanor changing in an instant to one of polite inquiry. “But how was Lord and Lady Crabtree’s? Did you not attend the meeting with them?”
Again the sudden about-face. It could not have been more obvious that the man was trying his best to keep the conversation far away from his well-being. Very well, she would not press.
“I did,” she said, “though I was sent home early by Margery after the pertinent information regarding the wedding was gone over.”
“Were you not feeling well?”
“Oh, I’m quite fit, thank you,” she said in what she hoped was not an overly bright manner. There was no way she was going to tell this man that she had been forced to leave because she had been distracted by thoughts of him.
He nodded, and she nodded. And the silence that fell was the loudest she had ever heard in her life.
Tangling her fingers together to keep from creasing her skirts, she blurted, “Peter says you are to leave England soon?”
He seemed relieved she had said anything at all, for he latched onto it with enthusiasm.
“Ah, yes. That’s correct, I’m to begin my travels.” In the next moment, however, his face darkened, the excitement that had overtaken his features replaced with something akin to desolation.
He cleared his throat. “And your sister, she is to marry soon?”