With an immense effort that felt as though she were trying to reposition a house by hand, she pulled herself away, flushed and feeling her cheeks burn with a mix of desire and embarrassment.
Desire, because Arthur was indeed a handsome man, and the kiss had been... well. A kiss like that, and she could see how he might have coaxed so many women into his bed. If he was half as good with other parts of his body… she cut the thought off, abashed at the boldness of her thoughts.
And that was much of her embarrassment as well. That she should have been seduced into such a kiss as that when they scarcely knew each other. She felt as if she was again behaving like a wanton, and not at all the sensible lady she wished to portray herself as, let alone the world-wise woman she had become since the events that had led to Lydia’s birth.
Where was her caution? She knew very well how unwise it was to give her heart to a lord, even one so pleasant as Arthur seemed.
Arthur bent close again and spoke soft words into her ear. “Consider that incentive, my spirited maid, and know that I give you this promise, here and now... you will not regret your decision to tie yourself to me, for I will make certain of that truth if I do nothing else.”
“So you say, and so I think you mean. But we shall see.” She forced herself to let go of his hands, to step back and disengage. She saw a flash of hurt in his eyes and dredged up words for a plausible reason, wanting to avoid any discord so early on in their relationship. “I do hope you will forgive me, Arthur, but there are things I must do. Errands, and if we are to be planning a wedding…”
“Of course. There is much to be done in that matter. I shall not keep you.” He dipped his head, and she was pleased to see some of the shadows had retreated from his eyes once again. “I suppose I have my own business to attend to on that front.”
“And I shall not keep you either. Perhaps we might engage in more conversation and some more dancing lessons tomorrow.”
“I would like that.” His eyes brightened further.
“Until tomorrow then.” She gave him a quick curtsy, the ingrained courtesy too deeply set to be foregone after one successful encounter and turned to leave.
Only to stop short to avoid running into the Dowager—Abigail, she reminded herself—standing in the doorway.
Abigail Russell studied them both with a considering eye. “Good. Nora darling, if you are done for the day with my son, then I must ask you to come with me.”
“I beg your pardon?” Nora swallowed.
“It occurred to me that it might be best to introduce you at a small gathering first, let you get your bearings, and meet some of Arthur’s close associates. So I’ll be sending out invitations for a small formal supper tomorrow. Of course you must have the appropriate gown, so we need to visit the shops and find something to suit. It shan’t be the best, what with the short time we have, but I know some modistes who do excellent work that should do well enough.”
Nora blinked, startled. “I... I haven’t…”
“No need to worry at the expense, dear. We shall be managing that. Though... have you someone you might like to accompany you?” The Dowager smiled, mischief and mirth lighting her face, adding warmth while somehow managing to retain the dignity of her station and her age. “An old widow like me has little to fear, but it is best if a young lady like yourself has a suitable companion.”
“Oh, you are not that old…” Nora paused, considering.
“Nonsense. I know very well that I am old enough to be a widow for the rest of my days.” Abigail waved off the words. “But have you someone? I can call one of the maids if you do not.”
“Well, there is my sister, I suppose…” She was too flustered to stop to think, and it was only after the words had escaped her that she realized the risk she had taken.
“Excellent. I should be delighted to meet a member of your family. We should go at once.” The Dowager took her arm in a grip that managed to be gentle as a baby’s touch and unyielding as stone all at the same time. Abigail herded her gently into the hall, then stopped and looked back. “Arthur darling, be a dear and pass my invitation on to those friends of yours at the club.”
“I shall, Mother.” Arthur nodded.
Nora felt her heart sink, even as she allowed the Dowager to lead her from the room and toward the waiting carriage.
Arthur’s friends. And among them was sure to be... that man.
She couldn't tell if it was that knowledge, the knowledge of her impending introduction of Dowager Abigail Russell to Scarlett, or some formless, nameless fear that had replaced her easy mood with trepidation like icicles down her throat.
CHAPTERTEN
Arthur approached the steps of Whites, gave a distracted greeting to the doorman on duty, and passed off his coat and hat, feeling rather as though he’d had several drafts of his father’s best-aged brandy, despite the fact that he’d not had more than a sip of spirits all day.
He had taken a light repast at the manor, then set his steps in the direction of the club, knowing that his friends were likely to be there. And knowing that even more, he needed the normalcy of such surroundings and their familiarity after the strangeness of the past day.
Strange that he should have proposed to the fiery little maid who had been the center of his thoughts for some time. Stranger still that she had accepted after her cutting comments of the night before. Had she been speaking merely out of embarrassment for being placed in such a situation, or had there been more to it? And if there was more to it, what might he do or say to rectify the situation and assure her of his good intentions?
For if the last few hours had taught him anything, it was that Nora, little spirited Nora with her deep blue eyes and long dark hair, had secrets aplenty and hidden depths beyond even that. For all her teasing, it was evident she was no stranger to the dance floor and well-practiced in the steps he would not have thought a serving girl would know.
Little Nora was a challenge, and one he was beginning to think would hold his attention longer than a playful tryst might involve. He had seen the shadows in her eyes that said she did not trust him, yet it was equally clear that she was not impervious to him. He was curious, more than curious perhaps, to see which of those competing emotions would win out.