She wasn’t looking at him. She wasn’t looking at him. She wasn’t looking at him.
He waited, wanting another glimpse of the soft curve of her cheek, and, hopefully, the slight upturn of her lips.
Finally, after one of those moments that felt like eternity, she glanced his way again. The corners of her lips teased up into a hint of a smile, but those lashes fluttered and her gaze darted away.
Careful, this one startles easily.
James leaned back against the wall, a nearly empty mug of ale dangling from his fingertips. He knew about creatures that startled easily, who would flee at the slightest provocation. He knew to stand still and wait patiently, projecting a sense of calm and security. He knew that waiting was more effective than chasing.
This was fine. James had all night to play this kind of game. Even if they did nothing more than exchange glances across the room until midnight, he’d be happy.
It distracted him from the things he wanted distraction from.
Their gazes connected again.
His heart thudded hard in his chest as he drank her in. Curious eyes. Full lips. Elegant movements.
She looked away.
She dared another glance.
James didn’t move from his place against the wall; he was still wanting and waiting for an invitation to speak to her—perhaps a smile, a little nod, or some indication that he was welcome.
Eventually, their eyes connected and she held his gaze. His heart beat hard and steady. He didn’t know all the rules of being a duke, the kings and queens of England or a million other things, but he knew an invitation when it came his way. He knew it in her shy smile, the slight tilt of her head beckoning to the empty seat beside her.
Time seemed to slow as he crossed the room and made his way toward her. Once he was standing in front of her, his breath was knocked right out of his lungs. She was pretty, and she was smiling at him, just James. This might be the last time a woman looked at him like that, wanting him just for him, without thinking, a duke! This was a moment he was going to revel in and hold on to.
Though Miss Meredith Green lacked birth, and wealth, and many other qualifications one would assume of a gently bred lady, she had been raised to be one. She could curtsy with the best of them, expertly arrange both flowers and seating arrangements for dinner parties, and could recite pages from Debrett’s Book of the Peerage. These were just a few of her accomplishments.
As such, she should not be here, in the public room of the Queen’s Head Tavern and Coaching Inn. Especially not alone and especially not at night, where any old ruffian might think he could take a liberty with her, to put it nicely.
Which is why she should not have allowed the barmaid to add a generous splash of whiskey to her tea.
Which is probably why she was encouraging the ocular advances of a handsome man with whom she was not acquainted.
Meredith had noticed him the moment he walked in, tall and lanky but strong, with unfashionably long brown hair that fell rakishly in his eyes. What color were they? she wondered. She didn’t need to know. There was nothing she could do with this information. There was absolutely no point to her knowing.
She badly wanted to know.
So she dared one glance, then another.
Do not look. Do not look. Do not look.
Her better judgment was roundly ignored. Before she knew it, they were somehow flirting from opposite sides of the room without even saying a word.
It was the sort of thing that made a girl’s heart beat giddily and her toes start to tap under her skirts. Thanks to years of training, she kept her posture poised and her movements elegant, but under her skirts, her toes were tapping.
This, this was what she needed tonight: a distraction. The past few months had been trying, and the next few promised to be challenging as well, albeit in a different way. She had only tonight to live for herself.
She darted another look in his direction.
He was watching her. This truth elicited a slight smile from her lips. But she shouldn’t take pleasure in this.
She ducked her head.
But her heart beat quickly and she wondered: Would he come over?
He shouldn’t. He really should not. She absolutely should not encourage him. But life was full of should-nots, and tonight Meredith wanted to say yes.
It had been a bit of a day—on top of quite a week, and one hell of a month. Or two or three. Her visit to her ailing mother in Hampshire revealed a dispiriting truth: the life choices of Miss Meredith Green were few, and less than thrilling. Nevertheless, she had made her choice to return to London and live the restrained and dignified life of a lady’s companion.
Emphasis on restrained. When one relied on one’s spotless reputation for her very existence, one comported herself accordingly. One did not give or receive heated glances across crowded rooms.