Ewan tucked a finger under her chin and drew her gaze upward once more to meet his. She melted at the soft grin on his face. “Seems a shame to waste a perfect night,” he said in a husky murmur.
Lily smiled back. “Would be criminal to waste it.”
He lowered his head and was about to fulfill her every fantasy when Callie called to him from the terrace. “Ewan! There you are.” Had she noticed Ewan about to kiss her? She’d brought along reinforcements, dragging Archie behind her, and her long, catlike fingernails were clamped onto his arm as she pulled him down the small row of stairs onto the soft, dewy grass. “Who’s this? A friend of yours, darling?”
Darling?
Ewan introduced her to Callie again.
“Of course! You must forgive my oversight. But I’ve met so many Farthingales this evening, can’t seem to get any of you straight. It’s most confusing. Didn’t I see you dancing in the arms of the Duke of Edgeware a short while ago? You seemed quite transported, not that any woman wouldn’t be while in his arms.”
“You’re mistaken. I’ve been out here.”
“I saw you with him.” She appeared indignant.
“It must have been my sister you saw dancing.”
Callie beaded her eyes. “I know what I saw.”
Lily sighed and glanced at Ewan. The Duke of Edgeware had no interest in her. No man did. Ewan winked at her, obviously finding humor in Callie’s confusion. He knew the notion was ridiculous. After the way she’d gawked at him this morning, how could he doubt she was attracted to him? Like a bee to honey. She supposed Ewan was used to women flitting around him. Probably had them by the hundreds, while she’d never even had a beau.
Men didn’t like her in that capture-a-man’s-soul way. Ashton had paid attention to her because of her research. He’d stopped coming around now that she was banned from the Royal Society. Where was he, come to think of it? Was he purposely avoiding her? She understood Ashton’s concerns. He didn’t want the duke to be reminded of their connection and decide to ban him as well. Still, he should have been here this evening.
“Oh, you’re the one,” Callie said, interrupting Lily’s thoughts. “I recall now. Ewan told me about you. You’re the bluestocking he hired to ease Meggie’s introduction into London society. You needn’t worry. We’ll take her and Ewan off your hands. Darling, did you hear? Lord and Lady Abercrombie have also come to town. They’ve invited all of us to their estate this weekend. It’s just outside London. Uncle Archie has a splendid new carriage. Plenty of room for you and Meggie. The four of us can travel together. Won’t that be fun?”
Ewan ignored her, turning to Lily instead. “You look cold, lass. Come, I’ll escort you inside.”
“Please don’t. I’m fine. Stay and chat with your friends. I promised to ride home with Eloise. You know how she tires easily. I’m sure she’s ready to leave now.”
Callie grabbed his arm as he attempted to follow her. “Do stay with me, Ewan. Miss Farthingale doesn’t want our company. Isn’t it obvious?” She said something in Gaelic that Lily didn’t understand, but it drew a gale of laughter from her uncle and a Gaelic response from Ewan. Though Lily didn’t understand Ewan’s response either, she knew he wouldn’t indulge in a jest at her expense. Nevertheless, she was made to feel like the outsider.
What had she thought? That he’d magically kiss her in a scented garden under a silver moon?
She turned on her heels and started up the terrace steps to return to the music room, and then realized Archie was following just steps behind her. Which meant Ewan and Callie were alone in the cool breeze and carpet of shimmering stars. Great. Just perfect. Ewan was going to kiss that Scottish predator in the moonlight. My moonlight.
It wasn’t fair.
It was an English moon. My moon. Not Callie’s.
CHAPTER 13
EWAN PAUSED OUTSIDE of Desmond’s townhouse in Kensington the following afternoon. It seemed elegant on the surface, but a closer inspection revealed early signs of wear around the window frames and paint beginning to peel around the lintels. Were his cousins hurting for funds? He had no doubt that their grandfather kept tight control of the purse strings, providing just enough to allow them to maintain the appearance of comfort, but never enough to grant them any freedom from his domination.
The door opened as he approached. An elderly butler ushered him in, his steps achingly slow as he settled Ewan in the salon, and then inched across the room, back into the entry hall, and up the staircase with the speed of a snail to see if his master was home to visitors. Ewan, never a patient man on his best days, wanted to haul the old man over his shoulder and carry him upstairs himself. It was the only way he’d have the answers he desired before nightfall.