She held her spine rigid and looked down her nose at him with as much imperiousness as she could muster. “You speak like a gentleman yet your actions prove otherwise. If you wish to be a contradiction, you must find some other young woman to torment.”
He leaned forward. Oddly, he appeared hesitant and somewhat humble. “But I don’t, you see. I don’t wish to be incongruous.”
Her heart leapt. Did he mean it?
The possibility that he might be in earnest was too appealing to resist. She eyed him skeptically. “Go on.”
His lips parted. No sound came forth. His greatcoat churned as he spun on one heel and turned to his left. He touched his knuckles to his lips. Then he faced her again.
She watched his peculiar dance with apprehension. What was he about?
“I asked my guests to leave,” he said at last, “so that I might request the honor of your presence at dinner. Mrs. Rebmann is invited too, of course. I assume she is the aunt you spoke of? My cook has become most inventive since the hearth went out. I think you’ll both find the meal enjoyable.”
“And the company?” She couldn’t nip her impertinence entirely, though she was intrigued by his guileless invitation. Was he afraid she’d reject him?
“To your liking, I hope.” He took a step toward her. “Please say you’ll come.”
How easy would it be to refuse him! She could embarrass him as he’d embarrassed her. But when she opened her mouth to decline his invitation, what came out instead was, “Yes.”
A smile broke across his face. “Good. I had hoped you wou—Well, never mind that. Tonight? Or tomorrow? At your leisure, really. I can make any evening work.”
“Tonight,” she interposed. “I shouldn’t want to draw out the suspense.”
His smile broadened. His eyes were merry, as if he were charmed by her. Then they darkened to a ferrous gray. “Elinor…”
She hugged herself, forming a barricade between them. “Please, Lord Chelford. There should always be a measure of propriety between us.” Now that she knew of his reputation as a rake, she couldn’t assume an attraction on his part indicated affection.
Slowly, his gaze wandered the length of her, hungry, yet respectfully holding back. Again her heart turned over. Did he see her differently now? A woman, rather than a child? Or was it her own character that had changed? Was she less wonderfully naïve, now that she’d learned how easily her heart could be broken?
It didn’t matter. She couldn’t allow his kisses to overcome her sense. Not that he had tried to kiss her again. More’s the pity.
“Right you are, Miss Conley,” he mused in a drawn-out way that sent goose pimples across her arms. “I’ll send a carriage at half five. If that’s not too late?”
She accepted with a curt nod, enjoying her newfound mettle. “It’s sufficient.”
“Until then.” He flourished his leg then went to the door. With a sweep of his hat, he let himself out. The door closed quietly behind him.
“Oh!” Elinor exclaimed. “Oh…”
The day dragged on after that, as the hands of the clock ambled lazily toward the appointed time. Finally, at half five promptly, she and Aunt Millie ascended into Lord Chelford’s carriage. Hot bricks had been placed on the floor and fur blankets smelling faintly of lavender were piled thick on the cushioned seat. Elinor huddled against her aunt’s lithe arm as the horses began to pick over the still-icy road.
It was slow-going to Chelford, leaving Elinor yet more time to think. And doubt. Why had Grantham bothered with her, when he’d thought her such a ninny just a few days since? Aunt Millie had said he’d come by the cottage before. Why? Had he grown tired of his lady friends? He’d said he’d sent them home, but why? She could think of no other reason for him to have turned his sophisticated attention on her than abject boredom. But why had he sent his friends home, if not to make it possible for her to call on him, as he’d said?
As often as she could persuade herself that he’d sent them home so he could court her properly, she could as easily convince herself otherwise. One thing she knew for certain: if he thought her available for his amusement, she’d show him how dull an innocent could be. None of that wide-eyed wandering about his house. No, sir. And going on and on about how lovely Chelford was? Absolutely not. Nor would she once stare agog at—
“Good heavens! Is this your library?” Within moments of being shown into his house, she was awestruck again. She turned slowly as she took in six massive bookcases fixed at obtuse angles. “You must have thousands of books!”