“Why?” she questioned bluntly, irritated by the way he clipped her name. Anthony’s soft drawl of her name was smooth and sensual. She turned her mind from such thoughts and focused on Hoyt. He seemed flummoxed, and she took pity on him. She smiled, hoping to temper the acerbity that had been in her question.
“You are kind enough to dance with young bucks that trip over their own feet. You engage in discourse with the servants when you believe no one is looking. You are patient where others would be short. I also think you make people feel beautiful.”
His murmured praise had her gaping.
She forced a smile to her lips, stunned at his charitable thoughts of her. Her heart stalled at the look that flashed in his eyes. It was need. Yet she knew the minute she confided her secret to him, he would turn on her, just as Orwell had done. Hoyt was too honorable, too much of a conservative gentleman to consider taking an impure bride. “Please accept when I say I do think your company enjoyable. I am just not ready for marriage.” She knew she chose her words poorly by the relief that shone in his pale eyes.
“Say no more, my love. I will wait a few more weeks.”
She hesitated to be clearer—that she had no intention of placing herself under the restraint of a husband. She nodded, not looking forward to the day when she must be more forthright. Her aunt was correct; she needed to be more careful in how she danced and conversed with a man.
The quadrille ended and she murmured her excuses, powering through the crowd. She needed fresh air. The walls pressed in, and the need for escape chafed inside her.
Outside, the air wafted over her skin and she shivered, welcoming its cold bite.
She swallowed nervously as her eyes scanned the crowded balcony. She searched for Lord Anthony, if only to prove to herself she was not drawn to him. The minute she spied him, her heart raced and desire teased at her body. Surreptitiously, she watched him for endless minutes. To be truthful, she was charmed by the man. Not by any witty banter he’d exchanged with her, but the fact that a man of his reputation and stature danced willingly with the wallflowers and conversed with the hawkish matrons of the society. She had not expected him to mingle and laugh so freely, as if their encounter in the garden had left him totally unaffected.
She swallowed tightly as she remembered his hands skimming so hotly between her legs. He had touched her with such boldness. The memory seeped through her composure and her heart clamored that she had allowed him such intimate exploration. She desperately tried to shore up her resolve.
Oh, God, she had to speak with her closest friend, Lady Elisabeth. Phillipa had found Lady Elisabeth one of the few people she could trust, and she gave it to her unreservedly. She would pay her a visit without delay.
“Phillipa?”
She spun around to see her sister, Payton, approach, looking flushed and slightly tousled. She was so opposite to Phillipa in appearance people tended to be flummoxed when they realized they were sisters. Payton had their father’s looks—dark and exotic auburn hair, dark eyes, sun-kissed skin that was freckle-free, and so many curves her corset did little to tame her figure.
Phillipa glanced behind her sister to see the Honorable Lord Jensen St. John, as he emerged from the garden’s edge, trying not to look in their direction. She drew Payton to her, subtly fixing her mussed hair. Scarlet flags blazed on Payton’s cheeks and Phillipa looked sternly at her. Clearly, St. John had been less than honorable in the garden.
“I know you are already halfway in love with him, Payton. He has been courting you for three months now. But be very careful of the liberties you accord him,” she scolded, unable to endure the thought of Payton being callously used. She was an innocent, and wholly ignorant of the vile ways men could behave. Especially so-called gentlemen.
“Oh, Phillipa, he has asked me!” Joyous laughter spilled from her sister, warming her with its infectiousness.
She returned her exuberant hug, laughing, too. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. He will call tomorrow to speak with Papa. Hopefully now Aunt Florence and Mama will be less adamant that you marry.” Payton winked conspiratorially.
Phillipa laughed again, looping her arm through her sister’s as they walked into the ballroom. “Tell me all, Payton—except the part that has your lips swollen and your hair mussed.”
They walked into the crowded room, and she immersed herself in her sister’s happiness, grateful to leave her thoughts behind. She already feared Lord Anthony would become troublesome. She needed one night of basking in someone else’s joy before accepting the doom she had so willingly heaped upon her own head.
Chapter Six