relaxed. For once, he looked as young as Freddie. Oh, I could like him, she thought. If only he behaved this way more often, I'm certain we could be friends.
"Do you know," she said, "I've never known anyone who bought a painting."
He laughed at her admission, a soft, open sound that brushed her ears like a puppy's growl. "Careful, Miss Fairleigh. You betray your origins by such a statement."
His eyes were twinkling so kindly she knew he was teasing. All the same, she found it impossible to hold his gaze. It was too blue, too warm. She looked at her hands instead, still clasped around his opera glasses. "My origins are difficult to hide," she said, smiling a little herself. "Aunt Hypatia says I mustn't even try."
"Well, if Aunt Hypatia says..." he agreed, and smoothed back the little white feather which had fallen forward from her hat. It was a gesture his brother might have made, thoughtful and protective. Florence shivered under it as she never had with Freddie.
"Are you cold, Miss Fairleigh?" Edward asked, his voice low and oddly husky. He had bent forward to view her face, an action necessitated by his greater height. She could see the shadow of his whiskers beneath his skin; could smell the woodsy aroma of his cologne. She wouldn't have thought he'd wear scent, a sober man like him. The fact that he did pricked her deep inside. He has secrets, she thought. He is not at all the man he seems.
"Miss Fairleigh?" he said. So lightly she might have dreamt it, his finger brushed the curve of her cheek. Its tip was bare and slightly rough. He must have removed his gloves. Her stomach tightened at the unexpected intimacy.
"I am well," she said, just a shade too loudly. "Quite."
Edward stiffened at her tone and took half a step back. He buttoned his elegant coat and smoothed it down. "Perhaps we ought to rescue Aunt Hypatia from the tea room."
"Yes," she said, both relieved and disappointed.
He offered his arm this time, the elbow held well out from his side. When Florence put her hand through it, his yielding had disappeared. The limb might as well have been a block of wood. A sigh escaped her corseted lungs. She'd thought Freddie's brother was warming to her, and had been foolish enough to welcome the change. She should have known better. Clearly, it would take more than a moment's amity to melt this man of stone.
* * *
Lewis tapped onthe door to the dressing room just as Edward slid an onyx stud through the front of his stark white shirt. He was planning his strategy for tonight's ball, a strategy that did not include forgetting himself as he had at the Academy. He would be civil to Miss Fairleigh, no more. He would
not touch her. He would not smile at her. Most definitely he would not dance with her. Until he found
a means to control his disturbingly volatile reactions, he was not going to get close to her again.
He didn't care if her eyes were as green as Irish grass. He didn't care if she did agree that Whistler was
a genius, or that her blushes made him want to crush her to his chest and kiss her senseless. From now on, distance would be the lynchpin of their relationship.
"Sir?" said Lewis. Having failed to get a response from his master, the valet stepped just inside the door. "I'm afraid a small problem has arisen."
Edward's mind flew to Freddie, and footmen, but he pushed the thought aside as quickly as he could. Freddie had given his word. That was all Edward needed to know. He fastened the stud beneath his pointed collar. He reached for his white bow tie. "What small problem?"
"It's Miss Fairleigh."
Edward's heart skipped a beat. Damnation. Her name was enough to tighten the muscles of his groin. "Is Miss Fairleigh unwell?"
"Not precisely, my lord." Lewis took the tie from Edward's hands before he mangled it. "Apparently, she's grown so anxious over the prospect of her first formal ball that she is ... prostrate."
" 'Prostrate' ?" Edward lifted his chin for Lewis to tie the
"Do you know," she said, "I've never known anyone who bought a painting."
He laughed at her admission, a soft, open sound that brushed her ears like a puppy's growl. "Careful, Miss Fairleigh. You betray your origins by such a statement."
His eyes were twinkling so kindly she knew he was teasing. All the same, she found it impossible to hold his gaze. It was too blue, too warm. She looked at her hands instead, still clasped around his opera glasses. "My origins are difficult to hide," she said, smiling a little herself. "Aunt Hypatia says I mustn't even try."
"Well, if Aunt Hypatia says..." he agreed, and smoothed back the little white feather which had fallen forward from her hat. It was a gesture his brother might have made, thoughtful and protective. Florence shivered under it as she never had with Freddie.
"Are you cold, Miss Fairleigh?" Edward asked, his voice low and oddly husky. He had bent forward to view her face, an action necessitated by his greater height. She could see the shadow of his whiskers beneath his skin; could smell the woodsy aroma of his cologne. She wouldn't have thought he'd wear scent, a sober man like him. The fact that he did pricked her deep inside. He has secrets, she thought. He is not at all the man he seems.
"Miss Fairleigh?" he said. So lightly she might have dreamt it, his finger brushed the curve of her cheek. Its tip was bare and slightly rough. He must have removed his gloves. Her stomach tightened at the unexpected intimacy.
"I am well," she said, just a shade too loudly. "Quite."
Edward stiffened at her tone and took half a step back. He buttoned his elegant coat and smoothed it down. "Perhaps we ought to rescue Aunt Hypatia from the tea room."
"Yes," she said, both relieved and disappointed.
He offered his arm this time, the elbow held well out from his side. When Florence put her hand through it, his yielding had disappeared. The limb might as well have been a block of wood. A sigh escaped her corseted lungs. She'd thought Freddie's brother was warming to her, and had been foolish enough to welcome the change. She should have known better. Clearly, it would take more than a moment's amity to melt this man of stone.
* * *
Lewis tapped onthe door to the dressing room just as Edward slid an onyx stud through the front of his stark white shirt. He was planning his strategy for tonight's ball, a strategy that did not include forgetting himself as he had at the Academy. He would be civil to Miss Fairleigh, no more. He would
not touch her. He would not smile at her. Most definitely he would not dance with her. Until he found
a means to control his disturbingly volatile reactions, he was not going to get close to her again.
He didn't care if her eyes were as green as Irish grass. He didn't care if she did agree that Whistler was
a genius, or that her blushes made him want to crush her to his chest and kiss her senseless. From now on, distance would be the lynchpin of their relationship.
"Sir?" said Lewis. Having failed to get a response from his master, the valet stepped just inside the door. "I'm afraid a small problem has arisen."
Edward's mind flew to Freddie, and footmen, but he pushed the thought aside as quickly as he could. Freddie had given his word. That was all Edward needed to know. He fastened the stud beneath his pointed collar. He reached for his white bow tie. "What small problem?"
"It's Miss Fairleigh."
Edward's heart skipped a beat. Damnation. Her name was enough to tighten the muscles of his groin. "Is Miss Fairleigh unwell?"
"Not precisely, my lord." Lewis took the tie from Edward's hands before he mangled it. "Apparently, she's grown so anxious over the prospect of her first formal ball that she is ... prostrate."
" 'Prostrate' ?" Edward lifted his chin for Lewis to tie the
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