LITMIR.BIZ

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the spill made it to her attention, but it just had to be better than if Roberta had witnessed it firsthand.

      Just the memory of her inglorious skid across the dance floor nearly set off her helpless giggles again. She had probably looked like a bedlamite laughing when anyone else would have cried in mortification.

      Really, it had come down to laughter or tears, and Lizzie wasn’t about to show the gadflies that they had the power to shatter her so easily.

      But goodness, to have two gentlemen come to her rescue after Mr. Layton had disappeared so unchivalrously. Did they know the effect of their actions on popular comment? Surely they did, which only made them marvelous in her estimation.

      But consider her more surprised when she came out of the ladies’ retiring room and found Wainsborough keeping time in the corridor just outside. He leaned insolently against the wall, a man of means and most pleasing to the eye.

      Was he…waiting for her?

      He pushed away from the wall with a smile, and her heart fluttered. When he smiled, his eyes glowed, a bright Pomona-green flash of personality in a polished, aristocratic exterior.

      Apparently, he had been.

      “How do you fare, Miss Talbot?”

      “Much better now, thank you.”

      “None the worse for wear?”

      “No, indeed, Your Grace. I shall live to dance another day.” She smiled self-deprecatingly.

      “Wainsborough,” he corrected her and she couldn’t stifle the flush of pleasure such a familiarity gave her. “May I escort you back to the ballroom or would you prefer to take some fresh air?”

      Thus far, Lizzie had managed to avoid her aunt and she was inclined to keep it that way as long as possible. There’d be no avoiding Roberta’s fury in the end, but the delay was most welcome.

      “I’d like to take the air, please.”

      “At your service.” He executed that little bow of his, the one that suggested he was deferring more than a courtesy upon her. Really, the little thrills he gave her were improper. Why did she want more?

      They slipped out to the gardens, nodding to a few couples as they passed. Where Lizzie expected sniggers and stifled giggles—at this point, the incident most assuredly had made it round the attendees—she was afforded courtesy because she was on Wainsborough’s arm. No one wanted to anger a duke.

      “Your Grace?” she said.

      They had worked their way to the far side of the gardens where the shadows deepened and beckoned with cooler temperatures.

      “Hmm?” Wainsborough turned toward her, and she could barely make out his expression in the dim light.

      “Did you really once paint your headmaster’s carriage pink?”

      A rusty chuckle seemed to escape from him, and she wondered when it was he last laughed. “I haven’t thought of that in a very long time, Miss Talbot. Has my sister been telling tales?”

      “So, it’s true? I’ve often wondered if it was a story Angelica crafted to entertain the girls at school on a late night.”

      “Ah, the antics of youth.” When he smiled like that, Wainsborough looked younger, closer to his age, which would be somewhere in his early thirties. More approachable. And, heaven help her, more appealing. “The story is indeed correct, much to my chagrin now. That would have been before Angelica was born—I wonder that she even knew about it.”

      “I believe she’d got ahold of your older sister’s diary for a time and read about it there. Whatever inspired you to do such a thing?”

      Once more, his face clouded over and he assumed the somber ducal mien. Lizzie’s heart sank at the loss of his good humor.

      “At the time, it seemed a harmless prank to tweak both the stodgy headmaster’s nose as well as my father’s, with whom I was especially ill-willed at the time. In short, I was a selfish young man with little sense of the consequences my actions wrought on others.”

      “Everyone does things that they regret.”

      “Some things are more difficult than others to atone for, and the weight of it…” He tilted his head and studied her closely. “Such serious questions, Miss Talbot.”

      “I’m a serious young lady.”

      “And a curious one.”

      She nodded and offered a tentative smile. Did he think her a prying gossip?

      “Well, then. What else would you know?”

      Apparently, he didn’t think her questions too intrusive, and she liked him even more for the trust he offered her.

      “You don’t like being a duke, do you?”

      His eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

      “You tense and frown when others greet you with deference.”

      It was a bold question, and entirely too familiar. For a moment, Lizzie didn’t think he’d answer, but then he sighed.

      “No, I don’t. It’s the obligations and power. I rather enjoy managing the estates—they’re wonderfully extensive and complex. I like overseeing the towns and the people who are tied to Wainsborough. But the obligations and the power of such a position…it’s seductive, and entirely too easy to misuse. I’ve seen it used to ruin lives.” He shook his head and his grip tightened where he held her hand to his arm, as if he were remembering something particularly unpleasant. “And, that I will not do.”

      This far from the house, the music was a faint sound in the stillness of the garden. “Is it very lonely?”

      “Not often, but it is very dull. I’m sought after for my influence. The title, the money—it’s what they all see.” Wainsborough stared at her in the dim light. “Do you? Or do you see me, the man?”

      At some point he had moved close enough that she could feel the heat from his body and smell the bergamot of his cologne water. It was an enticing scent that seeped into her senses. She was acutely aware that he still held her hand clasped to his arm.

      “Can you see past the coronet, Miss Talbot?”

      “Yes, Your Grace,” she whispered, her voice a trembling thread of sound, her pulse pounding in her ears.

      Wainsborough sighed heavily. “Now, see? That’s precisely what I was hoping to avoid when I gave you leave to call me Wainsborough.”

      She smiled despite herself. Who’d have thought a peer of his stature would be so…approachable? She rather liked his dry wit. “Anything else you were hoping for?”

      “Indeed, yes.” He moved closer and dipped his head, his breath hot on her cheek where his mouth hovered just above hers. “May I kiss you, Miss Talbot?”

      Unconsciously, her lips parted and delight radiated within her, tickling her fingertips. It was inconceivable that this man of note was interested in her, wasn’t put off by her clumsy behavior, despite the very recent public embarrassment that he had witnessed.

      It would seem her aunt was wrong—she wasn’t either pitiful or pitiable. Lizzie could attract a man of means.

      And she wanted to allow him the liberty of a kiss, despite the admonishments they schooled young girls in. She wanted to know his taste, wanted to feel his lips upon hers, to know the touch of a man. She trembled at the bold thought.

      “May I?” he said again, and he stroked the back of a single finger down her cheek to her jaw.

      “Oh, yes.”

      She didn’t have to wonder any longer, for he pressed his lips to hers before she was even done with the words. It was a sweet kiss, tender and slow, a gentle exploration that set a deep tremor loose within her, not unlike the chills

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