Seven Years to Sin(67)
“We shall find you someone who loves you madly,” she said hoarsely. “Someone whose primary concern is your happiness and pleasure.”
“She would resent me after a time.”
“No.” Hester set about preparing the tea, spooning tea leaves into the steaming pot. “You will reciprocate her affections soon enough. You won’t be able to help yourself. And then you shall live in contentment ever after, as you deserve.”
“And what of you?”
Leaving the tea to steep, Hester straightened and set her hand over her stomach. “I have my own joy on the way.”
His smile was genuine, if melancholy. “I could not be happier for you.”
“Thank you. So let’s narrow the list I assisted your mother with.” She stood, and he stood with her. Moving to the escritoire by the window, she opened it and withdrew a sheet of foolscap. She settled onto the wooden seat and opened her inkwell. “You can list desirable attributes, and I will record them.”
“I should rather go to the tooth drawer’s.”
She assumed her most formidable expression.
“Blast. Not that look, Hester, please. I thought you liked me.”
“Hair color?”
“Not blond.”
“Eye color?”
“Not green.”
“Michael …”
He crossed his arms and arched a brow. “Have to give the gel a fighting chance. Wouldn’t be sporting otherwise.”
She laughed softly. Beside her, on the other side of the window, whips cracked against horseflesh and whinnies rent the afternoon. On most days, Hester sat by the window and watched the world go about its business. The thought of happier homes and lives just beyond the one she was trapped in offered her comfort. At the moment, however, she was content to focus her attention on her own life and the vibrant man who so briefly occupied it. “Tall or short?”
“I don’t have a preference.”
“Slender or voluptuous?”
“Proportional is all I ask.”
“Any particular talents?” she queried, glancing at him as he approached. He moved with such economical grace and confidence that she couldn’t stop herself from watching.
Michael drew to a halt beside her, resting his arm along the top of the escritoire. “Such as?”
“Singing? The pianoforte?”
“I truly don’t care about such things. I will follow your discretion.”
Hester looked at him, her gaze taking in his smartly dressed form. “Blue flatters you, my lord. I can say in all honesty that no other gentleman wears the hue better.”
His eyes sparkled. “Why, thank you, my lady.”
The warm pleasure on his face arrested her, freezing her in a moment weighted with impossible possibilities. She struggled to find the will to break the sudden tension and ended up with irrelevant discourse spoken in a throaty voice. “I am a terrible hostess. The tea is getting cold.”
But she didn’t move. He was close enough that she could smell the verbena from his toiletries. It mixed wonderfully with his personal scent, creating an invigorating and enticing fragrance.
“I don’t care,” he murmured. “I will enjoy the company regardless.”
“I danced my first waltz with you,” she said, remembering.
“My feet are still recovering, I fear.”
Her mouth fell open in exaggerated affront. “I followed your lead flawlessly!”
He grinned.
“Don’t you remember?” she pressed. She’d wanted him to be her first public partner because she trusted him and felt safe with him. She had known he might tease her, but only good-naturedly, and he would make the whole torturous first experience fun. He’d led her so well and kept her too engaged to fret, so that she left the dance floor with a feeling of triumph. She hadn’t felt so good about herself in years.
“As if I could ever forget any moment when you’d been in my arms,” he said softly.
Clinging to those phantom feelings, she pushed to her feet so quickly, she upended the chair. She caught him by the lapels and pressed her lips to his. The kiss was swift and chaste, a show of gratitude for reminding her of the bold and vivacious girl she used to be.
She pulled away, blushing. “I’m sorry.”
Michael stood rooted, his dark eyes hot and avid. “I’m not.”
Smoothing her hair back with shaking fingers, Hester moved to the tea service. She focused on breathing deep and evenly, attempting to regulate her racing heart. She heard him right the chair behind her just as she caught sight of Regmont filling the doorway.
Her heart stopped beating altogether.
“My lord,” Hester breathed.
Michael froze, hearing the fear in her voice as if she’d screamed in terror. Pivoting, he faced whatever threatened her and found himself staring into the face of a man who festered with fury and ill will. Michael sized up his opponent, noting the earl’s fisted hands and clenched jaw. Though he’d never known Regmont well, he was certain the man had changed over the past few years. Michael remembered a cocky fellow, whose saving grace had been the warmth and affection in his eyes when he looked upon his wife. There was none of that tenderness now. Only cold calculation and sharp suspicion.