Once Upon a Maiden Lane (Maiden Lane #12.5)(20)

To have one person—one man—focused entirely on her and her welfare was a heady experience.

She wasn’t used to another person caring for her, and it had felt quite lovely.

And besides her emotional reaction, there was another one. She’d felt small under him. Small and very much a woman. His shoulders had more than spanned hers, and his leg had pushed between hers. Even through skirts and underskirts, she’d felt the muscle of his thigh.

Mary shivered. What would it be like to feel that thigh without clothing between them?

“Are you all right?” Lord Blackwell murmured as they entered the house. The earl was striding ahead of them, leading the way. “I was rather rough throwing you to the ground.”

“I’m well.” Mary glanced at him shyly and caught the relieved expression that flashed across his face.

“Good,” he said, once again tucking her hand in the bend of his elbow. “I’d not like to hurt you in any way.”

She half smiled at that. “Surely a few bruises would be a fair exchange for not being shot.”

He shook his head as he ushered her up the stairs. “Any injury at all is unacceptable.”

“I thank you both for your concern.” She felt heat rising in her cheeks as she spoke. “And for saving my life.”

Those devastating dimples came into play, though she thought she saw something grave behind his eyes. “Believe me when I say it was my pleasure.”

His words made something warm inside her. It was very seductive, the way he cared for her. It made her long to surrender control. To unbend herself and let him worry about all her concerns and doubts.

Seductive indeed.

Perhaps too seductive?

Mary bit her lip. The thought of relinquishing control, even to her future husband, made her uneasy. She’d been too long independent.

They stepped onto the upper floor and followed the earl to the larger dining room. Mary could hear laughter from within. One of the footmen threw open the red-painted door and immediately Lady Angrove’s voice rang out. “William! See whom Joanna has brought back for luncheon.”

Lady Angrove sat at one end of a long table, the marchioness seated to her left and Jo to her right. A large young man sat beside Jo, his light-brown eyes slightly protuberant beneath his white wig. He had a big chin and large nose and might have been homely if it weren’t for the wide smile on his face.

He stood on their entrance, and Mary immediately recognized him. “Why, sir, it’s good to see you again, though I don’t think we were ever properly introduced.”

“My lady,” he said, bowing. “I’m John Seymour, and I’m glad you’ve found your family.”

“You know Johnny?” Jo asked, looking between them.

The name jogged something in Mary’s memory, but Mr. Seymour was already speaking: “I was with Blackwell when he discovered Lady Cecilia at the bookshop.”

“But you never told me.” Jo pouted rather attractively as Mary, the viscount, and the earl took seats. The earl was at the opposite end of the table from his wife, while Mary found herself between the marchioness and Lord Blackwell.

Footmen began trooping into the dining room with platters of fish.

“I do apologize,” Mr. Seymour replied to Jo, reseating himself. “I should have told you at once.”

“And you would’ve, I vow, had I let you speak at all today.” Jo laughed, glancing at Mary. “I started talking the moment I caught sight of Johnny in the park, and I suppose I haven’t stopped since.” She turned back to Mr. Seymour. “You are forgiven, sir.”

Mr. Seymour clapped a hand to his chest. “I cannot tell how you relieve me, my lady. I should never wish to be in your bad graces.”

Mary found her lips twitching as she finally remembered where she’d heard the name Johnny before—Jo had called her mysterious love Johnny.

She looked between her sister and Mr. Seymour with more interest with the realization.

The earl cleared his throat now, his brow heavy as he helped himself to fish. “Thought you were off on the Continent, Seymour.”

“That’s where I planned to be,” Mr. Seymour replied ruefully. “But there’s a veritable plague in Paris, and I thought it better to simply come home rather than risk disease amongst the frogs.”

“Oh, goodness,” Lady Angrove exclaimed worriedly. “Indeed you did the right thing, John.”

Mary took a careful bite of her fish, making sure to swallow before she asked, “Why were you in Paris?”

Mr. Seymour turned to her. “I was on a grand tour. I was rather at…loose ends and thought it best to go abroad for a bit.” Mary noticed that Jo looked down at her plate at this. “Rome and Athens and Vienna. All the interesting places. Took me most of the last year, and what have I to show for it? Two broken busts I picked up in Italy and a scar from a footpad in Venice.”

“A scar!” exclaimed Jo.

He looked at her, a smile spreading across his face. “Only a small one, and that because I tripped and fell running away from the tough. Ended up tearing my breeches and having to dig a bit of gravel out of my knee—hence the scar. Most embarrassing, I can tell you.”

“I don’t know that I’d be so eager to boast about cowardice,” the earl said.