Proof by Seduction (Carhart #1)(42)

She cast a look at him, as if waiting for an apology.

“You haven’t seen anyone else?”

Instead of answering, she glanced down the hall and turned on her heel, disappearing into the room behind her.

Ned perforce followed.

The blue dining room was cold, unheated either by fire or the press of closely packed bodies. Two things were missing. First, and most oddly, the walls were cream and gold without a speck of the expected blue in evidence. Second, Blakely was nowhere to be found. A clock on the wall showed two minutes past eight. His cousin was late.

Once inside, Lady Kathleen whirled around and pulled the note he’d sent her from the sash of her gown. Her hands shook and the crisp white ribbon tore away. With it came the seam of her dress. It gaped, white cloth at her waist falling to reveal inches of tantalizing ivory petticoats. She looked down and her fists bit into the paper.

“This,” she said, waving his note in his face, “is the most horrific breach of etiquette I have encountered. You should know better than to ask to speak with me alone. I should know better than to do so.” She turned her head away, slightly. “So why am I here?”

“Lady Kathleen.” Ned raised his hand against the rising tide of her ire. “My cousin—”

“Your cousin.” Her words were flat. “Stop hiding behind your cousin.” Her eyes glinted, gray ice against the furious flush of her cheeks. “You can’t really expect me to believe this is about him.”

Ned waved his hands in placation. “Look. I can explain. I needed to talk with you privately, because I just wanted to—to—”

To separate you from everyone else so I could trap you into marrying Blakely. Ned winced. There was no way to honestly complete his sentence. Talk about tossing fuel on the fire.

“You wanted to what?” Her hand rose slowly to touch her lips.

“You won’t believe this,” Ned said slowly, “but I wasn’t attempting any impropriety between us.”

Her brow clouded at that.

“I just—I just wanted to—to—” Ned gave up trying to come up with a favorable explanation for his behavior. It wasn’t possible. “I’m sorry.” He took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his forehead. “I know I haven’t acted well. It’s just—you see, I’m in a bit of a bind. And—and—things are not going well for me right now.”

That was a bit of an understatement. As he spoke the words, Ned suddenly realized how Not Well things were going for him. He’d muddled everything up again. Black horror filled his mind at the thought. He really wasn’t good for anything.

Ned stuffed his handkerchief in his pocket. “Just forget it all. Understand?”

She looked at him in bafflement. “You know,” she said, “I was not serious earlier when I suggested you were mad. But—are you?”

Matters went from Not Well to Very Unwell.

“In fact, you look exceedingly ill.” She pulled off her glove and put one cool hand on Ned’s forehead.

At the touch of her bare fingers, Ned’s body responded. He was twenty-one, and only too human. And she was close enough that he could see down her neckline. He could trace the valley between her br**sts with his eyes. He was humiliatingly, uncontrollably erect. He prayed she didn’t look down.

She didn’t. Instead, she frowned and moved her hand along his forehead. “You feel a little warm.”

Very Unwell slid into Please Let Me Die in the Next Minute. Ned was alone with a woman. He was aroused and embarrassed, and she was stripping off her clothing—well, her glove—and touching him. He was trying to compromise her into marrying another man. She feared he might be sick. Or mad. Probably both.

Ned knew all too well that her fears had some basis. On his darkest days, he worried he carried some species of madness. And to have this confident woman look at him in that pitying way…Matters couldn’t possibly sink any lower than they were now.

And then, of course, they did.

Ned heard the well-tuned snick of a door easing open. He didn’t even have time to give voice to the terrible, wordless scream that roared through his mind. In that bare instant, he only had time to grab her wrist; no time at all to push her away.

As he’d so carefully planned, there was no place for a trysting couple to hide.

Time froze. The door opened at what seemed a leisurely pace, swinging inward inch by deliberate inch. Ned couldn’t react; his nerves were made of wood, and his limbs of jelly. He could only watch, and wince at the cozy tableau they presented.

There was Lady Kathleen, her face warm and solicitous. Her glove had fallen to the floor. Her gown gaped, disordered, at the waist, where her untied sash dangled. Her bare hand rested against Ned’s face.

Ned had his hand atop hers, almost as if he were pulling her into an embrace.

And it was five minutes after eight. Please, he begged. Please let that be Blakely opening the door. Because if it were not, Ned would have succeeded in compromising Lady Kathleen.

The only problem was, she would have been compromised with the wrong man.

CHAPTER TEN

THE CHURCH BELLS HAD JUST SOUNDED half past seven when someone knocked. Jenny paused before the door, wondering whether she should open it. Her next appointment was tomorrow morning, and she had not yet decided how to handle her clients. With her room stripped of its lies and returned to boring functionality, what could she say?