Lessons from a Scandalous Bride (Forgotten Princesses #2)(21)

Cleo nodded.

“Perhaps he is ill and just didn’t want me to worry.” Libba cocked her head as though considering this doubtful explanation.

“Yes, I’m sure that’s it,” Cleo lied.

Cleo spied another of Libba’s young swains weaving his way toward her, his face flushed with eagerness. “You really should dance. The last thing Lord McKinney would wish is for you to wallow away during his absence,” she suggested.

“Perhaps.” Her lips pulled into a little moue. “And it would do me good if word got back to him how popular I am.”

“Oh. Naturally.” Cleo nodded. And perhaps another gentleman might catch her fancy and turn her off from Lord McKinney. Not a bad thing, however small the chance. Especially as Cleo was beginning to fear that he had in fact experienced a change of heart regarding his pursuit of Libba. A fact for which she felt heartily to blame.

Could their one kiss have persuaded him to forget Libba?

Of course not. She scoffed at the absurd notion. It was one kiss. She wasn’t so egotistical to think her lips possessed the power to change one man’s matrimonial plans.

She watched in satisfaction as Libba finally accepted a partner and was swept away on the dance floor. Cleo inhaled, at peace for the moment with a respite from Libba. Her gaze scanned the room, looking for her father even as she assumed that he was still in the card room with Lord Thrumgoodie. When it came to whist, the two were a pair. They could play for hours.

Her gaze suddenly halted amid its survey of the room. There, in the threshold, stood her McKinney.

She blinked and silently cursed the mental slip. Not her anything!

His gray eyes scanned the room and she spun around before he could see her. So much for her determination to face him. She fled, hoping he hadn’t spotted her—or that he couldn’t recognize the back of her.

She wove her way through bodies. Holding up her skirts, she disappeared down a corridor, telling herself she needed but a moment alone to gather her nerve . . . to regain her composure before she issued her warning that he keep his hands—and lips—to himself.

She passed the buzzing card room. A glance inside revealed the crowd of gentlemen—even a few ladies. Not a very good hiding place.

She pushed ahead. Feeling very much like a panicked hare, she hurried forward without direction, no destination in mind. She couldn’t imagine McKinney staying too long. He always seemed to possess an air of ennui in large gatherings—like he’d rather be somewhere, anywhere, else. Or perhaps that was simply wishful thinking. He’d arrived late. Perhaps he intended to stay a good while.

Perhaps if he can’t locate you, he’ll leave.

She shook her head at the arrogant thought. If she believed that, then she believed his reason for coming here tonight was because of her. For all she knew that kiss meant nothing to him and he was here to continue his courtship of Libba. That seemed the most logical conclusion.

She soon found herself in the portrait gallery. She strolled down the long length, gazing at several stern faces staring down at her—a long line of proper-looking aristocrats. She snorted, thinking of her own ancestors. Peasants, all. None could have imagined any descendant of theirs ever strolling the floors of such a grand house. A year ago she would not have thought such a thing possible.

Steps sounded in the distance, echoing off the marbled floor. She started, looking swiftly to the left and right. Her first thought was that he was coming after her.

Even as she recognized this as foolish and unlikely, she dove behind a potted fern. It was a rather large specimen. Even so, she doubted she was totally hidden to the discerning eye. Her peacock blue skirts peeped out from around the fern. And yet, she held herself utterly still.

It only sounded like one pair of feet. A man’s tread. Her heart thudded in her chest. She bit her lip and turned her face away from the offending branch poking near her eye. Probably just someone wandering through to view the gallery.

Even as she reasoned this, she held her breath, listening. The steps rang out with an echo as they entered the gallery.

And then they stopped altogether.

Too many leaves obscured her view, and she didn’t wish to rustle them with her fingers. She imagined some innocuous soul standing there, studying one of the portraits. Just as she was counting herself ten kinds of fool for concealing herself behind a fern, a voice rumbled across the air.

“Are you going to hide there forever?

She jerked, the wretchedly familiar voice with its velvet burr like a slap.

He spoke again, “I can see your dress. Come now. Show yourself.”

“Hiding?” She stepped out from behind the fern and smoothed both hands over her skirts. Lifting her chin, she adopted an even tone and blinked innocently. “How absurd. Why would I hide?”

“Because you’re avoiding me.”

“I’m not avoiding you. Why would I even bother to do such a thing?” She snorted lightly, applauding herself for how calm and unaffected she sounded.

He angled his head and swept her a hot look that brought everything back. His mouth on hers. His hands moving over her back. That impossibly broad chest pressed against her.

Heat crawled up her face. With a look like that, he clearly wanted her to remember.

“Oh. Because of that?” She waved a hand dismissively. “A mistake to be sure, but it won’t happen again.” It was the closest she could bring herself to discussing what had happened.