“What are you doing?” Mary’s calm tone belied the storm in her eyes.
He didn’t even have an answer, he was so lost in the warmth of her breast and imagining the hardening of her nipple under his thumb.
“What are you doing?” She spoke more slowly as if to a recalcitrant child.
Gregory stumbled to find or create a sensible reply, “I’m showing you–”
“Are you foxed?” That still calm voice muddled him.
“No, of course–”
“Are you daft?”
“Mary–”
“Do not take such liberties with my person. Ever again.” Her eyes dug holes in his soul.
He felt a strong sting of rejection and could only respond in anger. Piqued, he lashed out, “You need not worry. I’m not intent on finding myself taking any such liberties with you either as mistress or wife.”
At his plain and hurtful speech, her face blanched. At the rims of her eyes, a wetness appeared and then vanished just as quickly. She rolled her shoulders back and he wished she hadn’t.
“Well, that is a suitable plan as I am not in need of your services as an inamorato or husband.”
If only he had done as laudable a job concealing his emotions during the waltz as he did now, he wouldn’t have found himself burning equally with rage and lust.
“If you’ll excuse me,” she curtsied. Just before turning completely and leaving the room, he thought he heard her mutter one monosyllabic untruth, “Cold.”
Gregory waited less than two seconds before ignoring Margaret, waving off Lyle, and making his egress.
As he blasted out of the room, he was so enraged that he wasn’t sure if he intended to follow Mary or not. It took years of ducal training not to literally stomp his feet as he forged through his fury and descended upon his study.
Yanking sheets of foolscap while writing the note in his mind, he took the quill and began his request to call upon Lady Lansdowne tomorrow.
After letting the ink dry, he sealed the note with his wax seal.
He yanked on the bellpull and handed the note off to a footman for delivery with a gruff, “Deliver this and return with their reply.”
He hardly had time to plunk himself down on the settee with two fingers of whiskey when a knock sounded at the door.
“I’m busy.” He regretted the words instantly and gathered himself to standing instead. He walked over to the door and opened it. It wouldn’t have mattered who was there, they were the last person he wanted to see at the moment.
“Lyle.”
“Your grace.”
Gregory turned his back. “Drink?” he offered, resigning himself to whatever conversation was imminent.
“With thanks.”
The two men sat opposite each other with Gregory’s table between them.
“I meant to catch you and have a brief discussion after today’s line readings, but it was abruptly cut short and Margaret and I were both caught unaware.”
Gregory nodded unsure of the direction this conversation would take. The papers for him investing in Vauxhall weren’t ready to be signed yet, and all negotiations were at the point of being communicated through solicitors now since Lyle and Gregory had agreed on the terms already.
“How was reading lines this morning?” Lyle’s brows shifted together indicating a minute amount of nervousness. In an otherwise imperturbable being, this gesture pulled Gregory slightly more upright in his seat.
Lyle was probing for something, but Gregory did not want to discuss what had just happened in the theater between him and Mary.
