Hattie started with surprise—she hadn’t heard anyone enter the room. She whirled around as he strolled toward her, smiling a little. He was dressed in riding clothes and had discarded his coat and rolled up his sleeves above the elbows. His trousers were splattered with mud. “My apologies for startling you.” He moved to stand beside her. She detected a scent of rain and dirt, but there was also something distinctly masculine about it. She had a sudden image of him taking her in his arms, pressing her against his body, her head against his chest, just so that she could inhale him.
“Roberto and Sofia.”
She mentally shook herself. “Do you miss them?”
“Sí, I do. Do you have siblings, Miss Woodchurch?”
“Three brothers. All of whom enjoy tormenting their sister.”
“Ah. At one time, Sofia would have accused Roberto and me of the same.” He moved away from her, his woodsy essence trailing behind him. Hattie closed her eyes a moment and imagined having that scent to accompany her through life. How safe she would feel. How aroused.
“Your brothers, they are in London?” he asked.
She opened her eyes and turned around. “They are. My younger brothers—twins—are presently in school here in London. My older brother is here, too. You might have seen him—he was my escort to the Forsythe dinner.”
This seemed to interest him; the viscount glanced up from his perusal of the documents on his desk. His gaze casually moved over her, a little more intently than usual. Or maybe she felt it more intently than usual, but it felt as if his gaze was actually touching her, stroking across the bare skin of her neck and her arm. “You didn’t have a suitor to squire you there?”
Her pulse ticked up a little. “No.”
He smiled. “I don’t believe I made your brother’s acquaintance. I’m certain I would have remembered a Mr. Woodchurch.”
“I’m certain of it, too,” she said with a near snort. “But I rather doubt anyone would have made the introduction.”
“Why not?”
She would think it was obvious. “We are...unknown in the Forsythes’ circle of friends.” The Woodchurch name was not exactly a sought-after introduction in this town.
Lord Abbott’s gaze moved over her again, and she resisted the urge to put a hand to her throat.
“How did you find the evening?” he asked.
Evening? What evening? She was feeling an electric thrumming through her. “Umm...” She glanced toward the window for a slender moment to gather herself. She would say it was lovely or some such. But her tongue moved ahead of her brain. “It was not what I expected.”
Lord Abbott chuckled. “It was exactly what I expected. How do you mean?”
She’d expected to be swept away by the grandeur of the sort of party that went on behind the polished oak doors of a house like that. To meet a tall, strikingly handsome and wealthy man who would fall in love with her. To breathe the same air as the Quality, have them laugh at her wit and hang on her every word. Or, at the very least, enjoy herself instead of worrying about where she stood and whom to speak to. “I thought it would be more...interesting.” She didn’t think that was precisely the right word. She didn’t know the right word.
“I have long hoped that dinners such as that will be interesting, but they rarely are. However, there was a musical performance to liven things, no?”
There was laughter dancing in his eyes, and Hattie couldn’t keep herself from laughing out loud. “I most certainly was not expecting that.”
He grinned. “Neither was I.”
“I hope you won’t think me the worst sort of friend to Miss Porter, but I fully expected someone would help end the agony! Then again, I suppose she must have worked hard to prepare, and it wouldn’t be fair.”
“We should have worked as hard to prepare to hear it.”
Hattie laughed. The viscount smiled at her laughter, and somehow, their gazes held. She felt something shift between them. She was mad to think it, but in that moment, she believed that she and his lordship understood each other completely. There was an easiness to them. An agreement about the world that tethered them together.
“I must admit, Miss Woodchurch, you intrigue me. You’re quite unexpected.”
A lightness was filling her chest. “I am?”
“I wonder why you don’t follow the well-trod path of privileged ladies.”
“Privileged?” She laughed at that notion. “I am not privileged, my lord. But I gather that the well-trod path you are referring to is marriage? You are wondering why I haven’t entered that holy state.”
His smile was slow and a little sultry. “You understand me well.Sí, I have wondered why you are not. It is unusual at your age, no?”
