“You fell for my charm anyway.”
“To this day I cannot explain why.”
“No need to worry about my future, Mama,” Phaedra said. “I have no plans to marry.”
“What if you change your mind one day?” the countess said. “That can happen, you know.”
Phaedra spared a quick peek at her aunt, who had not been as fortunate in a match as her brother. She had married for love, yes, but it turned out that the man she’d fallen for had been nothing but a fortune-seeking scoundrel. Put aside how the man had ultimately died in a duel that his family had taken great pains to cover up, so much heartache had been caused by that one match. For Phaedra’s entire family.
This was why Phaedra had vowed she would steer clear from the scheming entanglements of men and become a cat-raising spinster. And after the harrowing events that followed her aunt’s marriage, no one in her family protested her choice. She was content with that.
“Let Phaedra be, Eleanor,” Portia spoke up.
Phaedra directed her attention to her toast. It would take a miracle for her to change her mind, but she’d rather not rile her mother up any further. Neither did she want to rouse her family’s suspicion by pressing for information about Deerhurst even though she was burning with curiosity.
Perhaps it was for the best.
Last night would never be repeated, and Phaedra had no plans to ever cross over the earl’s property line again. Things would go back to how they were before.
Yet...
It was just a kiss.
A knee-wobbling kiss.
Somewhat troubling—her knees certainly hadn’t wobbled when Sir David Murray had stolen a kiss a year prior—but not at all alarming. However, thathadbeen more of a peck than the storm that Deerhurst’s kiss had been. But the only thingthatindicated to Phaedra was that different kisses prompted different responses.
Nothing to dwell on.
Forgetting about what happened in Deerhurst’s garden and purging his touch from her mindwasfor the best. She inwardly snorted. No doubt the scoundrel had long since brushed the encounter from his mind. Well, no matter, as long as they kept to the confines of their own property.
Yet she couldn’t shake the feeling that she hadn’t seen the last of the earl.
*
The following evening
“Lady Phaedra Sharp.”
The name sent a thousand pricks trickling up Deerhurst’s spine. His breath seized. Not a good sign, he thought to himself.
Usually, his ears pricked but mildly at the mention of her name. After all, they were neighbors, and Deerhurst had witnessed so many events in their drawing room, he could practically be counted as family. This was different, however. Sharper.
She was on Avondale’s list.
His gaze sprang to Phineas North, Marquess of Warrick, who had spoken her name. He, Warrick, and Field Savage, Earl of Saville, sat at a table in White’s with Harry Spencer, Earl of Avondale, who found himself in somewhat of a quandary. He required a wealthy wife, and they were pouring over a list of heiresses Avondale’s mother had compiled for him.
Deerhurst hadn’t told his friends about the insanity that had led him to the beguiling lady. He wanted to keep that moment in a place in his mind that was free from ridicule and speculation and the nitpicking of the men around the table.
But Lady Phaedra and Avondale?
No.
Absolutely not.
No.
He couldn’t explain this objection. Naturally, he did not harbor any deep affection for his next-door neighbor. Neither was he in any position to form an attachment with a woman. He’d already broken his one cardinal rule, but he figured a kiss could neither be seen nor be categorized as an entanglement. So long as he did not kiss her again, which he certainly did not plan to do.
