“Perhaps ye feel comfortable with me because I am a stranger.”
A shy look swept across her face, and he decided it was his favorite so far.
“Perhaps,” she replied, biting her lip once again. She glanced toward the door. “I better be going. I only have a short time to visit with my friend.”
“Do ye have someone waiting on ye?” He sincerely hoped it was not a man.
She nodded. “My mother,” she offered with a groan.
He didn’t want to part ways with her, yet he could not think of a good reason to tarry. He suddenly found himself looking forward to his sister’s betrothal ball if Cecelia was going to be there. But would she come?
“Why do ye not wish to attend the Rochburns’ ball?” he asked again, thinking to dissuade her from rejecting the invitation if he could.
Splotches of red touched her cheeks, and he almost wished to take back the question to save her obvious embarrassment. “I have reason to think they would not want me there, but even if they agree to it to please your sister, I doubt I would truly be welcome.”
He cocked his head, confused. “Why would ye not be welcome?”
She paused, her chestnut eyes beseeching him. “Please, please do not ask. It’s so pleasant to have had a few minutes to talk to someone who does not know me. I know that sounds odd—”
“It doesn’t,” he interrupted, meaning it. He felt the exact same way.
She gave him a grateful look as she glanced once more toward the door. “I really must go,” she said, turning to him. Her loose hair brushed against her cheek, and she reached up and tucked it firmly behind her ear.
“Might I call on ye?” he blurted, deciding to seize the opportunity before him.
Before she could answer, a voice called from behind him, “Ah, Lord MacLeod!”
Liam turned and barely stifled an annoyed groan. “Good afternoon, Tarrymount. Are ye making yer way to see Aldridge?”
Tarrymount nodded. “Do you think we will be able to pry him away from your charming sister to go to White’s? I’d love to show you the club.”
Liam certainly hoped not. He could not think of anything less enjoyable than spending the evening with Tarrymount, who was a pompous ass.
“Tarrymount, might I present Miss Cartwright,” Liam said, turning to make the acquaintances of the two on the chance they did not know each other. But with just one look at Cecelia’s colorless face and pinched lips, he knew she was already acquainted with Tarrymount. And not in a positive manner.
“Miss Cartwright,” Tarrymount said, looking almost as uncomfortable as Cecelia. “I— It has been quite some time.” He gave his cravat a vicious tug.
“Yes,” Cecelia replied, her voice a wobbly, pained whisper that drew Liam’s gaze immediately to her. “I—” She pressed her hand to her neck, where color had flushed her skin. “I must take my leave,” she continued, her voice now stiff. She darted her gaze to Liam. “It was nice to meet you, Lord MacLeod. Please tell your sister the same.”
Before he could reply, she had hurried away.
Tarrymount looked to him. “Best to keep your distance from Miss Cartwright. She is not in the good graces of theton.”
Irritation filled Liam. “I’ve always found that when warned away from a person, it makes me that more curious to know that person. Don’t ye find that?” Liam turned on his heel, not bothering to wait for a reply. He had always liked puzzles that needed solving, and Miss Cartwright was quite the puzzle.
