Worth didn’t seem angry. There was no chilliness in the curve of his lips. No dismissal in his tone as there had been after Aurora returnedThe Bloom of the Rose.
If anything, Worth was downright seductive as he stared at her in the dusty confines of Tate’s.
Chapter Seventeen
Charles had donean an excellent job of staying hidden while that pompous, self-important idiot Healey preened over Aurora. Stuttering and blushing like some virgin because he’d stumbled upon a collection of romantic novels. If Healey had any idea of the sort of reading material Aurora genuinely enjoyed, Kenebruke’s nephew would swoon.
The initial dislike of Healey had only intensified since Lord Kenebruke had unfortunately fallen ill. The contracts from the solicitor laying out the terms of the new business venture Charles and the earl had discussed, never arrived. The modernization of the textile mill had come to a stop. Kenebruke’s solicitor had made the mistake of consulting Healey about the documents—a tragedy for all involved because Healey, who was a bloody idiot, insisted due to his uncle’s illness Kenebruke had been unable to review the contracts thoroughly.
Healey decided that he must do so himself.
He dithered, putting at risk the agreement while pretending financial acumen Healey didn’t possess. Desperate, Charles had tried to send Kenebruke a note, but Healey returned it stating his uncle could not be bothered at the moment, as he was ill, and all future correspondence should be sent directly to Healey.
There were many reasons for his dislike of Healey. But the sight of that twit eyeing Aurora’s bosom had Charlesfurious. He’d wanted to take Healey’s strictly tied cravat and strangle him with it.
Charles wasjealous.
The emotion was foreign to him, having not felt it for ages. No, that wasn’t entirely true. The same, annoying, jagging sensation had been present the night Aurora gave him back the book when she mentioned Healey. Or any other man.
He’d spent the nights since her final visit drinking brandy and allowing Lady Duggins to dangle from his arm. Lady Duggins, bless her. She’d tried so desperately to garner his interest. But Charles couldn’t even bring himself to kiss her.
Had that staid prick Healey seen Aurora’s face when she climaxed? The soft pink glow that would sink into her cheeks making her appear as if she were blooming?
That sight belonged to Charles andonlyhim.
He’d spent the last quarter hour envisioning how best to punch Healey in the nose without getting blood on himself.
Brandy usually helped dull such possessive thoughts, but unfortunately there wasn’t any at hand. Tate’s didn’t offer a full sideboard to patrons. Seeing Aurora, so bloody fetching in yet another shade of blue—she had to have some sense it was his favorite color—Charles was having a great deal of difficulty remembering exactlywhyhe vowed to never wed. Why he preferred an indulgent lifestyle full of meaningless affairs. Avoided the romantic involvement. Couldn’t afford to compromise his heart again.
Healey finally walked away saving Charles from causing them all undue embarrassment.
Aurora had done this to him. Brandishing the book—
I gave her the book.
Threatening to toss herself at any gentleman in the vicinity out of carnal curiosity if Charles didn’t capitulate. Kissing him in the maze.
You kissed her back.
But mostly for making Charles remember—Cecily.
Damn.
The tip of Aurora’s finger caressed the spine of one very questionable book as he regarded her, one which should have been hidden behind the counter at Tate’s. No young lady should even know about such a volume nor even touch it. Most would shudder as if they’d come across a leper. Or faint.
Lady Hamerly’s Baseborn Lover.
But not Aurora who possessed an incredibly reckless nature. An inherent sinfulness. Lacking any sort of shyness on sexual matters as proven by her proposal to Charles.
Aurora on his lap, grinding against his cock came to mind.
But she was also intelligent. Witty. Deeply sensual. Possessed the unlikely ability to grow cabbages. Drew had related how his sister had managed to supplement the larder at Dunnings by growing whatever would take root at that desolate estate. Cabbages. Carrots. Some beets. When an army of worms had invaded her small, pathetic garden, Aurora had wept, terrified her family would starve unless she could fix matters. She’d gone to great lengths to protect the cabbage, resorting to collecting the worms off the leaves each morning and disposing of them in the kitchen fire.
Aurora was much more than a beautiful creature gowned in silk and only interested in gossip and balls. He’d tried so hard to put her into that box, but she was nothing like Cecily.
“Lady Hamerly’s Baseborn Lover.A true delight, I’m sure,” he quipped.
“Poorly written.” Aurora nodded to the books clasped beneath his arm. “Have you found something here you fancy, Mr. Worthington?”
