Ten Ways to Be Adored When Landing a Lord
Page 43
One side of his mouth kicked up at the disbelief in the word. “I am capable of conversation, Isabel. At least, I am told it is so.”
It was not easy to focus on his words with him so close.
She sat, taking the proffered glass from him.
“Excellent.” He followed suit, relaxing into the chair across from her. “Now. Tell me your secrets.”
Nine
Lesson Number Three
Do not be afraid to share little gems of yourself to entice your lord.
When he inquires after your inner thoughts, be sure to share small and compelling parts of your mind—nothing too intellectual … we would not like him to think you a bluestocking! But small, interesting tidbits of your wonder: your favorite color; your preference for embroidery over oils; the name of your childhood pony.
Master the art of remaining forthcoming, yet not overpowering.
Pearls and Pelisses
June 1823
She froze at the words, uncertain of how she should respond. “My … my what?” “Your secrets, Lady Isabel,” he repeated, his voice low and coaxing. “If my instincts are correct, they are considerable in number.”
“What an absurd idea,” she said. “Why, my life is truly an open book.”
He watched her from under heavy lids for a long moment—long enough to give her the real sense that he knew something she did not want him to know. Was it possible that Rock had betrayed her confidence? The confidence of a houseful of women in need?
It didn’t seem very gentlemanly, but who was to say the enormous man was a gentleman? Indeed, his companion had not acted in accordance with any particular code of chivalric conduct earlier that afternoon.
Isabel shook her head. She would not think of the events of the afternoon. Not when she was here in her cozy library.
With a cad.
One of Nick’s eyebrows rose and he leaned back in his chair—stretching out as if he owned the place—the arrogant man, crossing one leg over the other. Isabel made a show of moving her skirts out of the way of his boots. He watched, a smirk playing over his lips. His boots were nowhere near her skirts and they both knew it.
Still. He could have been more courteous.
“Forgive me, my lady, if I say I do not believe you.”
Her eyes widened. “I beg your pardon?” she said, her tone as haughty as that of any queen. “Are you calling me a liar? ”
“I am accusing you of withholding the truth.”
“Well! Of all the—” It did not matter that he was right. That she was hiding several rather immense secrets from him. A gentleman did not question the veracity of a lady’s words. “Need I remind you that, as a guest here at Townsend Park, you owe me a modicum of respect?”
“Need I remind you, my lady, that as my hostess, you owe me a modicum of generosity? ”
Isabel leaned forward, no longer cozy. “What are you saying?”
“Only that you would do well to tell me the truth about your situation. I’m bound to discover it soon enough.” “I—” She stopped. To which situation was he referring?
“I know you’re in financial straits, Isabel.”
“Lady Isabel.” He did not correct himself. “And I fail to see why this is at all a matter of concern to you, Lord Nicholas.”
“St. John. Or Nick. Very few people call me Lord Nicholas.” She did not correct herself. “And it is a very serious matter to me, Isabel. After all, you brought me here to value your collection of marbles.”
“I—” She had to tread carefully. “I released you from that request.”
“Yes, but it seems that nature has other plans for us.” He paused. “How much do you need?”
Really. The man was impossible. Gentlemen did not simply plop themselves down across from ladies and ask about finances. The conversation was more than crass.
She could not imagine why any woman would want to land this lord, after all. She certainly did not want to.
That made everything easier.
“Lord Nicholas—”
“For every time you call me Lord Nicholas, I shall bring up an additional inappropriate question.”
“There aren’t many more inappropriate than this one.”
“On the contrary, Isabel, there are far less appropriate topics that I would be happy to discuss with you.”
For example?
He seemed to read her thoughts; his piercing blue gaze glittered with an unnerving knowledge, and in that moment Isabel wanted for nothing more than a list of all those dark topics. She felt her cheeks grow warm at the thought. To cover the blush, she took a pull of brandy, the fiery liquid burning her throat. She coughed once, then twice, desperate to keep the action delicate and not draw attention to her discomfort. When he did not look away, her blush flared higher.
She must not allow him the upper hand.
“Two can play at that game, my lord. For every inappropriate question you ask, I assure you I shall be able to find one myself.”
“Yes … but will you be able to ask it? ”
It was a test. They both knew it.
“Where did you—” She stopped.
There was a long pause while he waited for her to finish the question. She looked down at the glass in her hands, keenly aware of the feel of the heavy crystal, the amber liquid swirling along its walls. She could not finish the question.
“Where did I—?”
Isabel shook her head, not looking up. There was a droplet on the very top edge of the glass and, in her nervousness, Isabel touched her finger to the spot, watching the liquid disappear into her skin, wishing she could do the same—to disappear from this room, from this conversation that was so very beyond her experience.
It was not easy to focus on his words with him so close.
She sat, taking the proffered glass from him.
“Excellent.” He followed suit, relaxing into the chair across from her. “Now. Tell me your secrets.”
Nine
Lesson Number Three
Do not be afraid to share little gems of yourself to entice your lord.
When he inquires after your inner thoughts, be sure to share small and compelling parts of your mind—nothing too intellectual … we would not like him to think you a bluestocking! But small, interesting tidbits of your wonder: your favorite color; your preference for embroidery over oils; the name of your childhood pony.
Master the art of remaining forthcoming, yet not overpowering.
Pearls and Pelisses
June 1823
She froze at the words, uncertain of how she should respond. “My … my what?” “Your secrets, Lady Isabel,” he repeated, his voice low and coaxing. “If my instincts are correct, they are considerable in number.”
“What an absurd idea,” she said. “Why, my life is truly an open book.”
He watched her from under heavy lids for a long moment—long enough to give her the real sense that he knew something she did not want him to know. Was it possible that Rock had betrayed her confidence? The confidence of a houseful of women in need?
It didn’t seem very gentlemanly, but who was to say the enormous man was a gentleman? Indeed, his companion had not acted in accordance with any particular code of chivalric conduct earlier that afternoon.
Isabel shook her head. She would not think of the events of the afternoon. Not when she was here in her cozy library.
With a cad.
One of Nick’s eyebrows rose and he leaned back in his chair—stretching out as if he owned the place—the arrogant man, crossing one leg over the other. Isabel made a show of moving her skirts out of the way of his boots. He watched, a smirk playing over his lips. His boots were nowhere near her skirts and they both knew it.
Still. He could have been more courteous.
“Forgive me, my lady, if I say I do not believe you.”
Her eyes widened. “I beg your pardon?” she said, her tone as haughty as that of any queen. “Are you calling me a liar? ”
“I am accusing you of withholding the truth.”
“Well! Of all the—” It did not matter that he was right. That she was hiding several rather immense secrets from him. A gentleman did not question the veracity of a lady’s words. “Need I remind you that, as a guest here at Townsend Park, you owe me a modicum of respect?”
“Need I remind you, my lady, that as my hostess, you owe me a modicum of generosity? ”
Isabel leaned forward, no longer cozy. “What are you saying?”
“Only that you would do well to tell me the truth about your situation. I’m bound to discover it soon enough.” “I—” She stopped. To which situation was he referring?
“I know you’re in financial straits, Isabel.”
“Lady Isabel.” He did not correct himself. “And I fail to see why this is at all a matter of concern to you, Lord Nicholas.”
“St. John. Or Nick. Very few people call me Lord Nicholas.” She did not correct herself. “And it is a very serious matter to me, Isabel. After all, you brought me here to value your collection of marbles.”
“I—” She had to tread carefully. “I released you from that request.”
“Yes, but it seems that nature has other plans for us.” He paused. “How much do you need?”
Really. The man was impossible. Gentlemen did not simply plop themselves down across from ladies and ask about finances. The conversation was more than crass.
She could not imagine why any woman would want to land this lord, after all. She certainly did not want to.
That made everything easier.
“Lord Nicholas—”
“For every time you call me Lord Nicholas, I shall bring up an additional inappropriate question.”
“There aren’t many more inappropriate than this one.”
“On the contrary, Isabel, there are far less appropriate topics that I would be happy to discuss with you.”
For example?
He seemed to read her thoughts; his piercing blue gaze glittered with an unnerving knowledge, and in that moment Isabel wanted for nothing more than a list of all those dark topics. She felt her cheeks grow warm at the thought. To cover the blush, she took a pull of brandy, the fiery liquid burning her throat. She coughed once, then twice, desperate to keep the action delicate and not draw attention to her discomfort. When he did not look away, her blush flared higher.
She must not allow him the upper hand.
“Two can play at that game, my lord. For every inappropriate question you ask, I assure you I shall be able to find one myself.”
“Yes … but will you be able to ask it? ”
It was a test. They both knew it.
“Where did you—” She stopped.
There was a long pause while he waited for her to finish the question. She looked down at the glass in her hands, keenly aware of the feel of the heavy crystal, the amber liquid swirling along its walls. She could not finish the question.
“Where did I—?”
Isabel shook her head, not looking up. There was a droplet on the very top edge of the glass and, in her nervousness, Isabel touched her finger to the spot, watching the liquid disappear into her skin, wishing she could do the same—to disappear from this room, from this conversation that was so very beyond her experience.
