been struck by Cupid’s arrow, and what a result! Their ensuing conduct had caused him to marvel at how an intelligent, reasoning, and heretofore tough-minded man could turn into a quivering mass of erratic emotions, writing abominable love poems, mooning about like some love-sick school boy, claiming his life would be ruined unless the object of his new-found love consented to marry him. And all because he’d been brought down by some bubble-headed chit.
Not Thomas Linberry! Indeed, no.
He’d had his share of Cyprians, and though he had to admit he’d been fond of them, and treated them with courtesy—more than he could say for some of his friends—he had never lost his heart, even to the most seductive and beautiful of them. Nor had he lost his heart to Miss Bettina Trevlyn, which was exactly as it should be. Although he fully expected to develop some sort of affection for her when and if they married, love hardly mattered. Love was a handicap. Love interfered with one’s well-ordered life. Love made a man look foolish, and that’s why he, a man totally in control of his emotions, could not possibly be in love with Evleen O’Fallon.
True, he’d been unable to stop thinking about her, or shake off the strange sensations that rushed through his body when he did. Especially now, after that kiss. There went his sleep tonight, again. Positively and without fail, tomorrow he would get a grip on himself and put her out of his mind, but not tonight. Tonight he would lie in his bed and picture how she had nestled into his arms, a perfect fit, as if she belonged there, all soft and warm, and how she...
Perhaps he would stay in London, at least for a while. But no, that was wrong. Penelope was right about his defenses being down. The sooner he left for Tanglewood Hall, the better.
* * *
“Evleen, what is the lady doing?” asked Patrick. He had come to her bedchamber, and now sat upon her bed, feet dangling, watching curiously as she stood on a chair, still as a statue.
Evleen glanced at the middle-aged woman kneeling on the floor. “This is my new dressmaker, and she’s measuring a hem. Do you like it?” She spread her arms, showing off her new ball gown. “Your grandfather insisted I have some gowns made so I shall be fashionable.”
“Mama says to be fashionable is to be vain.”
“She’s absolutely right, but I like being fashionable all the same.”
“Shall you wear it to the ball tonight?”
“No, it won’t be ready in time, but I shall wear this to a ball next Friday night.”
“Shall you dance with lots of men?” asked Patrick with a frown.
“Of course I shall.”
“But what of Timothy?”
She could tell this wasn’t an idle question. Patrick had always liked Timothy and expected her to marry him. She’d have to set him straight. “First, I am not betrothed to Timothy,” she said gently. “Second, your grandfather wants me to grow accustomed to the glittering society you’re going to be living in the rest of your life. Dancing with other men is quite acceptable.”
“I’ve finished with the pinning, miss.”
Carefully holding up her skirt, Evleen stepped down and went to her mirror. “Oh,” she said with a gasp, unable to contain her delight. Her nearly completed gown was of white silk, high-waisted, low-cut, and adorned with clusters of pink roses around the hem, accompanied by wide bands of white lace trim. Best of all, this gown was practically all her own creation. She chose the pattern and fabric herself, and if she did say so, it had turned out perfectly. Wait until Thomas sees me, she thought, then caught herself. These past few days, she’d had great difficulty keeping her mind off Thomas and their hot, breathless, totally unexpected kiss in the darkness of the coach. So utterly wrong. “Highly improper,” Lydia would say, but for the life of her, she couldn’t work up any guilt. Instead, she felt deliciously wicked. If Lydia could have seen into the back of that carriage, she would be so scandalized!
But there was something else, too, that kept her thoughts on Thomas, something beyond a frivolous kiss. She’d felt it when, trembling, he’d taken her in his arms, and when his lips found hers, she could have sworn there was more than lust on his mind, there was something deeper, as if he meant his kiss to tell her something. Oh, it was so hard to know what he was truly