Last Dance in London (Rakes on the Run #1) - Sydney Jane Baily Page 0,20

waiting any longer, she might have jumped out of her own skin.

“Then I assume your sister is still dressing, and Denbigh is fashionably late.”

“Why, no. My sister is never so long at her toilette that she would let a guest arrive while she was still above stairs. She may not have been born a titled lady, sir, but she has impeccable manners. I believe she and Lord Denbigh are already happily dining together, or at least seated close and sharing a glass of wine.”

He blinked. “Are they in the dining room? Without us?”

“I could not say whether they are in a dining room, but most assuredly without us,” she confessed at last. “For you see, neither one is here.”

He released her hand and took a step back. “Was I not invited over for dinner tonight?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Did you not write to me they were having a small get-together and ask me to be your—?” he broke off. His mouth hung open a second. Then the earl shook his head.

“You are a sneaky wench, just as I suspected all along.”

“Wench?” She ought to be offended, but it sounded rather flattering, the way he said it with admiration in his eyes.

“Absolutely. A saucy one at that.” He sat down and started to laugh. The sound, richly sonorous, did funny things to her, relaxing and titillating at the same time. “You tricked me.”

“I suppose I did,” she agreed, taking a seat on the same couch before he could recall his manners and jump to his feet again. For the sake of respectability, however, she left two feet between them.

“And it’s so bloody outrageous,” the earl added. “May I have some of that wine?”

Reaching to the table in front of them, she poured a glass and held it out, knowing their fingers would touch, relishing the frisson that sizzled through her when they did.

Picking up her own glass, she leaned back.

“Would you have come if I had worded it differently? If you’d known you might be entering a parson’s mousetrap?”

“Or a vicar’s daughter’s trap in this case,” he quipped.

“Just so.”

“I probably would have come anyway out of sheer curiosity as to how a well-connected, politely raised young woman could think this to be a good idea.”

She lifted a shoulder in a shrug, watching his eyes flicker to the décolletage of her bodice.

“You sent me a bold invitation,” she reminded him, recalling how she’d felt upon reading his missive. “It was entirely inappropriate. An offer that I could not possibly agree to. Basically, you invited me to your home for a romp.”

He spluttered wine through his teeth and, leaning forward, began to cough. After a couple seconds, Julia moved closer and pounded his back until he held up his hand. Then he reached into his pocket and withdrew a handkerchief with which he wiped his mouth and the end of his nose. Lastly, he glanced down at his charcoal gray breeches and dabbed at them, although she couldn’t see any spots of claret.

“Am I wrong?” she demanded when he finally looked at her after setting his glass upon the low table.

After a moment’s hesitation, he said, “No,” with the grace to look sheepish.

“I thought not. I decided to show you how such an invitation could be handled more elegantly, and if my missive had been read by anyone else, he or she would never guess we were to dine alone. Just as you didn’t.”

“Indeed, you have shown me how it can be done,” he agreed. “And now we are alone in your sister’s drawing room. What next?”

She sipped her wine, feeling more adventurous than she ever had in her entire life, and she’d had more than her own fair share of escapades recently.

“I suppose we have a civilized chat and then dine together on what will be absolutely delicious fare if I know my sister’s cook. And then...,” she trailed off.

“And then?” He reached out and took her nearly empty glass from her. Outrageously, he tilted his head back and drank the last few drops before setting the glass down.

When he put a gentle hand on her forearm, the warmth of his fingers made her stomach do a thrilled little jig.

Julia couldn’t speak. She could only watch as he drew her steadily closer, and then close her eyes when he lowered his mouth to hers. Ever so slowly. Nothing quick, nothing to jar or scare her. Simply his familiar lips firmly touching her own, tasting of wine. His other hand came to rest on her