assessment of the situation. Lord Welles was not only handsome but astute as well. “And Winthrop is…oddly shaped,” she added, casting him a look to see if he took offense from her description.
“Don’t forget his overuse of talc; certainly that detracts from his suitability.” Welles brought a tapered finger to his lips as if deep in thought. “I wish to make absolutely certain I understand. You find Lord Carstairs attractive, and not the least bit shaped like a pear; you are relieved he prefers boots and most importantly,” he leaned down, close enough Margaret could smell the light scent of his shaving soap, “he’s not nearly as intelligent as you are.”
With his face in shadow, Margaret could only see the outline of Welles’s patrician nose and the curve of his chin. If he neglected to move for a few moments, he could easily be mistaken for one of her aunt’s Grecian statues. Possibly Zeus or Apollo.
Hades would be a better comparison.
“Am I correct, Miss Lainscott?”
His breath tickled the fine hairs dangling above the curve of her ear as the low timbre of his voice slid down the length of her neck. The fluttering inside her stomach increased.
Definitely Hades.
It was becoming increasingly difficult to think with Welles so close to her. Everything about him was seductive, from his scent to the decadent richness of his voice. Margaret prided herself on not being just another pea-wit young lady, but even she had her limitations.
“Yes, my lord. Your assessment of my situation is correct.”
Winthrop was coming closer. She could hear his ridiculous shoes striking the pavement.
“I realize I am being presumptuous. We don’t know each other well enough for me to ask for your assistance.” She hurried her words, ignoring the way her skin was tingling from Welles’s nearness. “But I would beg your indulgence. I’ve not seen Lord Carstairs at any functions I’ve attended.”
“Miss Lainscott?” A peevish voice bellowed into the darkness. “Is that you in the wisteria? I have your lemonade.”
“Damn,” she uttered without thinking.
Welles laughed softly, more beautiful than any human being had a right to be. “Don’t worry, Miss Lainscott. I’ll make sure you get away.” Snaking an arm about her waist, he pushed Margaret deeper into the wisteria. His hand, warm and strong, flattened against the small of her back then slid down across the tops of her buttocks and squeezed gently.
Margaret gasped at his boldness.
“Don’t make a sound, Miss Lainscott,” Welles admonished. “You wouldn’t wish Lord Winthrop to spot you.” The large hand slid up to the small of her back. He gave her a gentle shove in the opposite direction.
“You’ll help me?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he stepped out of the wisteria. “Winthrop? Are you spying on me?” Welles managed to sound imperious and outraged.
Margaret slid beneath the vines, listening to Winthrop sputter like a teapot at the implication that he’d interrupted an assignation. At least she wouldn’t have to endure him again this evening.
“Thank you,” she whispered before slipping through the gate, wondering at the wisdom of confiding her plans to Lord Welles.
2
“Oh, miss. If your aunt finds you gone…”
Margaret gave an exasperated sigh and placed a hand on her slender hips. “She won’t find me gone unless you tell her, Eliza.”
“What if something happens?”
“Nothing is going to happen.” Margaret was not about to be deterred. Today was very important. Much more important than whatever punishment Aunt Agnes would mete out if she found her gone. “She won’t even know I’m not here. All you need to do is lock the door behind me.” She tied the bonnet snugly beneath her chin.
“Miss, what if Lord Winthrop calls?”
Margaret hesitated. “He won’t.” Winthrop had called the day after her aunt’s ball to take her for a ride in the park. The entire experience had been awkward. Uncomfortable. Intolerable. He’d returned just yesterday to repeat the horror by taking tea with her and Aunt Agnes. If anything, the two instances had solidified Margaret’s determination not to allow herself to be married to Winthrop.
“Eliza, I am leaving. Lord Winthrop has already paid two calls on me this week. He won’t do so again. If anyone knocks, which they won’t,” she assured her maid, “remind them I’ve a terrible headache today. You already made such known when you brought up my breakfast tray, didn’t you?”
The maid nodded.
“Then no one will disturb me. I’ll be back for tea. Possibly. I’m not certain.” Margaret shrugged and walked to the door. “Lock this behind me,” she instructed the maid again.