What the Hart Wants - Fiona Davenport Page 0,12

to hope for anything other than a position as a chaperone—or a spinster aunt.

Then she looked up again and smiled. “He possesses a rare combination—a title, affability, and an interest in commerce. And he seems to like you a great deal, Delilah.”

“We share the same views on society, that’s all,” Lilah said. “But despite what he says about reforming the aristocracy, he lacks the character to lead. He hangs on to Dex’s coat-tails even more than you.”

Thea rolled her eyes. “Why must you needle everyone you disagree with, Delilah? We cannot all be leaders. If Sir Thomas chooses to follow where others direct, then he’d make the perfect husband for a headstrong woman who wishes to control her destiny.”

Lilah shook her head. “You mean…”

“I mean,” Dorothea said, lowering her voice, “that if you want to pursue a career as a writer, while also satisfying our brother, then marriage to Sir Thomas may be the most effective means of achieving that. While you still have choices left open to you, Delilah, you must choose wisely. And that choice may be to accept his courtship.”

“Assuming Sir Thomas would want to court a commoner.”

“He’s one of the few men of society to whom birth is not everything,” Thea said. “But if you wish to secure him, you should refrain from cursing, at least until after you’ve signed the marriage register when the poor man has gone beyond the point of no return.”

“I have no intention of securing anyone,” Lilah said. “A man should want me for what I am, not what he wishes me to be.”

Dorothea laughed. “In that, I agree with you. You’ll need a husband prepared to put up with your rudeness.”

No, she didn’t. She needed a man with spirit, who could meet her on equal terms. A man to spar with, a man who set boundaries, then challenged her to breach them, with the lure of danger in his eyes if she dared to defy him.

A man such as him—the infuriating Scot who’d sent a thrill through her bones as he threatened to take her over his knee.

She closed her eyes to relive the memory of their first encounter—the faint aroma of earth and mountain air, clear blue eyes before which her innermost desires were laid bare. Her breath hitched at the memory of his hands on her skin—warm, commanding hands.

“Delilah?”

Lilah opened her eyes.

“I do believe you’re blushing!” Thea said. “Perhaps the prospect of Sir Thomas’s company is not so distasteful after all?”

Before Lilah could respond, the door swung open. Dexter stood in the doorway with Sir Thomas Tipton.

With thick blonde hair fashionably cut, perfectly proportioned features, and pale blue eyes, Sir Thomas looked every bit the fairytale hero. He lifted his lips into a smile, and Thea rose to her feet, her cheeks blooming a delicate shade of rose.

“Sir Thomas, how pleasant!” she cried. “Delilah and I were just saying how we were looking forward to your visit.”

Sir Thomas bowed and snapped his heels together.

“Miss Hart, a pleasure, as always,” he said. “And Miss Delilah.”

“Please, come in,” Thea said. “Dexter, will you be joining us?”

“I don’t think so,” Lilah said. “You’re too busy, aren’t you, Dex? And you’ve already provided your valet with enough work.” She turned to their guest. “Your suit is very elegant, Sir Thomas. The jacket goes very well with your breeches. It’s terribly important to wear the right colored breeches when taking tea.”

“Sir Thomas, if you’ll excuse me,” Dexter said, “I have some business to attend to. But my sisters will take the greatest care of you. Won’t you, Delilah?”

Dexter shot Lilah a warning look, and she gave him her sweetest smile. “Of course, dear brother,” she said. She gestured to the wing-back chair by the fireplace—the chair Dexter was always so very particular about being his. “Do sit down, Sir Thomas, and let me help you to tea.”

Dexter exhaled sharply and took his leave.

“Sugar, Sir Thomas?” Lilah asked.

“Four, please.”

She wrinkled her nose and dropped four lumps into a cup and handed it to him. Their hands touched, and he smiled and brushed his thumb against hers.

But try as she might, Lilah felt nothing from his touch. Not like…

“What news, Sir Thomas?” Thea asked.

“Nothing much,” he said. “Yet another duke has arrived to strut around London and declare himself master of the world.”

“And who might that be?” Thea asked.

“Molineux.”

“Molineux!” Thea exclaimed. “Hadn’t that line died out with the twelfth duke?”

“Apparently not, Miss Hart,” he said. “Though perhaps it would have been better if it had.