Julia Justiss - Society's Most Disreputable Gentleman

The girl obviously didn’t want Miss Neville to take over her place as his escort. Not wishing to be responsible for any increase in the tension he sensed between the two girls, Greville replied, ‘I believe I would prefer to wait. I’m a bit fatigued after walking this far and would just as soon return to the house. I shall count on you, Miss Holton, to show me around another time. You have such p—Ah, enthusiasm,’ he substituted rapidly for ‘passion’, ‘for Ashton Grove, it’s a pleasure to have you as my guide.’

He’d only intended to deliver a pretty compliment to the girl who seemed to resent her beautiful cousin—but even his milder phrase earned him a sharp look from Miss Neville.

Could she object to his using the word ‘passion’ with her cousin? Though the thoughts that word immediately conjured up did not feature Miss Holton.

No, the image erupting in his eager mind was of the infinitely desirable Miss Neville, drawn into his embrace. That small ripe body tucked under his chin, that soft, rounded bosom pressed against his hard chest … Heat washed through him as parts lower than his chest hardened.

Enough, he thought, dragging his mind back to the conversation at hand—schoolgirls, and words that might not be voiced in their company. Who knew a simple conversation could become so complicated?

‘Very well, I suppose I shall ride as usual,’ Miss Holton finally concluded. ‘I shall see you at dinner, then, Mr Anders?’

‘I certainly hope so,’ Greville replied.

After informing the groom she would meet him at the stables as soon as she changed into her habit, Miss Holton, with obvious reluctance, set off for the house.

With equally obvious reluctance, Miss Neville remained. ‘Shall we complete the circuit of this terrace before we go in, Mr Anders?’

Greville wondered why she wished to prolong a walk she seemed to have embarked upon so unwillingly. In addition to that idle curiosity, he had to admit to feeling a bit piqued that she was reluctant, given his strong attraction to her.

Had he been the Greville of a year ago, his hackles all too easily raised whenever he sensed he was being treated with disdain by one richer or more favoured by fortune, he might have tried to trade snub for snub. But the hot sun off North Africa seemed to have burned out of him any lingering resentment over the fact that a mere accident of birth had elevated his cousin Nicky to the rank of marquess, while he was only a younger son from a minor branch of the family, possessed of neither title nor wealth.

At present, he was more amused and curious than offended by her reticence. The new Greville could even concede, given his disreputable appearance upon arrival, that Miss Neville was probably justified in feeling time spent entertaining him could be better devoted to something else.

Mindful of that, Greville said, ‘Your company would be a delight, but as Miss Holton pointed out, I imagine you have matters to attend that are of greater urgency than supervising a gimpy old sailor on a promenade over the terrace.’

To his surprise, another blush coloured her cheeks. So she’d understood his mild jab at her disinclination for his company.

‘I should never wish to neglect a guest of Papa’s,’ she murmured.

‘I shall not feel neglected, I assure you,’ he replied. ‘Miss Holton seems both capable and interested in showing me around later. Unless … it’s my accompanying your cousin that disturbs you?’ he guessed.

Her startled gaze shot back to his, confirming that suspicion.

Torn between amusement and indignation, Greville said drily, ‘Though you may still feel it necessary to provide Miss Holton with a chaperon, I assure you, I have no intention of ravishing her in full view of the house—or anywhere else. I admit that the circumstances of my arrival may have given you good reason to doubt it, but I do in fact possess the morals of a gentleman.’

Nor was he yet physically up to the challenge of ravishing anyone. Though if the luscious Miss Neville were the prize, he might be forced to test the limits of his endurance.

But perhaps he’d been too blunt. He was thinking how he might soften that bald statement when Miss Neville said, ‘I fear I owe you an apology. If I appeared to give less credence to your scruples than you felt proper, please note that my cousin is in a delicate position, no longer a child, but still a year or more from her come-out. As you yourself remarked this morning, a young lady in such a position must take extreme care not to compromise her reputation. And so I feel I must protect her—whether she wishes me to or not.’

Greville nodded. ‘Point taken. Though I confess, I have difficulty seeing Miss Holton, with her enthusiasm for fencing, shooting and cigars, as a young lady ready to embrace London society.’

Miss Neville gave a rueful grimace. ‘Indeed! Unless something changes, I doubt she will be very enthusiastic about embracing it. But that’s not all. Let me further confess that, distressed by your … appearance when you first arrived, I did not greet you with the warmth and hospitality due my father’s guest. I do hope that, during the rest of your stay, you will allow me to make amends for that regrettable lapse.’

Of all the things she might have said, that apology was perhaps the most unexpected. In his observation, a Beauty was generally too complacent about her own worth and too absorbed by her own concerns to notice or care about the feelings of lesser beings.

Had some traumatic event—perhaps the tragic loss of her mother the previous summer?—spurred her to this unusual sensitivity? Whatever the cause, the perception and empathy she’d just displayed hinted at a character as sterling as her beauty.

A beautiful lady of gentle birth and sterling character who was already fully capable of managing a vast estate would be a prize indeed on the Marriage Mart this spring. The more discerning London gentlemen ought to fight each other to vie for her hand.

A pang of sadness flashed through him that in neither wealth nor title would he be considered worthy to enter that contest.

But then, he wasn’t in the market for a wife, certainly not a wealthy, well-born one eager to plunge herself into the London society, he now disdained. Shrugging off that stab of regret, Greville said, ‘Shall we exchange mutual apologies, then? I shall beg pardon for not initially appearing worthy of your hospitality.’

‘Very well, mutual apologies it is,’ she agreed with a smile.

Greville caught his breath. Frowning, Miss Neville had been lovely; uninterested, she was the handsomest woman he’d ever met, but with those tempting lips curved upwards, the smile adding a glow to her cheeks and an appealing softness to her countenance, she was magnificent.

The warmth of her expression flowed like molten honey over his cold heart, glazing it with sweetness. Smiling back, he glanced into her eyes and was captivated.

Ah, how mesmerising were the turquoise-blue depths, scintillating with highlights like a white-capped sea under a blustery fair sky! Greville could cast himself adrift in them for ever.

He felt almost dizzy, his equilibrium unexpectedly upended by a force too powerful to resist. He felt as if he’d been tossed to the deck by a ‘wind shot’, the blast of air from a passing cannon ball that could knock a man off his feet, though the ball itself never touched him.

The attraction was so strong, he instinctively wished to move closer, catching himself from doing so only at the last moment.

For several seconds they both remained motionless. Had the blast he felt affected her, too? he wondered. Certainly she had gone still and silent, her lips slightly parted but mute, her wide eyes staring back into his.