Page 7
Heat crept beneath her collar. “You mistake a great many things, Mr. George.”
“I sincerely hope so. Certainty is dreadfully dull.”
She ought to leave. Instead, she remained exactly where she was. “Are all gentlemen this arrogant?”
“I can only speak for myself. It is all part of being a...” A faint frown touched his brow, and his words abruptly ceased.
Curiosity tugged at Cordelia. What had he been about to say? “A what? A gentleman?”
His smile deepened. Something about that smile made her suddenly conscious of the darkness surrounding them, of the solitary lamp casting its small circle of golden light, and of the extraordinary impropriety of standing alone with a gentleman whose very expression warned that propriety was not presently foremost in his thoughts.
“Is that what you have decided I am? A good-natured gentleman?”
“I have decided nothing of the sort.”
A low laugh escaped him. “How reassuring. For a moment, I feared I had made a respectable impression.”
Despite herself, the corner of her mouth twitched. His gaze dropped to it. Only for an instant. Yet something in his expression changed, so subtly she might have imagined it, before his eyes lifted to hers once more.
“Was that nearly a smile, Miss Maubry?”
Her heart gave a violent thump, and a gasp escaped her. He already knows who I am!
“How...” Her throat tightened around the rest of the question.
One dark brow lifted. “I’ve rattled you. Would you prefer that I call you Miss Cori instead of Miss Maubry?”
After a few startled beats, she remembered that she had given his butler her name during her earlier attempt to retrieve Sir Charles. Cordelia felt rather silly for the alarm that had seized her.
Clearing her throat and gathering what remained of her composure, she said, “It most certainly was not a smile, and either Miss Maubry or Miss Cori will do.”
“A pity. I should like to see what you look like when you forget you are so determined not to enjoy me...Miss Cori.”
Her breath caught.
Enjoy him?
What an outrageous thing to say. And more outrageous still was the tiny, traitorous thrill that whispered she already did. “I must leave,” she said.
A brow lifted. “Why?”
“This is all highly improper.”
He laughed, the sound low and rich. “Is it? You are dressed rather unconventionally, stole into my home with remarkable but wonderful nerve, and now you flee? How disappointing.”
Cordelia lifted her chin. “I hardly care what opinion you have formed of me, Mr. George, nor am I particularly concerned with what you might find disappointing.”
His brows rose, and for a moment he simply regarded her. “It is exceedingly rare that I encounter such tart honesty in a lady.”
“A lady?”
His gaze moved over her with leisurely consideration, taking in her brother’s borrowed shirt and trousers before returning to her face.
“I am rarely mistaken when I find myself in the presence of wantonness.”
Cordelia’s mouth fell open.
His eyes gleamed. “And you,” he continued, drawing out the words as though delivering a judgment of tremendous consequence, “are woefully proper.”
