The evening had begun innocuously. Having refused all invitations, Ralston had dined with his siblings, still fresh from the discovery of Juliana, then retired to his chamber, hoping that the privacy of his sanctuary and his piano would offer welcome distraction. Eventually, it had worked, and he had lost himself in his music.
Until the knock at the door, announcing Lady Calpurnia’s arrival. He gave her a frank perusal. She was not unattractive—slightly plump and a touch plain, but he imagined that was more a result of her simple black cloak than anything else. She had full lips and flawless skin and wide, lovely eyes that flashed with emotion. He wondered at their color briefly before he forced himself to return to the matter at hand.
This was obviously the first time she’d ever done something so forward—so adventurous; if he hadn’t already been aware of her pristine reputation, he would have sensed it from her obvious discomfort. Little Calpurnia Hartwell, whom he knew only tangentially from her years of blending into the edges of balls and drawing rooms, was a wallflower of the first water.
Of course, she wasn’t much of a wallflower this evening.
He watched her calmly, years of practice hiding his thoughts. She refused to meet his eyes, instead focusing her gaze on her tightly clasped hands while darting quick glances at the door as if to measure the potential success of an attempt to flee the room. He couldn’t help the burst of sympathy he felt for her, this little mouse who had obviously found herself in a situation far beyond her experience.
He could be a gentleman about the whole thing—take pity on her, provide her an exit, and offer to forget that this evening had ever happened. But he sensed that, despite her obvious nervousness, there was a part of her that wanted to play this out. He wondered how far she would go.
“Why?”
Her eyes went wide at the question, meeting his for the briefest of moments before she looked away again. “My—my lord?” she stammered.
“Why such a request? Not that I am not flattered, of course, but you’ll admit it’s rather odd.”
“I—I don’t know.”
He shook his head slowly, a predator on the hunt. “That, my darling, is the wrong answer.”
“You shouldn’t call me that. It is too familiar.”
One side of his mouth lifted in a hint of a smile. “You are in my bedchamber asking me to kiss you. I should think we are rather past the bounds of propriety. Now, I ask again, why?”
She closed her eyes against a wave of embarrassment. For a moment, he thought she wouldn’t reply. And then her shoulders rose and fell on a deep breath, and she said, “I’ve never been kissed. I thought it was time.”
The words shocked him—they were not filled with self-pity, nor did they plead. Instead, they were so honest, so matter-of-fact, that he couldn’t help but admire her courage. Such a statement could not be an easy one to make.
He did not reveal his surprise. “Why me?”
Her confession seemed to bolster her confidence, and she replied without pause, as though stating the obvious. “You’re a notorious rake. I have heard the gossip.”
“Oh? What gossip?”
Heat flooded Callie’s cheeks.
He pressed on, “Lady Calpurnia. To which gossip do you refer?”
She cleared her throat. “I—may have heard—that you left a certain viscountess half-naked in her husband’s conservatory as you climbed out the window to escape his wrath.”
“That’s an exaggeration.”
“They say you left your shirt. And he burned it in effigy.”
“A gross exaggeration.”
She met his eyes. “What about the vicar’s daughter who followed you across Devonshire in the hopes of ruining herself?”
“Where did you hear that?”
“It is amazing what one hears on the edges of ballrooms, my lord. Is it true?”
“Let’s just say that I am quite lucky that she did not catch up to me. However, I hear she is happily married in Budleigh Salterton these days.” She chuckled at his words, the laugh catching in her throat when he added, “Well, considering the gossip, who is to say I would stop at kissing you?”
“No one. But you would stop.”
“How do you know?”
“I know.”
He recognized the self-deprecation in her tone, but ignored it. “Why now? Why not wait for a man to come along and…sweep you off your feet?”
She gave a short laugh. “If the man you speak of had ever planned on coming, my lord, I’m afraid he has obviously lost his way. And, at twenty-eight, I find I have grown tired of waiting.”