The Lady Most Willing

She wrenched her eyes away. Wonderful. Now she was ogling him with as much fervor as her sister probably had done.

“Hot-tempered giant,” she said quickly, sobered by that thought. “What was it you wanted to ask me, Lord Oakley?” Her book had slipped to the floor; she picked it up and smoothed the pages. She had a third of it left. She should bury herself in the plot, and stop thinking about Byron altogether. He was too male, too beautiful . . . too volatile. And he was obviously in the grip of some fierce, barely contained emotion.

It couldn’t be that Marilla had roused all that passion.

Or perhaps she had.

He glanced down at the book in her hand. “I see you are still reading. What is the title again?”

“Persuasion, by Miss Jane Austen.”

“And are you enjoying it?”

She looked at him and hardened her heart. Men as beautiful as he were surely accustomed to fighting off the advances of young ladies. “Yes,” she said shortly. “I am. But surely, Lord Oakley, that is not the question you wished to ask me.”

“It’s not a question, precisely. I was hoping that you could inform your sister that I am an unlikely focus for her attentions.”

“Everyone knows that you are looking for a bride,” Fiona said, feeling her way into a further defense of Marilla. “News of your broken betrothal traveled before you. I’m afraid that I cannot alter the tide of public opinion. Every unmarried young lady considers you a suitable focus for her attentions. More than suitable.”

His brows drew together. “Perhaps you might tell her that I have determined not to marry.”

Fiona rolled her eyes. “Please. Marilla will no more believe that than I would. You still need a wife; you merely need to find a woman who isn’t interested in kissing other men. Marilla, for one, would never kiss a footman. As I told you, she’s mad about titles.”

“My fiancee was not kissing a footman,” he said, giving the distinct impression that his teeth were clenched together. “It was her dancing master.” To her shock, he strode over to the sofa, pushed her legs aside, and sat down.

Then he folded his arms and looked at her challengingly. “It’s not a matter of my being overly punctilious, either. Do you see what I just did? Where I am? I pushed you aside and sat down without being asked. I’m sitting in this room with a young lady who has identified herself as having a less-than-perfect reputation.”

Another giggle broke from Fiona’s lips before she could suppress it. Was she supposed to congratulate him on his bravery? Or his finesse?

He gave her a narrow-eyed glance. “I may be a dunce, but I’m not a self-righteous turnip.”

“I would never think of you in terms of a garden vegetable,” she said encouragingly.

“At any rate, a dancing master is not precisely a servant.” He paused. “Although lately I begin to think that she set up the entire event so that I would break off the engagement.”

Fiona reached over and patted his knee. The stuffy earl was obviously having some sort of stuffy person’s crisis, and she was thoroughly enjoying watching it, even though such pleasure cast a dubious light on her own claims to being a kindly soul. “Oh, don’t underestimate the allure of a dancing master. So much more understandable than a footman. Was he French?”

“If you are warming up to casting aspersions on my ability to dance, as has my cousin, I would prefer that you refrain.”

Fiona had been planning to do just that, so she started over. “Marilla hasn’t the faintest interest in kissing anyone—except, of course, her husband, once she has one. And she would never kiss a commoner; she has very high standards. Therefore, she will be a perfect match for you.”

“Your sister has already kissed me,” he stated. “I played only a passive role in the incident. I am well aware that my uncle’s foolishness has thrown us all together without a chaperone, but—”

“Exactly!” Fiona said, grasping thankfully on to that excuse. “Marilla is overcome by a heady sense of freedom.”

“Then you should act as her chaperone.”

“Unfortunately, my sister pays me no mind,” Fiona said, more honestly than was perhaps advisable.

“I had given her hardly any encouragement,” the earl said, a heavy frown indicating something that she had long suspected. Men liked to seduce, rather than be seduced.

“You’re very attractive,” Fiona said, silently cursing Marilla’s propensity to overplay her hand. “She was overcome by your . . . your . . .” To her horror, her mind went blank; the only thing she could think of was his thighs and that ferocious maleness about him. “Your charm,” she cried. “Overcome by your charm, she has temporarily forsaken her maidenly modesty.”

A smile curled one side of his mouth. Really, a man shouldn’t have such a full lower lip. It wasn’t fair to the female sex. “I feel a bit wounded that it took you such