Page 40 of Why Do Rogues Fall in Love?

When Cordelia finally returned home much later, with Sir Charles curled contentedly in her arms, it was not fear that accompanied her upstairs, but the lingering warmth of an evening so perfectly delightful that she wished it had never ended.

There was something about being in George’s company that made her feel wonderfully at ease, as though she could simply be herself without worrying over every word she spoke or every opinion she expressed. He listened to her with genuine interest, teased her without cruelty, and seemed to take as much pleasure in their conversations as she did. She had never known such easy companionship with a gentleman before, and the happiness it stirred within her was almost frightening in its intensity.

Yet there was something else, too, something she could no longer pretend was merely curiosity or the pleasure of discovering a new friend. Her awareness of George as a man had grown so sharply that evening that she had found it increasingly difficult to ignore. She noticed everything about him, from the beautiful silver-gray of his eyes and the occasional wicked curve of his mouth to the deep, rich timbre of his voice and the way his large hands moved the chess pieces across the board. Even the most innocent moments had begun to trouble her composure, and more than once she had caught herself wondering what it might feel like if he leaned across the small distance between them and kissed her.

The very thought made her cheeks warm.

Good heavens, she was becoming quite shameless in her imaginings! Worse still, those thoughts had occurred with alarming frequency. She had found herself studying his mouth when he spoke, wondering whether his lips would be as warm and firm as they appeared, and whether he might kiss with the same confident ease with which he seemed to do everything else.

Yet George had given her no reason to entertain such scandalous notions. For all his teasing and occasional wicked remarks, he had behaved with remarkable restraint. He had never attempted to kiss her beyond returning the chaste kiss she had first stolen from him, nor had he taken advantage of the extraordinary liberties she had allowed herself by visiting his home unchaperoned. Indeed, he had treated her with a consideration and respect that made her feel entirely safe in his company.

That realization brought an unexpected sting.

Was it possible he did not find her attractive in the least? That he enjoyed her company, her conversation, and their games of chess, but felt none of the peculiar longing that had begun to trouble her whenever they were together?

The thought hurt rather more than she cared to admit.

She immediately chastised herself for being so foolish. George had offered her something she had never expected to find in a gentleman, a friendship in which she felt accepted and appreciated for precisely who she was. He showed genuine interest in her thoughts, her passions, and the things that made her happy, listening so attentively that she found herself wanting to share even more.

Surely that was something to treasure rather than jeopardize with impossible hopes.

She would not allow herself to dream of kisses, courtship, or anything more intimate when she did not even know the gentleman's full name!

For all she knew, he might already have a lady to whom he was attached.

That possibility caused another unwelcome pang, but Cordelia resolutely pushed it aside as she entered her bedchamber and placed Sir Charles upon the counterpane. She had made a friend, a wonderfully interesting and thoroughly delightful friend, and she would be perfectly content with that.

She changed into her nightdress, slipped beneath the covers, and settled Sir Charles beside her pillow, where he immediately began to purr.

Your eyes are truly beautiful.

Cordelia lay awake for some time, those simple words lingering in her thoughts with a sweetness she could neither dismiss nor entirely understand. Yet as she turned onto her side and drew the covers higher, she wondered whether she was being too quick to dismiss the dangers of his company. For she was beginning to suspect that the greatest danger was not discovering George to be a rogue, but allowing herself to wish he might become something more than a friend.

CHAPTER 10

Cordelia stood beside her mother, her hands loosely clasped before her as she watched the dancers move across the polished floor. After an afternoon of persistent coaxing from Emelia, Cordelia had finally agreed to attend the ball. She had missed her family and welcomed the prospect of an evening in their company.

The ballroom glowed with candlelight and warmth, the air fragrant with flowers and the mingled scents of perfume and pomade. Music swelled and fell, laughter rippled through the gathering, and silk skirts whispered across the floor in graceful patterns practiced since girlhood. Young ladies smiled up at their partners with shining eyes, while gentlemen inclined their heads and murmured words intended only for the women at their sides.

The spectacle stirred a familiar pang of disappointment.

Her brother had declined to attend, declaring balls a tedious waste of an evening better spent enjoying brandy and conversation with friends. Her father had long since retreated to the card room, content to try his luck and exchange gossip with the other gentlemen, though Cordelia suspected his true purpose was to cultivate acquaintances among those of greater rank and fortune.

Her mother, meanwhile, conversed with a small gathering of matrons, including Lady Featherstone, the evening’s hostess and one of her dearest friends.

Cordelia remained at her side, as she so often did.

She had dressed with particular care that evening, selecting one of her finest gowns from the previous Season. There had not been sufficient funds to commission new wardrobes for both young ladies of the house, and the decision had been made without much discussion. Emelia’s debut required the greater expense, a necessity Cordelia understood and had never begrudged her cousin.

Fortunately, the dark blue silk remained as becoming as ever. The gown’s high waist rested just beneath her bosom, while its modestly lowered neckline flattered her figure without being overly daring. The rich color complemented her auburn hair, bringing out the reddish highlights that shimmered beneath the candlelight. Her hair was arranged in an elegant chignon, a few soft curls framing her cheeks. Simple pearl earrings and a matching necklace adorned her, while white gloves and silver slippers completed her ensemble.

She knew she possessed a pleasing face and had always taken care with her appearance, yet somehow it had never been enough to hold a gentleman’s interest beyond a polite conversation.

Cordelia released a quiet sigh before she could stop herself.

Her mother turned at once, her gaze sharp. “My dear, if you persist in wearing that forlorn expression, no gentleman will ask you to dance.”

Cordelia resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Mama,” she said evenly, “I have been standing beside you for well over an hour, and before taking up my present position as though I were a fixture of the ballroom, I made the rounds with you. No gentleman has requested the honor of a dance, nor has anyone sought my company beyond the barest exchange of civilities. The few conversations I attempted ended rather awkwardly, for I appear to know nothing of the latest fashions from Paris, nor the poems that are presently the rage.”