Page 72 of Why Do Rogues Fall in Love?

“Then I should hope, my darling, that he has the good sense to deserve it.”

She rose at last, unable to endure the confinement of the room a moment longer. After excusing herself, Cordelia fetched her bonnet and parasol, noting the heavy, unsettled appearance of the sky, and made her way toward the front of the house with the firm intention of walking until her thoughts arranged themselves into something sensible.

She had scarcely stepped outside when she collided with a solid chest. “Oh!”

Strong hands caught her by the arms before she could lose her balance. Cordelia looked up, and her breath caught.

“Cori,” George said, with a small smile.

Her heart gave a most inconvenient flutter. There was something unmistakable in his expression, a gleam in those silver-gray eyes that suggested he was recalling precisely what she wished to forget. Every wicked kiss she had permitted. Every intimate moment in which her determination had faltered beneath his touch. Heat rushed to her cheeks before she could prevent it.

She struggled against the blush and lost the battle entirely. Lowering herself into a polite curtsy, she said rather too quickly, “I was just going for a walk.”

“May I accompany you?” he asked easily.

The temptation was immediate and distressingly powerful. She wanted to say yes, to allow him to walk beside her and listen to his voice, to pretend for a little while that nothing complicated their acquaintance beyond the ordinary uncertainties of a gentleman and lady discovering an affection for one another.

“No,” she said instead, the word emerging more stiffly than she intended.

Something flickered across his face, though it vanished almost at once. He reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a folded paper, which he extended toward her.

“What is it?” she asked warily.

His smile was slow and deliberate. “An invitation to discover something more of the man I am.”

Her eyes widened.

“This,” he continued quietly, “is a part of my life I have never shared with another woman.”

Before she could formulate a reply, he stepped back, inclined his head, and returned to his townhouse. Cordelia remained where she stood for several moments before compelling herself to move. She continued along the pavement, her fingers tightening around the folded paper as though it might burn her skin. She did not open it immediately, for she was almost afraid of what she might discover.

At last, she stopped, drew a steadying breath, and unfolded the note. It contained only a single line, inviting her to accompany him to Kent the following day. There was no explanation of what awaited them there, nor any indication of why he wished to take her. Her first instinct was to dismiss the invitation, crumple the paper, and return home with her resolve intact. Yet a painful longing stirred within her, one she had spent the past several days attempting, without success, to suppress.

Before she could reconsider, Cordelia turned around. Instead of returning home, however, she found herself walking toward George’s townhouse. She did not approach the front door but slipped around the side of the house, past the servants’ entrance, and into the small garden beyond.

As she had anticipated, one of the windows stood open. She glanced inside, and an involuntary smile touched her lips. The viscount sat comfortably in an armchair, Sir Charles sprawled contentedly upon his chest, purring with unmistakable satisfaction as George read aloud from a book. At his feet lay a large dog, stretched lazily across the rug, his expression so solemn and attentive that he appeared equally invested in the tale.

Sir Charles flicked a glance toward the dog, who answered with a soft whine. If Cordelia’s imagination did not deceive her, the expression upon the dog’s face suggested a certain envy of the cat’s favored position.

Her heart softened at once. When had George acquired a dog? She remained silent, reluctant to disturb the unexpected domestic tranquility of the scene. There was something deeply affecting about seeing him thus, with Sir Charles nestled against his chest and a dog resting faithfully at his feet, while he read aloud with an ease that suggested such moments were entirely natural to him.

This was not the notorious rake of society’s gossip, nor the dangerously seductive gentleman who had robbed her of her senses at Aphrodite. This was simply George, the man who had welcomed her troublesome cat into his home, listened to her opinions, and somehow made her feel that her company was a pleasure rather than an obligation.

And she could not deny how dearly she liked this version of him. As though he sensed her presence, George lifted his gaze from the page and stilled. Their eyes met. Cordelia smiled, trusting that the simple gesture would convey her acceptance of his invitation. His mouth curved in response, a small, intimate smile that acknowledged her without disturbing the quiet scene around him. The warmth of that expression sent a thrill through her. She inclined her head in a brief bow, then turned and walked away, acutely aware of the ache within her chest as sweet anticipation struggled against the fears she had not yet managed to quiet.

CHAPTER 18

Cordelia had imagined a great many things when George invited her to visit his manor in Kent, but nothing could have prepared her for the sight that greeted her as his carriage swept through a pair of magnificent wrought-iron gates and followed a winding drive bordered by towering oaks.

She leaned forward, scarcely believing what she saw.

The estate was breathtaking.

Rolling lawns stretched as far as the eye could see, their brilliant green interrupted by carefully tended gardens, ancient trees, and a lake that glittered beneath the afternoon sunshine. Beyond the water, woodland rose in a gentle sweep of emerald and gold, while in the distance stood an enormous manor house, its pale stone façade gleaming against the landscape. Even from this distance, Cordelia could make out the elegant symmetry of its windows, the imposing columns framing the entrance, and the broad terraces that descended toward the gardens.

It was, without question, one of the most glorious estates she had ever beheld. Yet it was not the house or even the beautiful lake that held her attention. Good heavens, there were animals everywhere. Several horses grazed contentedly upon the distant lawns, while others wandered beneath the shade of enormous trees. Dogs of every conceivable size and description roamed the grounds, some racing after one another with exuberant abandon, others sprawled upon the grass as though they had not a care in the world. Cordelia counted at least a dozen before abandoning the effort altogether.

And there were cats.