Someone Wanton His Way Comes by Caldwell Christi

Author:Caldwell, Christi
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Montlake
Published: 2021-04-19T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 14

He’d not really expected a cheerful welcome, given the ending of their last meeting.

But neither had he anticipated the absolute blank set to her features. In her eyes.

It was gone in a moment.

“Claytonnn?”

The slight emphasis there on his name, along with the extra syllable she’d managed to squeeze into it, indicated the lady’s surprise.

But not displeasure.

He’d take it.

“What are you doing here?” she blurted.

It was a fair question. And also one he’d expected. He’d spent the whole journey from White’s to Waverton Street trying to think how to play this very exchange. In the end, what he’d come up with were the next words he spoke. “Well, given your earlier invitation, I thought it should not be such a surprise, my being here.”

That was what he’d decided on. Pretending the outcome of their earlier meeting had been altogether different. After all, she’d been clear that, with his having rejected that membership, he would not be afforded the gift of joining, and as such, the only way to make that go away was to act as if it had never happened.

Endearing little creases of confusion puckered the place between her eyebrows. “But . . . you declined my offer.”

“Ohhhh, did I?”

“Yes,” she said with a slow nod.

He tapped his hand against the side of his leg. “I’m sure you might have misinterpreted what I said.” Sylvia’s eyes formed dangerous little slits, and Clayton quickly coughed into his fist. “That is to say, I was likely unclear and no doubt the cause of any misinterpretation.”

She smiled wryly. “‘Please, let me begin by saying I am both grateful and deeply honored by your invitation . . . But I must decline.’ I should say that seems fairly clear.”

Mrs. Flyaway snorted back a laugh, and Clayton felt his face go warm.

Sylvia showed him more mercy than he deserved. “Mrs. Flyaway, would you see a tray of refreshments readied?”

The housekeeper started to go.

“Refreshments really aren’t necessary.”

The old woman stopped in her tracks.

“Refreshments, please,” Sylvia repeated.

“Yes, my lady.” The housekeeper dropped a curtsy and bustled off.

“Do you know how long it takes to prepare tea and a tray of biscuits, Clayton?” Sylvia asked the moment they had the room to themselves.

“Uh . . .”

“Between the time it takes to make a walk to the kitchens and provide the instructions, it’s no less than twenty-two minutes in this household. Do you know what that allows? Hmm?” She pushed the panel shut and leaned a shoulder against the lacquered door.

Clayton scratched at his hair. “I . . . do not.” He wasn’t really sure about much anymore.

“Twenty-two minutes where we might speak alone.”

“Ah, of course. I did not think . . .” A rogue would’ve known. A gentleman adept at seduction and clandestine meetings would know how to steal those private interludes. All his friends would’ve known as much.

Pushing away from the door, Sylvia drifted closer, stopping before him. Her fingers found purchase along the sleeve of his forearm, and he couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t move. Or think.

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