Page 40 of A Rogues & Gentlemen Christmas

“No. I was not happy to discover it was not me you intended for your trap, but Lord Stanthorpe. Not that I could blame you for that.”

Was that regret in his voice?

“Tommy is the best of fellows. Kind and funny and good-natured. Rich, too, and an earl, to boot. I don’t suppose that hurts,” he added bitterly.

Bunty gaped at him. Was he… jealous? No. That was utterly ridiculous.

“But I didn’t mean to trap Tommy,” she said in a rush, her heart thudding even though she refused to believe what she was hearing.

He narrowed his eyes and her breath caught at being the object of his scrutiny. “Miss Bunting, you told me so yourself.”

“No!” Bunty shook her head. “Oh, you’ve got it all wrong.”

He was silent for a moment as he navigated a busy stretch of road, but then Hyde Park stretched before them, quiet now on a chill winter’s day.

“Well then, Miss Bunting,” he said, once he could return his attention to her. “I wish you would explain it to me.”

“Please, call me Bunty. Everyone does.”

He nodded but said nothing, and Bunty explained just what had happened last night. She told him of the Ratched sisters’ plans, of how she had warned Tommy and then gone back to confront Sylvia.

He was silent throughout her explanation until he drew up in a copse of trees, a secluded spot ideal for an illicit rendezvous. Bunty shifted nervously in her seat.

“So, in fact, you were not in the market for a husband at all,” he said, and she could not read his expression, nor his tone of voice.

She gave him the benefit of an exasperated look. “My lord, I am five and twenty. I have been in the market for a husband these last seven years and have simply failed to catch one. I was not, however, so desperate as to stoop to trickery and subterfuge.”

He stared at her for a long moment, that blue gaze studying her so thoroughly she had to fight to hold it. At length, he sighed, and looked so dejected Bunty wanted to reach out and take his hand. She folded her own in her lap.

“So, you set no trap. You were acting honourably, saving a friend from disaster, and facing down his enemy for him. Tommy is lucky indeed to have you on his side. You are brave and bold, Miss Bunting.”

Bunty blushed, unused to hearing herself described in such a light. “Nonsense. Anyone would have done the same.”

He gave a little huff of amusement. “No. They would not, and that you could still believe that shows exactly the kind of person you are.”

“A fool, you mean,” she said tightly, quite used to her parents telling her she was too naïve, too willing to look for the good in people who would end up using her for their own ends.

“No!” he exclaimed, his dark brows pulling together. He shifted on the seat, turning towards her, which pressed his knee harder against hers. “Not that. Never a fool, Bunty.”

Bunty stared at him, unable to work this strange creature out. What did he want from her, this beautiful man who looked like a god, who was supposed to be wicked and wild? He was meant to be the worst kind of rake, and yet had such kindness in his eyes, and he was looking at her now like… like….

“Bunty,” he said, his voice low.

“Y-Yes?”

“I should like to kiss you.”

“Oh.”

Bunty’s heart gave an odd little kick in her chest and she felt an awful blush creep up her chest, up her neck, heating her face. Good lord, she must be scarlet by now. How dreadfully unattractive and gauche. He grinned at her and reached out, touching her cheek.

“Such a pretty colour,” he murmured. “I love that you blush so easily. I wish I could see where the colour begins.”

“My lord!” she exclaimed, wondering why she wasn’t cross with him for having said such a thing, but she was not. Shocked, yes, but not a bit cross.

“I’m sorry,” he said, the sheepish look he gave her quite adorable, even though wickedness still glinted in his eyes. “I know I ought not say such things, but I’ve never been good at dissembling, at saying the right thing, the polite thing. I’m not polite at all, but I suppose you know that.”

“Not in the least,” Bunty replied, wishing she did not sound so breathless, but his fingers were still caressing her cheek. She had the urgent desire to lean into his touch, like a cat. Good heavens. “As I said, you were always kind. Unlike many of your ilk.”