But she had not found it in Jack Alden. She had seen flashes of approval from him, to be sure, and flares of something altogether darker, more dangerous and intriguing. But there had also been wariness and reserve and something that might be suspicion. And it was driving her mad.
The why of it eluded her. Perhaps because she had spoken truly last night—they were alike in some deeply elemental way. They both stood slightly apart from the rest of the world. The difference between them was that he seemed perfectly content with his situation. But her reaction made not a whit of sense. She both wished to achieve such serenity and, for some reason, wished whole-heartedly to shake him from his.
She sighed. She very much feared that it was for an altogether more common reason that she found herself fixating on him. He had been on the verge of kissing her last night. She’d guessed his intent and her heart had soared, her pulse had ratcheted and she had waited, breathless, for the touch of his mouth on hers. When they had been interrupted she had been frightened, and wildly disappointed.
Later, though, in the privacy of her own room, she had been appalled at her own behaviour and angry at his. Was he so far removed from the world that kissing a young woman in a public venue meant nothing? But, no, then she had remembered how brilliantly—and smoothly—he had covered their almost-transgression. And when she thought further on it, she realised that in actuality she had goaded him into it. He wore his cynicism and reserve like a protective shell and she had not been able to curb her desire to pierce it. She knew she should have shown more restraint, but she’d been left vulnerable by Mrs Bartleigh’s news. When he’d shown a bit of his own vulnerability she had overreacted. She’d taken the conversation to too intimate a level, pushed too far, got too close.
And he’d pushed back, struck out with his heated gaze and warm, wandering hands. Even now she couldn’t help wishing she had discovered a few more of the weapons in his sensual arsenal.
‘Good morning, cousin!’ a voice rang out.
Lily started nearly out of her chair, an instant flush rising. She turned to find Miss Dawson advancing across the room towards her.
‘Oh, goodness! Good morning, Minerva.’ She took up her still-blank sheet of paper and began to fan herself with it. ‘You look lovely today!’
Minerva Dawson laughed, her eyebrow cocked as she clasped Lily’s hand in her own. ‘As do you, my dear. Something has put a beautiful hue to your cheeks. Do tell!’
‘Oh, no, I am merely writing a note for my land steward.’
‘So I see,’ her friend said, glancing at the empty sheets in her hand and in front of her. ‘Well, are you ready to shop? Mother gave me firm instructions. I am to find the perfect pair of gloves to wear to my engagement ball—elbow length and ivory. Not white, not ecru, but ivory.’
‘I shall be ready to go in just a moment—if you would wait while I finish?’
Minerva rolled her eyes. ‘Oh, if I must.’
Lily laughed. ‘You know, Minerva, that I am thrilled that you found a familial connection between us, even if it is a distant relationship through marriage and largely born of your imagination—’ she grinned to take the sting from her words ‘—but I do not think everyone in your family is as well pleased with such a link.’ She gestured for her friend to sit and joined her in the comfortable grouping of chairs near the window. ‘In fact, I think your aunt disapproves of me.’
‘Oh, yes, she does,’ Minerva returned cheerily. ‘But Aunt Lucinda disapproves of nearly everyone without a title—including her husband.’
‘Well, that does make me feel a little more sympathetic towards your uncle.’
‘Don’t let it,’ her friend said flatly. She began to remove her gloves in a brisk manner. Leaning towards Lily, she lowered her voice. ‘The man gives me chills. I don’t care if he is my uncle.’
‘I know just what you mean.’ Lily shuddered.
‘Well, you don’t have to worry about them. I told dear Aunt Lucinda all about your vast lands in Dorset and the vaster amount of money you stand to inherit and that went a long way towards reconciling her to our friendship.’
‘You are incorrigible.’ Lily laughed.
‘It is true.’ Minerva sighed. ‘But a little incorrigibility makes life ever so much more fun!’ She waggled a stern finger in Lily’s direction. ‘And happily, there’s a bit of it in you, too. Now don’t try to bam me—you were mooning over some young man when I came in. Which one? That Mr Brookins, who waxed eloquent over your skills on the pianoforte?’
‘No.’ Lily abruptly decided to tell the truth. ‘Actually, I was trying to decipher Mr Alden’s puzzling behaviour.’
Minerva stilled. Much of the light faded from her smiling face. ‘Oh? Do your thoughts lean in that direction, then?’
‘No,’ Lily said with a grimace. ‘In fact, they travel in another direction entirely. I’m afraid Mr Alden does not like me much, and I was merely trying to work out why that is.’
‘Hmm.’ Her ‘cousin’ examined her closely. ‘Lily, I am a very observant person, have I told you that?’
‘Not that I’ve observed.’ Lily smiled to defuse the serious tone Minerva had adopted.
‘Ha. Well, I observed something interesting last night.’
‘A sudden gust of wind?’ asked Lily facetiously.
‘No.’ Her friend’s brow furrowed. ‘Whatever do you mean?’
‘Nothing. Is this a game? Let me guess again. You observed … the immense number of prawns devoured by the bishop during the intermission?’
‘Well, I did notice that. Shocking, wasn’t it? I’d wager that he’s not feeling quite the thing today.’ The stern finger appeared again. ‘But that was not what I meant. I observed Mr Alden and he was watching you very closely last night.’
‘Probably because we quarrelled and I got the best of him,’ Lily said sourly.
Minerva drew back, surprised. ‘You bested him in an argument? Well, I dare say that was a first for him. No wonder he looked so torn.’
‘Torn?’
‘Definitely torn. I swear, he alternately looked as he meant to devour you, or perhaps to bash you over the head.’
‘No doubt he would prefer the latter.’ She sighed, then got to her feet and wandered over to gaze out of the window.
Minerva pursed her lips. She sat back, levelling a stare in Lily’s direction and drumming her fingers on the arm of her chair. ‘Lily,’ she began at last, ‘you know that I only want what is best for you.’
Lily had to suppress an ironic chuckle. Minerva could have no notion how many times she’d heard that particular phrase in her life.
‘Jack Alden is a very handsome man, in an intense and yet disarmingly rumpled way.’
‘I know,’ agreed Lily. ‘Don’t you have to stop yourself from straightening his cravat and smoothing out the line of his coat every time you meet him?’
Her friend stared at her. ‘Well, no. But it is rather speaking that you do, my dear.’ A gentle smile belied the slight crease in her brow. ‘Just be careful,’ she pleaded, her tone low and serious. ‘Some men are amenable to having their neckcloths straightened and some are in no way ready to contemplate such a thing.’
‘I understand what you are saying, Minerva,