Eliza cringed. This only grew worse. He wasn’t just a male person. He was a tall, good-looking, virile man.
Had he been asleep on the sofa all this time? How could she and Georgie have failed to notice? His very presence changed the temperature of the room.
“Sir, I beg your—”
He held up a hand, demanding silence.
He circled the room in heavy steps, sending sharp glances into every corner and tilting his head to look under tables and chairs. When he passed near Eliza, the masculine aromas of bergamot and leather wafted from his clothing. Common scents, but he made them exotic and dangerous. She inhaled deeply.
“I heard the strangest sound,” he said. “Some sort of ferocious, primal growl. My every hair stood on end. I felt certain someone had caged a tiger in the room. But now I see it’s so much worse.” He swung to face her. “A tigress.”
Eliza wanted to shrivel up into something that could be swept under the rug and forgotten for years. He hadn’t been asleep. He’d been listening to her entire conversation with Georgie. He’d heard her go on about bosoms, and then he’d witnessed her display of the most childish behavior possible.
Growling, truly.
And now that she braved a proper look at the man, his untamed dark hair, untidy cravat, and roguish smirk began to coalesce into a reputation she could recognize—and name. This could only be Sir Roland’s neighbor’s friend. The nasty one who came along uninvited, much to Margaret’s chagrin.
She was alone with the scandalous, dissolute, no-good—
“Mr. Wright,” she whispered.
He inclined his head most civilly. “In the flesh.”
The way he said that word, “flesh,” pushing it into the air with a cavalier flick of the tongue…it made Eliza’s skin prickle.
There was a dangerous beast in this room. And it wasn’t her.
Mr. J. Harrison Wright and his colorful misdeeds were the stuff of all the scandal sheets and the talk of every drawing room. He was heir to the elderly Duke of Shiffield, to the Duke of Shiffield’s quite public despair. There were the usual tales of drinking, gambling, wenching, and general dissolution. And then there were the true scandals—the staggering debts of honor gone unpaid, his expulsion from a famed gentleman’s club, and whispered tales Eliza could never quite manage to hear.
The one constant in all these stories?
Mr. Wright was a scoundrel. For any young lady, simply being in a room alone with him would mean teetering on the verge of ruination. For Eliza, it could mean the end of everything.
She darted across the room, heading for the connecting door that led into the corridor. From there, two sharp turns would have her dashing safely upstairs.
She fumbled for the door latch and wrenched it open.
A strong masculine hand covered hers, pushing the door closed.
“You don’t want to leave,” he said calmly. “Not yet.”
Eliza stared up at him, horrified. “I assure you, I do.”
He leaned one shoulder against the door, effectively bolting it in place. “A word to the wise, my dear. I wouldn’t set my hopes on Peter Everhart. Word around the clubs is, he hasn’t been the same man since his wounds at Trafalgar. Not much of a man at all, if you catch my meaning.”
“I shouldn’t catch a sack of gold, if you were the man who tossed it.”
He chuckled.
She laid a hand to her belly, feeling sick. Peter Everhart, unmanned at Trafalgar? It couldn’t be true. So young, and so handsome.
She wanted to go up to her room and cry. “Please, sir. Let me pass.”
He nodded toward the double doors Georgie had used. “Why don’t you go the other way?”
“I can’t. Those doors open onto the ballroom, and I…I’m not permitted in the ballroom.” She burned with the humiliation of admitting it. “I’m not yet out.”
His eyebrows soared. “Ah. So you’re the mysteriously missing Miss Cade. From the way they keep you hidden from sight, I assumed you must have a harelip.”
“Nothing of the sort. I should be out. I’m certainly old enough. I have accompl—”
“Accomplishments and bosoms and everything.” His bold gaze drifted down her gown—a simple, modest column of eggshell satin. “Yes, I heard.”
Her cheeks blazed. “Kindly stop looking at me that way.”
“You wanted them noticed.”
“Not by you, sir.”
He gave her a slow, knowing smile. “Oh, you want to be noticed by everyone. I’ve known girls like you. Uncommonly pretty, and much too aware of it. That’s the true reason they’re locking you away, isn’t it? You would flutter and flirt, steal all the attention from your sisters.”
Pretty? Uncommonly so? Eliza wasn’t aware of any such thing. Everyone knew Philippa was the beauty of the family.
She ducked her head, hoping to conceal her blush.
“I assure you,” she managed. “That’s not it at all. The reason I’m not out is because…”