Compromising Miss Tisdale by Jessica Jefferson

of his lips.
    “One out of four? Possibly the only useful thing I’ve ever learned from Ambrosia is that those are terrible odds.”
    Ambrosia waited with bated breath, hoping he hadn’t quite picked up on the implications of her sister’s last remark. Her penchant for gambling would hardly make for suitable discussion over tea.
    “Then that explains it,” he declared, oblivious to Ambrosia’s anxiety.
    “Explains what?” both girls parroted in unison.
    He leaned forward, bringing his hands together under his chin. He looked up at Ambrosia through thick, sooty lashes.
    “It explains why someone as beautiful as you, Miss Tisdale, could remain unattached. It could only be by your own volition.”
    Ambrosia felt her cheeks grow warm. Men had paid her compliments before, almost verbatim to that of the Earl’s statement. But not once had empty sentiments ever evoked such a physical response from her. Her heart skipped wildly about her chest and her cheeks became ablaze as if she were sitting a bit too close to the fire.
    Tamsin balked in what had to have been the least ladylike display ever exhibited by a Tisdale. “Flattery will get you nowhere with my sister, Lord Bristol. You obviously do not know her very well.”
    “This isn’t the first time I’ve heard that very remark.” He let his eyes linger upon Ambrosia far longer than appropriate before finally tearing them away. “It would seem that I need to actually heed the advice I keep receiving and perhaps become better acquainted with your sister.”
    “Well,” Tamsin stood up, “I can help with that. You see, my sister is the constant mother hen and I doubt you’ll receive any attention while I sit in such close vicinity.”
    “Don’t be ridiculous,” Ambrosia’s icy tone was more of a warning than rhetoric. “You are most certainly not leaving us alone?”
    Tamsin smiled cheekily. “I assure you I am not being ridiculous. Rather, I am being quite strategic. Now, if you’ll please excuse me.”
    Ambrosia was entirely unnerved at the prospect of being left alone with the Earl. If she had thought him handsome in black finery, he was at least tenfold that, dressed in his navy coat. Despite his dark coloring, he took on an almost angelic appearance with his brass buttons reflecting the light that generously poured in from the room’s large windows. He wore a crisp white neck cloth that contrasted starkly with his skin’s bronze color, drawing even more attention to that which made him so different from the other men whom she found herself surrounded by.
    The only thing keeping her from panic was the maid in the corner keeping a constant vigil to maintain propriety.
    “You there.” Tamsin nodded toward the maid. “I’ll give you a half guinea if you leave your post and come with me.”
    The maid’s eyes widened to the size of saucers, then more quickly than she had no doubt ever moved in her life, was at her feet following Tamsin out the door.
    And then she was alone.
    With him.
    She was alone with him .
    Which meant she wasn’t alone at all and there in lied the problem. She should have immediately stood up and followed Tamsin straight out of the parlor.
    Should have.
    But again, her defector feet refused to move. It was most difficult to do what was right when her own body seemed to conspire against her at every turn.
    The man had nerve.
    He had been ever so bold as to show up at her home, uninvited.
    On a Tuesday.
    Men like the Earl did not bend to society’s rules, but rather bent the rules of society to better suit themselves. It was a paradox that she found impossible to comprehend, yet fascinated her none the less.
    Duncan remained in his chair across from hers, and for that space between them she was thankful.
    “So, why is it that you do not wish to be married?” he asked, his lips slightly upturned at one corner.
    “Of course I wish to be married. Whatever gave you the idea that I did not?”
    He shrugged and sat back in the chair,