Most Eagerly Yours by Allison Chase Page A

himself bracing for the latter and wishing with all his heart for the former.
    Oh, he was not so foolish as to believe in love at first sight, or even, in this circumstance, at second sight, but in the last few minutes he’d found himself tumbling head over heels at her smile, at how one corner of her pretty mouth slanted higher than the other, how her eyes became exotic crescents, and how a single dimple in her right cheek flashed and disappeared, making it a game for him to coax its appearance.
    Yet in the end she neither smiled nor struck him, and the lack of either left him unaccountably disappointed. Her gaze veered over his shoulder and her expression changed, became set and determined. She lifted her hems clear of the paving stones.
    “I am here tonight in the company of the Countess of Fairmont,” she announced as if the words served as armor against him.
    “Splendid. I know the lady well.”
    Her green eyes sparked with alarm, but she replied with composure, “Then please do excuse me, for I see her ladyship inside. One can only suppose she has these many minutes been searching for me.”
    He allowed her to circle him. Before she stepped through the doorway, she paused, turning to speak over her shoulder. “Thank you for the champagne.” Her steely resolve had softened. “And for the dance. Both were most considerate of you.”
    He was glad she thought so, even if his motivation stemmed more from self-interest than kindness. The same incentive prompted him to ask, “May I be so impertinent as to ask something in return for my consideration?”
    She bristled in a way he found delightful. “That depends upon what you would ask of me, sir.”
    “A trifle, merely. Your name. Mine is Aidan. Will you tell me yours?”
    “Oh . . .” The request clearly took her aback. She hovered with one toe pointed toward the doorway as if she might at any moment cut a hasty retreat. One hand absently reached up, fingertips tracing a sheer gold chain that disappeared into her décolleté. His eyes were drawn to the mystery of that chain as he wondered what dangled at the end, lying warm and hidden between her lush breasts.
    Realizing the recklessness of such thoughts, he instantly lifted his gaze back to her face. She seemed not to have noticed his lapse. Her lips parted, the tip of her tongue darting out to leave a trace of moisture at the corner of her mouth, another enticement he forced himself to ignore. “Laurel,” she whispered, then turned and left him.

Chapter 6
    “ L aurel.” Aidan smiled, liking the sound of the name.
    He watched her until the crowd inside enveloped the last sweep of her amber skirts.
    He liked, too, that he had met Beatrice’s challenge. Yet he should have upped the wager by raising the stakes.
    He should have kissed the widow, as he had kissed her that day on William Street. After all, hadn’t he rendered her a service tonight just as he had done then?
    But no, he could see from their brief encounter that, despite having been married, she was too genteel for that sort of dalliance, that she was not a woman who allowed clandestine kisses on darkened terraces. Or on crowded London streets. He could only imagine the fury his impulsive gesture had generated, because he had not lingered long enough to witness her reaction.
    No, unless he missed his guess, Laurel Sanderson was a woman who needed gradual and gentle coaxing to . . .
    He stopped himself. As Beatrice had obligingly noted, being a widow made Laurel Sanderson all too available, and he did not pursue available women—ever. His work for the Home Office was too important. More to the point, it was often dangerous—too dangerous for him to consider taking a wife.
    Besides, he liked his life the way it was. He had purpose, goals. That hadn’t always been the case. There had been empty, aimless years following his parents’ deaths when he’d stumbled through a haze of alcohol and the occasional opium binge, trying to forget the explosion