Free The Wedding Trap by Tracy Anne Warren

did not wish to attend, Eliza? For you are more than welcome, you know.”
    Eliza shook her head. “Thank you but I shall be quite content to remain here.” Relieved actually, if truth be told, since Lady Wightbridge would likely stare at her again then pepper her with a series of uncomfortable questions. “Besides, I have lessons.”
    Violet gave a conspiratorial grin. “Just so. When I return you must tell me all about your progress.”
    And so now, as the ormolu mantel clock chimed the hour, Eliza took a seat on Violet’s pale blue silk-covered sofa. Not long after, Kit strolled in, handsomely attired in a corbeau coat and fawn trousers that emphasized the width of his shoulders and length of his strong, masculine legs. His dark hair carried a rebellious hint of wave that no amount of trimming could control, an unruly lock already fallen across his forehead in a most tempting manner.
    “Good morning,” he greeted in a pleasant voice.
    She clasped her hands in her lap, her muscles tight, her back unnaturally stiff. “G-good morning, my lord.”
    “What’s that now? There’ll be no ‘my lords,’ remember? Just ‘Kit’ and ‘Eliza’ for the two of us, at least in private.”
    “Yes, of course.” She dropped her chin, feeling the rebuke.
What is the matter with me?
she chided herself.
Why am I so nervous? It is only Kit, after all.
    He took a seat next to her, settling back upon the cushions. “I told March to send along tea and biscuits. I thought we could use some refreshments to see things along.”
    She had eaten breakfast not so very long ago and wasn’t in the least bit hungry. But perhaps the distraction of drinking tea would allay a few of her qualms. Kit, of course, was like a ravenous young boy—always eager for a meal, a trait she found curiously endearing.
    A housemaid arrived a minute later, knocking before she entered. Setting the tray she carried onto the table in front of them, she quietly excused herself and exited the room.
    Eliza sat for a moment, staring at the tea. Manners required that she pour. Her hands shook as she reached for the pot.
    Kit stopped her. “Here now, put that down before you burn yourself. I’ll do it.”
    She withdrew to let him arrange the cups and fill them, the tea hot and strong. He added milk the way she liked and passed her the cup.
    “Don’t spill that or we’ll never get started,” he cautioned. “Here, have a piece of shortbread.”
    When she made a murmur of refusal, he ignored it and slid a sugar-coated wedge onto her saucer.
    He picked up another piece of pastry and popped it into his mouth, chewing as he lifted his own cup of tea. Helping himself to another treat, he leaned back against the cushions. “Why are you so nervous?”
    Her cup rattled. Carefully she set it aside. “I-I don’t know. I’m sorry.”
    “Don’t be sorry. First rule, whatever you do, act as if you meant to do it even if you’re sure you look like a fool.”
    “But—”
    “And no buts. They show hesitation and uncertainty. The Ton is like a pack of hounds. If they sense they’ve drawn blood, they’ll go straight for the kill.” He sipped his tea. “Tell me why you are anxious. You weren’t the other day when we talked.”
    She pulled in a deep breath then slowly let it out. “I don’t know. Anticipation, I suppose. I am simply no good at…well, at conversation. Sorry.” She winced. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to say sorry.”
    A small smile curved his mouth. “Drink your tea. It should be cool enough by now not to scald you should you spill it.”
    Kit watched her dutifully obey, taking up her cup with measured care before setting it to her lips. She drank, her throat working with an unconscious grace.
    Today was going to be worse than he feared, he mused. She was touchy as a cat left out in a thunderstorm. If she didn’t relax, they would never make the least bit of progress.
    What to do?
    “Why don’t we play a game,” he suggested.
    She frowned.