Free Some Like It Wicked (Hellion's Den) by Alexandra Ivy Page B

matter?”
    She gave a grimace, her gaze covertly shifting toward the gawking crowd across the room.
    “Everyone is staring at us.”
    His brows lifted. “Surely that is what you desired?”
    “Yes, of course. It is just . . .”
    “What?”
    She gave a restless shrug. “I suppose I have been relegated to dark corners for so long that I find it unnerving to be the subject of such unwavering interest.”
    “You will soon become accustomed,” he assured her, regaining command of her hand so that he could lay it firmly upon his arm. “Shall we take a turn about the room?”
    There was a momentary pause before she was sucking in a deep breath. “Very well.”
    In silence they moved from the shadows and strolled at the fringe of the room. Even Hellion was aware of the shocked gazes that followed their movements and the sudden twitter of disbelief that fluttered through the air. His attention, however, remained firmly upon the stiffly held form at his side.
    “Miss Middleton,” he murmured softly.
    With obvious reluctance she lifted her gaze to meet his own. “Yes?”
    “We are not marching into battle. A stroll should be a slow, elegant affair, not a mad dash.”
    “Oh.” She awkwardly slowed her headlong rush. “Sorry.”
    “And I do wish you would smile,” he continued, lowering his head so that he could speak directly into her ear. “My attentions are supposed to bring you delight. At the moment the guests could be forgiven for believing that I have given you a sour stomach.”
    She gave his arm a sharp pinch. “There is no need to be rude.”
    He abruptly covered her hand with his own, giving her fingers a retaliatory squeeze. The shrew would have him black and blue if he were not careful.
    “Smile, Miss Middleton,” he commanded.
    Pulling back she offered him a wide, patently false smile. “There. Are you satisfied?”
    “Now you appear foxed. Or daft.”
    “Why you . . .” The eyes more gray than blue at the moment flashed with a dangerous fire before she unexpectedly gave a reluctant chuckle. “Mr. Caulfield, you really are the most aggravating of gentlemen.”
    “The most?” He offered her a teasing smile. “Well, I suppose I should take pride in excelling at something.” He paused, considering how best to ease her lingering nervousness. “Tell me of this parcel of land you desire.”
    She regarded him in startled surprise. “You cannot be interested?”
    He shrugged, wondering if he should be offended by her obvious belief he had no interest beyond the frivolous. Of course, she would not be far wrong, he ruefully concluded. Thus far he had done precious little to improve his mind, or his fortunes.
    “We must talk of something,” he retorted, his eyes abruptly darkening. “Unless you would rather that I gaze at you in silence like a moonstruck looby?”
    She gave a predictable shudder. “Good heavens, no.”
    “Then tell me.”
    “Very well. I am considering constructing a posting inn.”
    He gave a choked noise. “You?”
    Her smile was wry at his obvious dismay. “Well, I do not intend to cut the stones or lay the planking myself. I only intend to provide the financing.”
    Alertly steering past the clutch of matrons regarding them with near trembling curiosity, Hellion forced himself to shove aside his natural prejudices. This woman had already proven that she was well out of the usual mold.
    “Do you know anything of owning a posting inn?”
    “I have done a great deal of research, but more importantly I have hired those who have actual experience.” Her expression became reminiscent. “My father taught me to pay for the best and then to stay out of their way so that they can do their job properly.”
    Hellion discovered himself intrigued despite himself. He had always considered the business of trade rather sordid and fit only for those who possessed few ethics. He was a gentleman, after all.
    But the sheer passion that Miss Middleton devoted to her work was irresistible.