He'd promised she would be "safe," which she now realized left a great deal of room for personal interpretation. "If I'm going to remain," she said uneasily, "I think we ought to agree to observe all the proprieties and conventions."
"Such as?"
"Well, for a beginning, you really shouldn't be calling me by my given name."
"Considering the kiss we exchanged in the arbor last night, it seems a little absurd to call you Miss Cameron."
It was the time to tell him she was Lady Cameron, but Elizabeth was too unstrung by his reference to those unforgettable-and wholly forbidden-moments in his arms to bother with that. "That isn't the point," she said firmly. "The point is that although last night did happen, it must not influence our behavior today. Today we ought-ought to be as correct in our behavior," she continued, a little desperately and illogically, "to atone for what happened last night!"
"Is how it's done?" he asked, his eyes beginning to glint with amusement. "Somehow I didn't quite imagine you allowed convention to dictate your every move."
To a gambler without ties or responsibility, the rules of social etiquette and convention must be tiresome in the extreme, and Elizabeth realized it was imperative to convince him he yield to her viewpoint. "Oh, but I am," she prevaricated. "The Camerons are the most conventional people in the world! As you know from last night, I believe in death before dishonor. We also believe in God and country, motherhood and the king, and…and all the proprieties. We're quite intolerably boring on the subject, actually."
"I see," he said, his lips twitching. "Tell me something," he asked mildly, "why would such a conventional person as yourself have crossed swords with a roomful of men last night in order to protect a stranger's reputation?"
"Oh, that," Elizabeth said. "That was just-well, my notion of justice. Besides," she said, her ire coming to the fore as she recalled the scene in the card room last night, "it made me excessively angry when I realized that the only reason none of them would try to dissuade Lord Everly from shooting you was because were not their social equal, while Everly is."
"Social equality?" he teased with a lazy, devastating smile. "What an unusual notion to spring from such a conventional person as yourself."
Elizabeth was trapped, and she knew it. "The truth is," she said shakily, "that I am scared to death of being here."
"I know you are," he said, sobering, "but I am the last person in the world you'll ever have to fear."
"Such as?"
"Well, for a beginning, you really shouldn't be calling me by my given name."
"Considering the kiss we exchanged in the arbor last night, it seems a little absurd to call you Miss Cameron."
It was the time to tell him she was Lady Cameron, but Elizabeth was too unstrung by his reference to those unforgettable-and wholly forbidden-moments in his arms to bother with that. "That isn't the point," she said firmly. "The point is that although last night did happen, it must not influence our behavior today. Today we ought-ought to be as correct in our behavior," she continued, a little desperately and illogically, "to atone for what happened last night!"
"Is how it's done?" he asked, his eyes beginning to glint with amusement. "Somehow I didn't quite imagine you allowed convention to dictate your every move."
To a gambler without ties or responsibility, the rules of social etiquette and convention must be tiresome in the extreme, and Elizabeth realized it was imperative to convince him he yield to her viewpoint. "Oh, but I am," she prevaricated. "The Camerons are the most conventional people in the world! As you know from last night, I believe in death before dishonor. We also believe in God and country, motherhood and the king, and…and all the proprieties. We're quite intolerably boring on the subject, actually."
"I see," he said, his lips twitching. "Tell me something," he asked mildly, "why would such a conventional person as yourself have crossed swords with a roomful of men last night in order to protect a stranger's reputation?"
"Oh, that," Elizabeth said. "That was just-well, my notion of justice. Besides," she said, her ire coming to the fore as she recalled the scene in the card room last night, "it made me excessively angry when I realized that the only reason none of them would try to dissuade Lord Everly from shooting you was because were not their social equal, while Everly is."
"Social equality?" he teased with a lazy, devastating smile. "What an unusual notion to spring from such a conventional person as yourself."
Elizabeth was trapped, and she knew it. "The truth is," she said shakily, "that I am scared to death of being here."
"I know you are," he said, sobering, "but I am the last person in the world you'll ever have to fear."
( Judith McNaught )
[ Almost Heaven ]
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