Ralston took in her words, allowing a silence to fall around them. In the long moments of quiet, Callie looked anywhere but at him, and he took note of her nervousness. It wasn’t long before his surprise and confusion turned to intrigue, and he assumed a less threatening pose, casually leaning against the wall by the door. “I am not so certain of that, my lady. Contrary to what you may believe, I do not so easily forget women who visit me in my bedchamber.” Heat flared high on her cheeks again as he continued, “What brings Lady Calpurnia Hartwell to my doorstep in the middle of the night? Frankly, you do not seem the type.”
Callie scrambled for a response. “I was…nearby.”
“In the middle of the night.”
“Yes. I found myself…outside…and…in need of transport home.”
“Outside of my home.” The words were dry with his obvious disbelief.
“Indeed.” Perhaps if she held her own, he would not press her for further explanation.
“How did you come to be outside my home in need of transport?” The sound of his casual curiosity set her on edge.
“I would prefer not to discuss it,” she said, averting her eyes and willing him to leave that particular subject alone. Silence descended and, for a brief moment, she thought he was satisfied by her evasive response.
She was wrong.
He crossed his arms arrogantly as he let amused disbelief seep into his words. “And so, you naturally decided that knocking on my door was a safer course of action than hailing the nearest hackney.”
In for a shilling, in for a pound. “Indeed, my lord. You are a peer of the realm, after all.”
He snorted. She snapped an indignant gaze to meet his mocking one, and blurted out, “You do not believe me?”
“Not a word of it.” He leveled her with a piercing, blue look. “Why not tell me the truth this time?”
She dropped her eyes to the floor once more, desperate for another fib to tell, something, anything that would get her out of this situation.
He seemed to read her mind. “Lady Calpurnia.”
“I’d rather you call me Callie,” she said hurriedly.
“You don’t like Calpurnia?” The words were lazily curious.
She shook her head, refusing to meet his eyes.
“Callie…” He coaxed, the words spoken in a deep, liquid tone that she was certain he used whenever he wanted something from a woman. She would not be surprised to discover that it always worked. “Why are you here?”
And then, whether from courage or cowardice or too much sherry she would never know, she decided to answer him. After all, the evening couldn’t possibly become any worse.
In a whisper, she announced, “I came to ask you to kiss me.”
It wasn’t the answer he’d been expecting. He was surprised by the timid words, barely audible in the silent room. For a moment, he thought he had misheard her, but the crimson flush that raged across her face was enough to convince him that, yes, he had just received an entirely indecent proposition from Lady Calpurnia Hartwell.
The evening had begun innocuously. Having refused all invitations, Ralston had dined with his siblings, still fresh from the discovery of Juliana, then retired to his chamber, hoping that the privacy of his sanctuary and his piano would offer welcome distraction. Eventually, it had worked, and he had lost himself in his music.
Until the knock at the door, announcing Lady Calpurnia’s arrival. He gave her a frank perusal. She was not unattractive—slightly plump and a touch plain, but he imagined that was more a result of her simple black cloak than anything else. She had full lips and flawless skin and wide, lovely eyes that flashed with emotion. He wondered at their color briefly before he forced himself to return to the matter at hand.
This was obviously the first time she’d ever done something so forward—so adventurous; if he hadn’t already been aware of her pristine reputation, he would have sensed it from her obvious discomfort. Little Calpurnia Hartwell, whom he knew only tangentially from her years of blending into the edges of balls and drawing rooms, was a wallflower of the first water.
Of course, she wasn’t much of a wallflower this evening.
He watched her calmly, years of practice hiding his thoughts. She refused to meet his eyes, instead focusing her gaze on her tightly clasped hands while darting quick glances at the door as if to measure the potential success of an attempt to flee the room. He couldn’t help the burst of sympathy he felt for her, this little mouse who had obviously found herself in a situation far beyond her experience.
He could be a gentleman about the whole thing—take pity on her, provide her an exit, and offer to forget that this evening had ever happened. But he sensed that, despite her obvious nervousness, there was a part of her that wanted to play this out. He wondered how far she would go.
“Why?”
Her eyes went wide at the question, meeting his for the briefest of moments before she looked away again. “My—my lord?” she stammered.
“Why such a request? Not that I am not flattered, of course, but you’ll admit it’s rather odd.”
“I—I don’t know.”
He shook his head slowly, a predator on the hunt. “That, my darling, is the wrong answer.”
“You shouldn’t call me that. It is too familiar.”
One side of his mouth lifted in a hint of a smile. “You are in my bedchamber asking me to kiss you. I should think we are rather past the bounds of propriety. Now, I ask again, why?”
She closed her eyes against a wave of embarrassment. For a moment, he thought she wouldn’t reply. And then her shoulders rose and fell on a deep breath, and she said, “I’ve never been kissed. I thought it was time.”