A Stark Mismatch

II. Leather Shoes and Wooden Soles

GERARD STARK did not expect to find another soul in that part of the garden, but he did.

He was not certain if he was more surprised than she was because while her eyes widened at the sight of him, she also almost immediately ignored his presence, shamelessly walking past him.

He let out a silent scoff of amusement as he turned, pulled his hands from his pockets, and followed her and the invisible Lady Margaret and her friends.

Hands clasped behind him, his lips twitched into a small smile when she threw him another glance that invited him to move along and disappear.

And so he took hurried, silent steps and squeezed between her and the hedge to their right.

Her eyes followed his movement, her face perfectly impassive.

He offered a small bow of his head as he fell into pace with her and the voices on the other side. The woman's jaw tightened. She did not expect that move, he thought.

"The sister? Why will she be a concern?" asked one of Lady Margaret's friends.

"Come closer. I will tell you what my niece shared with us..."

The lady beside him increased her pace to overtake him and position herself back beside the hedge. Gerard bit his lips, took three long strides, and settled to her left.

He hung his head back in a relaxed fashion, arms behind him, ears focused on the conversation, and eyes slanted to the side to steal his mysterious walking companion a glance.

Any woman who had any sense of propriety would either silently express their horror or scurry away the moment he boldly walked beside her, but this woman was doing none of those. Here he was, a stranger, walking alone with her in a dark garden, and yet she was in no way showing signs of interest. In fact, she seemed to have completely decided that his presence was insignificant enough to threaten her reputation, which made him wonder if she had one to keep at all.

Surely, she did, he quietly thought.

She was in a deep green gown that was in the latest fashion, albeit simple and far less expensive. Her black hair, although not as intricately done like most women inside the ball, was neatly gathered and wrapped in a chignon, leaving him to wonder how long it was or how it would feel between his fingers. Locks of her black hair fell over her forehead in a straight fringe, teasing her eyebrows. Her nose was small and straight. The only telling sign that she was not pleased with his company was her heart-shaped lips that she held tightly closed.

He did not shy away when she turned her head to look at him, while Lady Margaret's friend chanted the many flaws of the sister of the two Worthington men. He may not have seen her brows entirely, but Gerard was certain one was arched as her sea-green eyes locked with his. He could not read the expression on her face, or what her splendid eyes were trying to convey, because for a few seconds, he was entranced. Her lashes were thick, lining her almond-shaped lids. He allowed room for disappointment given that the moon was the only lighting at the moment, but he could somehow tell this woman's face and eyes had more to offer in daylight.

"But she is titled. I am certain that despite your niece's experience, the young Lady Worthington—her mother was the Lady Hartmour, yes? The one who was in that accident?"

"Yes."

Gerard smiled at his companion and she stiffly turned away.

"Well, as I was saying, the young Lady Worthington must have tremendous connections. Should your daughter marry into the Worthingtons, your husband, dear Lady Margaret, may just have a chance in the House of Lords."