Definitely Not Mr. Darcy

He started to trace. “Consequently, you’l simply have to listen. I must say, Mrs. Crescent is quite the taskmaster.”

Chloe’s eyes, not her head, turned toward Mrs. Crescent, who merely turned another page in her book and continued to pet Fifi.

“Ah, there, she can’t hear me, so I can say what I came here to say.”

Chloe couldn’t imagine what that would be.

“You must know, Miss Parker, that I know significantly more about you than you know about me, and this puts me at a great advantage. I can confidently say we are ideal y matched. Not only was I privy to your audition video, but to al the transcripts of your interviews with our producers.”

He paused for a moment. “Certain strands of your hair simply refuse to be pinned in, and I find that infinitely charming and entirely indicative of your character.”

Chloe didn’t know how much longer she could remain silent. Her lips parted and her eyelashes fluttered.

“I also had the opportunity, since I knew your ful name and the city you live in, to look you up on the Internet.”

She gulped. This was exactly the kind of cyberstalking Emma would do. So much for a slow-build Regency courtship. He had TMI while she had

—nothing.

“That’s the advantage of the era we live in, that with just a few clicks we can learn so much.”

That was exactly what she couldn’t stand. A day after you’ve met someone, via Twitter or Facebook, you know what they ate for dinner last night.

Where was the mystery? The romance? The courtship?

He paused again and stood back from the tracing, within her line of sight. He studied the shadow on the wal , not her, so her eyes were free to wander down from his broad shoulders in his tightly tailored cutaway coat, past his cravat, down the last two undone buttons on his waistcoat, to his suggestive white breeches tucked into boots with the tops folded over.

“Yes, I think I wil continue past your slender neck and trace your bust, even though I am risking Mrs. Crescent’s disapproval.”

Chloe did her best to breathe slowly.

“Wel , as it turns out, we have much in common, Miss Parker, perhaps most markedly in our charitable ventures and choice of entertainment.

Architectural preservation events, the opera, theater, gal ery openings, museum galas, gourmet restaurants, I see us together, you on my arm, perhaps even as my wife, in my London town house. Or my lodgings in Bath. Or here in Derbyshire, or al of the above.”

Chloe did everything she could to keep her mouth from going ga-ga. She couldn’t even imagine that kind of life.

“There.” He stood back, hands on his hips, and stared at his work. “Not as good as the original, but—”

He could be a little too charming. “Real y, Mr. Wrightman!”

He took the piece of paper down, picked up the scissors, pul ed a Chippendale chair up across from her, and sat down, just looking at her. “But true, al of it true.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Might I have a lock of your hair?” He held the scissors in his palm.

Was he for real?

“Go ahead,” she said.

She offered some split ends to him, and, most seductively, he smoothed her hair, and slowly snipped about two inches off.

It was amazing how intimate an act it was, especial y as he had to pocket it before Mrs. Crescent came over, rubbing her bel y.

“A very good likeness, Mr. Wrightman, though I do find it a bit shocking just how low you’ve chosen to go. I daresay this needs trimming.”

He rol ed up the paper. “Not to worry, Mrs. Crescent. I shal trim it and lampblack it at home.” He bowed. “I must let you both rest for the big day tomorrow. Until then!”

Chloe curtsied, and he left.

“Did he take a lock of your hair?” Mrs. Crescent asked.

Chloe didn’t think she should say yes.

“You don’t need to answer, I can see in your face that he has. Very clever of him to come under the pretense of a silhouette, with shears. It’s a good sign, a very good sign!”

S unday, the day of the mock foxhunt arrived, and everyone was excited except Chloe, whose sidesaddle riding wasn’t exactly show quality yet.

Instead, she focused on the footman at the stable, with his blond hair tied back in a short ponytail and his taut calves that practical y popped out of his tights. He took her tiny hand in his strong, white gloved one and helped her mount the horse for the hunt. She locked her legs into the stirrups and gripped the reins. Just a week ago, the prospect of an attractive footman would’ve enchanted her, but now more than ever, she wanted to win the fifteen Accomplishment Points and gain some more time with Sebastian.