actually meant them. Dominick wasn’t quite as shallow as he’d led her—and the rest of the ton—to believe. At times, he almost seemed like an actor who had been pushed into a role he had no choice but to play. Realizing that made it difficult for her to think of him as being so different from her.
“I understand the plight well, and it was that lack of something with which to channel my potential that led me to the East India Company. Perhaps Mr. Burke simply has yet to find the thing which motivates him … or, maybe he has.”
Calliope fought not to squirm under her father’s perusal, offering a nonchalant shrug. “Mr. Burke seems to like me well enough, but Mr. Lewes has gone out of his way to ensure I know what his intentions are. He very much wishes for your approval.”
“You do not need my permission to wed the man of your choosing.”
She reached out to take his hand. “No, but your approval means the world to me. I think you will like Martin, Papa. You and he have much in common.”
“What matters to me is how you feel about him, sweet. You have much to say of this man’s willingness to marry you, but have made no mention of love.”
Her pulse fluttered, her stomach quivering as she thought back to the passionless kiss she’d shared with Martin.
“I like him very much, Papa,” she said with as much honesty as she could muster—for she did like Martin, even if she did not yet desire him. “Love will come, in time. I have faith in that.”
What she did not, and could not say, was that she expected love to spring forth and grow the farther Dominick Burke was pushed from the periphery of her life. He was the sort of man who commanded attention, overshadowing everyone else around him. If he was no longer nearby to tempt her, to remind her of things better forgotten, he would eventually fade from her mind altogether.
She had to believe that, otherwise she would go mad at the ridiculous notion that she was falling in love with her courtesan. Which would not do at all.
Chapter 10
“How horribly dull London has become. One can only hope that a certain Surrey house party will result in a delicious scandal to divert us all from the tedium.”
The London Gossip, September 21, 1819
Nick was the last of the guests to arrive. He had been reluctant to leave London after Paul had taken to his bed, complaining of fatigue and weakness. In fact, he’d nearly decided not to go at all and send Calliope his regrets.
“You aren’t going to stand back and let the other man win, are you?” Paul had asked. “You needn’t sit about waiting for me to die when I’ve still some fight in me. Go after your lady and do everything you can to win her. I do not intend to cock up my toes just yet.”
What else could he have done but take Paul up on the offer of using his coach, his heart in his throat the entire way? He had left strict instructions for his sister to send for him should their uncle take a turn for the worse.
During the drive, he had run through all the reasons pursuing Calliope was a terrible idea.
She already had her heart set on Lewes, had been enamored with him from the start. Her opinion of Nick was rather low, and he’d done nothing to change that. She was as pure and good as could be, while the stains of his past misdeeds were too many to ever wash out. He had very little to recommend him other than his bloodline, and even that didn’t amount to much considering he was so far removed from the earldom he might as well be considered a commoner.
But, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking of her. The rare smile she couldn’t seem to help the few times he had amused her; the quirk of an eyebrow just before she made some cutting remark; the fire flashing in her dark eyes when he provoked her; the feel of her lips against his and the arch of her body in his arms when he’d brought her to climax. They had been fully clothed that night at the ball, but damn if it hadn’t been one of the headiest experiences of his life.
He could no longer mistake this for simple lust, try as he might to convince himself otherwise.