Spinster Ever After (The Spinster Chronicles #7) - Rebecca Connolly Page 0,25

a match, I won’t precisely oppose one.”

Tyrone blinked at him, completely baffled. “Well, well. Aren’t you a delightful surprise for the mamas hereabouts?”

Michael would have shrugged himself had Tyrone not filled the evening with the action already. He’d been fully prepared to endure some ribbing from a various number of sources when his opinions and aims were made known, and in gaining some new friends for himself, it was only natural that it should take place. Had he not wasted his time, he might have escaped this, too.

But he could not look back anymore. Only forward. Only ahead.

“I could use your help,” Michael murmured to Tyrone as the pair of them took another set of drinks. “Sterling is a good fellow for taking me on, but he is already married, and the nature of his marriage is such…”

“I’ll save you from the sentimentality of the thing, never fear,” Tyrone overrode. “A lump of sense is worth a pinch of sentimentality.” He frowned, then chuckled ruefully. “Isn’t that the title of the book that woman wrote? Sense and Sentimentality?”

Michael bit his tongue hard, thinking how Charlotte would have blustered and harrumphed about Miss Austen being referred to as ‘that woman’ and for one of her titles to be so incorrectly named. She’d have thrown the offender out of the house, whether it was her own or someone else’s.

“Something of the sort, I never read them.” Michael hid a smile behind a sip of his drink.

Tyrone sighed. “Nor I, and had I any sisters, I am sure that would be a great sin. My female cousins seem to think I lack awareness of the feminine tastes of today, but I don’t consider that a failing. If women wished for a man who completely understood them, they’d be marrying a mirror.”

At that moment, a young lady passed them, eyeing them both with a boldness that ought to have made Michael squirm. The beauty in her features only made him smile in spite of himself, dipping his chin.

“Well played, madam,” Tyrone told her, not bothering to keep his voice down. “Come back with a proper and creative introduction, and I’ll engage you for whichever dance you please.”

Her eyes widened, as did her smile, and with a flick of a suddenly appearing fan, she sauntered off, presumably to find such an introduction.

Michael reeled at the bizarre interaction. He had spent hours of his life at a time in ballrooms, enough that they likely added up to several weeks, and never had he seen something so blatant that was completely without the accompanying words. There was such a discrepancy between the two that he had to replay the exchange in his head repeatedly.

Charlotte had flirted and teased, undoubtedly danced with the line of propriety, but never once strayed overtly into indecency. The toffs that had crowded her over the years had spouted off flowering words and phrases, creating themselves into buffoons of the utmost caliber, yet seemed to stumble over their excessive politeness. Now and again, there had been a cad of sorts among the group, but somehow Charlotte encouraged decorum in her presence, despite being an imp herself.

She was a paradox and yet more easily understood than what he had just witnessed.

Clearly, he had a great deal to learn.

“What in the world was that?” Michael asked Tyrone with a laugh, wishing he didn’t feel like such a dunce at the moment.

Tyrone looked at him in surprise. “What was what?”

Michael gestured. “That interaction with the young lady.”

“Flirting?” Tyrone asked slowly, as though Michael were all of twelve years old and had discovered the mystery of growing attraction to a girl. “The unspoken invitation between a man and a woman hidden in the words we do speak?”

There was nothing to do but stare at the man without expression, finding no entertainment in his words whatsoever.

But Tyrone Demaris wasn’t going to budge, his face a mask that only just concealed his amusement at Michael’s expense. A master at work, and there was no mistaking it. It was obvious he felt that Michael could benefit from his influence; he was absolutely certain of it.

“I’d hardly call that flirting,” Michael grumbled, finishing his drink quickly. “I don’t know if there’s a name for it, but it wouldn’t exactly please the matrons at Almack’s.”

“Then it’s a ruddy good thing we’re at Sterling House instead, isn’t it?” Tyrone nudged him playfully. “Sandford, you’ve got to play the moments as they come. Not every woman wants you to bow perfectly over hand and