jackass.
“Good work,” somebody said. “Bested her with that one, did you?”
“Was that supposed to be one of your cleverer jokes?” said somebody else.
“I had ten pounds riding on your emptying the rooms,” said another.
“Nobody even screamed.”
“Well, that went flat, didn’t it?”
“Poor fellow. Could’ve warned you you weren’t up to her weight.”
“Look out, duke. It’ll be you running next.”
“Best get out while you can, with all your parts intact.”
The men went on laughing and exercising their limited wit at his expense.
The image of Godfrey Wills flashed through Ashmont’s mind.
He looked round to meet Miss Pomfret’s gaze. Her face was set in a cold, blank expression, the one people called her Gorgon stare. But he discerned the glitter in her eyes and the faint hint of a smile at the corners of her mouth.
Many degrees more lucid than the last time he’d been with her, he realized how much he’d missed: the fullness of her mouth, for instance, not to mention the elegantly sculpted cheekbones, the slight upward cant of her eyes, and the overall effect of a face very much out of the common run.
She had a devil in her, too.
But of course she did. He’d known—sensed it, even when he wasn’t fully himself. He’d sensed there was more to her, more than ordering fellows about and shoving them out of her way.
The hint of a smile. Amusement and a taunt. The same smile she’d worn after she threw the bucket of water on him.
Oh, yes, it seemed to say. Go ahead. I dare you.
One wrong move and he’d unbalance the scales, and the microscopic bit of ground he’d gained would vanish like a speck of dust in a high wind.
One wrong move and he’d destroy all the work he’d done to protect her.
The intelligent thing to do would be to acknowledge defeat and leave her in peace, with nobody the wiser as to any previous encounters.
But her face. The wondrous face, that made all the others mere shadows. The supposedly beautiful sister might as well be a china doll.
Yes, the figure, too.
Not to mention, there were hundreds of men here, and out of those hundreds, he couldn’t be the only one who wasn’t blind.
No. No retreat.
She’d dared him, and even now, chastened and wiser, he wasn’t chastened all that much and he hadn’t suddenly become a sage.
He’d hazard it.
Chapter 6
Ashmont put a hand up. “The lady’s bested me. I bow to her.” He made a theatrical bow. “Well done, fair lady. You’ve turned my joke upon me and made a fool of me in front of my friends.”
The way she did to Wills.
He saw it so clearly in his mind’s eye: the eyelashes fluttering; the clear, confident voice; and the handful of words that turned the tables completely.
She was a force to be reckoned with, and he was ready to reckon.
“Fair gentleman, it took no effort,” she said. “Playing the fool is something you’ve rehearsed at length. All one need do is step aside and leave you to it.”
“You’ve studied me?”
“In depth and great detail,” she said. “In the way one studies strange life-forms. Have you never looked into a microscope, at a drop of some liquid, and marveled at the curious creatures wriggling about in it?”
He was aware of laughter, but more aware of her. “Never.”
“You need to broaden your horizons,” she said.
“I will,” he said. “Most willingly. Show me to your microscope, fair philosopher. Show me anything and everything. I’m yours to command.”
“Very well,” she said. “I show you the door.” She waved a dismissal. “Go away. And take your motley fool with you.”
He glanced at Morris. “Now you mention it, my friend does appear a trifle motley at first glance. But he’s a prodigy, he is, who can speak an infinite deal of everything and recite from memory your entire genealogy going back to the first Baron deGriffith, what fought at Bosworth Field or one of those places.”
He clapped Morris on the shoulder. “Say something intelligent, my lad. Here’s your great chance.”
Morris didn’t answer.
Ashmont elbowed him.
“Look at her,” Morris mumbled. “I burn. I pine. I perish.”
“What’s he saying?” Eyebrows aloft, Miss Pomfret leant forward again, a pose that fastened Ashmont’s attention upon her bosom.
Respectable women wore numerous undergarments, quilted petticoats and corsets and layers of linen, and over these intimate garments came more layers. The dress bodice wasn’t enough. A lady must have additional armor, in the shape of mantillas and canezous and pelerines and such, covering her shoulders and bosom. Then there were the sleeves, enormous