Ten Things I Hate About the Duke - Loretta Chase Page 0,66
him, the way she’d felt in his arms. The heat. The thrill, beyond anything he could have imagined, let alone prepared for.
He was supposedly a man of the world. He’d discovered the opposite sex at an early age and promptly given up chastity as nonsense.
Now he was like a schoolboy with his first infatuation. Only this was more powerful by far, the feelings stronger and more disturbing. He wanted the disturbance. It felt right. All this time, years and years, he’d never had an inkling of what he’d been missing.
He needed to concentrate on the performers, not her. He lacked the temperament to resist temptation, and he couldn’t afford a misstep. He’d done well to this point, but he’d better not test Fate’s humor too far. She was famously capricious.
At the first interval, the group stepped out into the saloon for the private boxes and into a noisy, glittering throng. As one would expect, a large portion of the crowd swirled about Cassandra’s aunt and sister. Among them, unsurprisingly, was Humphrey Morris.
Cassandra had not expected the group of admirers to be so numerous, though, and she was beginning to understand why her father had been so strict about Hyacinth’s social life. Still, as long as the masses of men didn’t seem to trouble Aunt Julia, Cassandra wouldn’t let them trouble her.
For the moment, she stood in a small oasis of calm. At the start of the interval, Mrs. Roake had joined her and the duke, but a minute ago, he’d drawn the elder lady aside, to engage in lively conversation of some kind.
Mrs. Roake seemed as surprised by the circumstance as Cassandra, but the crowd swiftly swallowed them up, leaving her bemused.
She was enjoying herself, though, watching Hyacinth glow under all the attention. It was fun to watch the audience perform, too: the flirtations and other little games people played. She was amusing herself in this way when she noticed Mr. Owsley approaching.
Cassandra assumed he was on his way to join the stream of would-be suitors trying to get close to Hyacinth. Even when his gaze turned toward Cassandra, she supposed he was only making sure she remained safely distant.
But he did not continue drifting in the river of men. He veered off and made his way to Cassandra.
“Miss Pomfret.”
“Mr. Owsley.”
“What a pleasant surprise to find you here,” he said.
“How strange,” she said. “You were not pleased to see me a few weeks ago at your lecture.”
“Ah, yes. As to that, I believe we got off on the wrong foot.”
She regarded him stonily, the way she regarded the majority of men. “You dismissed what I had to say. Yes, I would describe that as getting off on the wrong foot.”
He colored. “Indeed, the occasion was not auspicious. It has occurred to me since that I should have done better to explain what we are trying to accomplish.”
Sometimes, really, men wanted to make her scream. She knew she wasn’t the only woman who felt this way.
Voice level, she said, “You presume that I not only failed to comprehend your lecture but haven’t followed the arguments for and against your bill. Or perhaps you assume that I attempted to follow them but failed to grasp them because my woman’s brain is too small.”
“The difficulty is, the satirists have emphasized remorselessly but one aspect of the matter.”
“Satirists are not my only source of information,” she said. “Neither are print shop windows and gossip. I and a number of other women, of various political leanings, read the Parliamentary reports, along with the political columns in London’s news journals.” She would have gone on, but at that moment she saw the sea of men about her aunt and sister part, making way for the Duke of Ashmont.
Owsley must have sensed the tide shifting about him, because he glanced in Ashmont’s direction and said, “I merely wished to make the most of this unexpected opportunity. But I realize this is hardly the time or place for serious discussion. Perhaps we might speak again at another time.”
At that moment, Ashmont reached her side. “Ah, there you are, Miss Pomfret.” He glanced at Owsley. “Perhaps you’ll be so good as to make your friend known to me.”
The duke was smiling the smile more ominous than another man’s glower.
To her surprise, Owsley didn’t suddenly discover he had another place to be. On the contrary, he planted himself in place while his shoulders went back and his chin went up.
Very well, it’s your funeral, she thought. She made the introduction.