Ten Things I Hate About the Duke - Loretta Chase Page 0,67
Owsley?” Ashmont said. “Not the one with the Sabbath bill? We must speak sometime.”
Long training kept Cassandra’s jaw from dropping, though she did blink once. Mrs. Roake, who had trailed in the duke’s wake, gazed at him in open astonishment.
“But there’s the bell,” Ashmont said, “and I know the ladies of my party are anxious to learn whether the Treasure Seeker’s son will live.”
He offered his arm. Cassandra took it. She felt the tension in it, and realized how close, how very close they’d come to violence. Owsley ought to have had the good sense to make himself vanish, if he was the humble man of charity and peace he claimed to be. As to Ashmont . . .
They were pretending to be a courting couple, she reminded herself. While she was by no means experienced in courtship, she’d observed enough male behavior to understand that posturing and trying to intimidate potential rivals was often part of it.
Not that Ashmont needed more than the thinnest excuse to fight.
All the same, she was annoyed to realize how much the display of possessiveness had gratified her. No, that was her adolescent self.
She was no longer that infatuated girl. What she felt was only a primitive, unthinking response, all part of the instinctive urge to couple. Dogs did the same thing. It had nothing to do with reason.
When they’d taken their seats again, he said in a low voice, “So that’s Owsley. I’d pictured a much older fellow. Couldn’t decide if he was trying to steal my charmer or persuade her to support his bill.”
“Steal your—” She broke off. She would not go down that path. “He was wasting his time. How did you know about his bill? Mrs. Roake couldn’t have told you. She was as astonished as I when you referred to it.”
“I was at your meeting, remember?” he said.
“You were paying attention?”
“It was deuced interesting. I’d no idea. Might have to dust off my seat in the House of Lords. Heard from Morris that Mr. Stanley brought in a bill late last night—this morning, rather—for abolishing slavery in the colonies. Didn’t realize we still had that sort of thing going on. I was so astounded, I forgot I was being shaved. Started to jump out of the chair, and Sommers nearly cut my throat.”
“What?” she said. “What?”
“Morris,” he said. “I had to let him know Miss Lily would be here tonight, and—”
“It’s Hyacinth, as you know perfectly well.”
He smiled. “Only fair to give him fair warning. He’s been a decent sort of friend to me. Can’t help who his mother is. Didn’t get to choose. And so I asked him what kinds of business your father was dealing with these days—you know, wanting to win a fraction of a point with him—and that’s how I found out.”
“You are not going to take your seat in Parliament,” she said. “It’s all a hum, part of this prank we’re playing.” Pretending to be the patient suitor. Pretending to curry favor with her father.
Marry me.
He’d do anything to get his way.
He touched her glove, near her wrist. “Sshh. Play’s starting.”
She wanted to lay her hand over his. She wanted to take his hand and twine her fingers with his. She’d seen her parents do this. Her grandparents. Aunt Julia and Uncle Charles. Not in any obvious way. They didn’t make great displays of feeling before others. But there were moments of intimacy, affection, some special understanding.
But she and Ashmont had no special understanding. She was slipping into some kind of delirium to imagine it. A delirium he created. The beautiful face. The intimate tone of voice. His nearness was extremely damaging to rational thought.
She turned her attention to the stage as the drop rose, revealing Arnold, the Treasure Seeker’s son, lying on a low bed. Martha, his mother, watched him sleep. In front sat his father, Phillip, hands clasped, gazing out in the unseeing way of a man in a trance.
She put twined hands and politics out of her mind. She hadn’t seen a London play in ages. She was grateful to be here. She was even happier having her sister enjoy it with her. She was not going to lose a minute of the experience, no matter who sat beside her.
Chapter 11
The curtain fell on the second and final act of The Long Finn, and the ladies applauded and smiled at Ashmont as though he’d personally written, produced, and directed it exclusively for them.