Ten Things I Hate About the Duke - Loretta Chase Page 0,71

in to her younger self. She’d let one moment, one small exception to a lifetime of bad behavior, crush her judgment.

All the same, she couldn’t regret it.

Inside, she was flying, soaring free. Inside, her heart beat like a mad thing and her body was wildly alive, the way it had been after the fight, but more so.

She let herself feel it, for now. She wouldn’t let it happen again.

For a few minutes, Ashmont had been the man she’d once believed, on the flimsiest evidence, he could be. For years the girl inside her had believed he’d become what she wanted him to be. That girl was obstinate, insisting it could happen and would happen.

It wouldn’t. He wouldn’t change merely because she wished it.

But he was big and strong and beautiful and she was by no means the most well-behaved woman. She was Medusa, yes, but not made of stone herself. She’d succumbed to one mad moment.

Mad, indeed. They’d practically begged to get caught. That would turn the theater on its ear. She pictured the glasses going up to peer at them, the chandeliers’ light reflected in hundreds of lenses. She could see jaws dropping and hear the collective hiss of indrawn breath.

Too comical, even more absurd than the audience reaction at the evening’s start. Luckily, they watched a farce, and she might laugh along with everybody else.

She laughed at the scenes in her mind, but she did watch the performance, too. How could she not? The theater was one of the great joys of London life, and Ashmont had made this night possible. He’d thought of Hyacinth, and somehow persuaded their father to release her. For that alone . . .

Did one need excuses?

Whether it was love or . . . the depravity of my own heart, or the winning arts of the noble lord . . .

One of those. All of those.

She’d conquer it, whatever it was. She hadn’t any choice.

At the interval following The Mummy, Lady Charles decided that the ladies would not go out into the saloon again. Naturally, an army of gentlemen gathered outside the box, angling to be let in, but the only one granted this privilege was Humphrey Morris.

“I can’t believe he’s making headway,” Ashmont whispered to Miss Pomfret. “As much as I like him, I should have given him poor odds. Third son. Unpleasant mother. Brothers are as bad as she is, possibly worse. One of the sisters is reputed to be an agreeable girl, more like him than the others. I should never have put my money on him.”

“Don’t do it yet,” Miss Pomfret said. “Best not to jump to conclusions where Hyacinth’s concerned. Under the soft exterior . . . well, she’s softhearted, yes, but she owns a spine, and it isn’t made of India rubber.”

“I didn’t fail to notice how she robbed him blind at the fancy fair.”

“She’s competitive, and more intelligent than she seems. She may be naïve and idealistic, but she can be surprisingly astute about people. If she’s encouraging him, she has a reason, and it isn’t merely wanting to enslave him. She isn’t like that.”

He feigned shock. “Miss Pomfret, are you encouraging me to encourage my motley friend?”

She glanced at Humphrey Morris, who gazed at Miss Flower as though she were the eighth wonder of the world. “Does he look like he needs encouragement?”

“Her being in his general vicinity is probably encouragement enough.”

“At any rate, he behaved well enough to win my aunt’s approval. You did, certainly.” She turned toward him, putting her fan up to conceal all but her eyes from general view. “Two points, duke.”

He drew his head back to regard her in frank disbelief. “Two.”

“Anything less would be unsporting,” she said. “You thought of Hyacinth and made sure she was included tonight. That can’t have been easy.”

In fact, it had been painful and very nearly terrifying. The responsibility. But it had to be done. The Duke of Ashmont wanted a family. He had to prove he could be trusted to look after them.

“Then you protected her, all of us,” Miss Pomfret went on. “My aunt saw it. I saw it. Two points.”

“But I was so ill behaved after.” His voice was barely a murmur. “Took liberties. Would have liked to take more.”

Her eyes glinted. “And I didn’t plant you a facer or strike you in the tender parts. Fancy that.”

“Miss Pomfret.”

“I’m not sure what to do with you,” she said. “Or is it myself? Never mind. I daresay the answer will come to