Olivia shrugged. “But that of course is rather dreary. I like to imagine a different sort of life. Wilder…unfettered.”
Verity did understand.
“Ah, here’s the lucky man,” Olivia said.
Randolph joined them with a graceful bow. “It’s a waltz,” he said to Verity. “May I have the honor?”
“If she’ll marry you, I expect she’ll dance with you,” Olivia said.
Verity gave him her hand, and they stepped into the waltz. “I must talk to you,” she said, not bothering with a preamble.
“And I you,” he said.
“Privately.” She didn’t intend to hash out their dilemma before the bulk of the haut ton. “Will you call tomorrow morning?”
He looked at the people surrounding them and nodded. “Tomorrow morning,” he echoed.
He seemed unusually serious, but having gained her point, she was satisfied. All would be revealed tomorrow. “Everyone is being unbearably smug about our engagement.”
“Well, they’ve known how it would be since we first sang together.”
Verity looked up and caught the twinkle in his blue eyes. “They’ve been saying that to you, too?”
“A great many people.”
“It’s as if they’re taking credit.”
“Indeed. It had nothing to do with us.”
She laughed, and with that, the complacent comments seemed far less annoying. What did they matter?
Verity became conscious of Randolph’s hand, warm on her back, of the strength of his fingers holding hers. Dancing with him was like floating around the floor; they moved to the music with an identical impulse. He smiled down at her, as if he was thinking the same thing. She’d wanted wild adventures, Verity thought. Last night on a daybed in a secret cottage had been wild. This hand she held had done such delicious things. Hers had run over his bare skin. With impunity. She’d been intoxicated with kisses. None of these smug people knew anything about that. And they never would. She smiled back.
She was smiling like a cat who’d found the cream pot, Randolph thought. Sly and…salacious? In that moment, he knew she was thinking of last night. She was back at Quinn’s, which took him there as well. Waltzing was pleasant, but he wished for so much more. Where their hands clasped, he ran his fingertips lightly over hers. Verity shivered in his arms, her blue-green eyes darkening with emotion. Without missing a step, Randolph pulled her closer. Her hand tightened on his shoulder. How he wanted her! To sweep her up and carry her off and let the archbishop go hang. But not to make her unhappy—that was the damnable crux of the matter.
Too soon, the dance ended, and he had to let her go. Worse, another fellow came up and claimed her for the next set, as if he had the right. It was all Randolph could do to watch her walk off with him.
He didn’t care to find another partner. Instead, he went to join his brothers by the wall. “Georgina’s always buzzing about like a dashed bee,” Sebastian was complaining. “Taking Emma to some party or ball. Or seeing what Hilda’s up to.”
“Flora’s as busy,” Robert replied. “On top of all else, she’s promoting a match between Wrentham and Miss Reynolds. Can’t see it myself. Did you hear about his idiotic stunt?” He snorted. “Riding through the park backward. He’s not a stripling just let loose on the town, for God’s sake.”
“Charles Wrentham?” asked Randolph, his attention diverted. “The fellow from Salbridge? Acted in the play?”
Robert nodded.
“He tried to run me through at Angelo’s a few weeks ago,” Randolph said.
“What?” Both his brothers stared at him.
“Why would he do that?” Sebastian asked.
“He just felt like skewering someone, I think. And anyone would do. That’s how it seemed to me anyway. We hardly exchanged two words.”
“Perhaps he’s run mad,” Robert said. “That would explain it. How did he do against you?”
Randolph gave him a sardonic look.
“Wretchedly, I daresay,” said Sebastian. “It’s hard to match Randolph with a foil.”
Randolph gave him a bow.
“A saber now… That’s another matter,” added his large military brother with a grin.
“You might be surprised.” Randolph wished he could tell them about pinking Rochford with his own saber.
“Wish you happy, by the way,” said Sebastian. “Forgot to say.”
“Yes, felicitations,” said Robert. “Miss Sinclair will be an ornament to your new parish.”
Randolph’s problems descended upon him once more. He wondered if Verity wanted to talk about their future tomorrow. What else? The feeling of failure gnawed at him again. With his lineage and education and abilities, his advancement in the church should have been practically assured. Would have been, if not for that dratted ram.