his florid compliments. Both were equally obnoxious.
“Speaking of books…” Tappan paused in passing. “I heard you and Lady Fenimore talking about early engravings of Caribbean plant life as you came in. I have several very rare Spanish editions in my estate library that might interest you. My collection is, of course, quite paltry in comparison to Cluyne’s treasures, but these particular volumes happen to be ones that he does not have.”
“We should very much like to see them,” replied Kate. “Are you interested in botany, sir?”
“A little, but I hardly claim to be as knowledgeable on the subject as you or your grandfather,” he said. “I shall ride over to Hillcrest House first thing in the morning and fetch them.”
“Thank you, sir. That’s very kind of you.”
“Come, come, let us change the subject,” announced Vronskov impatiently as Tappan moved on. “We gentlemen all know that ladies would much rather talk about the latest fashions or what balls they have attended. They are simply too polite to say so.”
Kate heard Marco swallow a snort. For all his faults, at least the rogue wasn’t a blathering idiot.
“You are obviously an expert on the feminine mind, as well as a good many other things,” she replied coolly.
The Russian thrust out his chest. “I pride myself in being a cultivated man of the world.”
“Pray, do tell me what your favorite color is, Miss Woodbridge,” said Marco with an exaggerated flutter of his dark lashes. “And do you favor mutton sleeves for a day dress, or is your preference for the latest a la greque style from Paris?”
She bit her cheeks to keep from smiling. “Actually, I wouldn’t know a mutton sleeve from a slab of roast beef.”
Vronskov’s expression was suddenly not so smug.
“Colonel Von Seilig, would you kindly offer me your arm for a stroll around the room.” Flirting was not so onerous after all, Kate decided. The Prussian was a pleasant gentleman, and she found herself looking forward to discussing science with him. “I should very much like to hear more about von Humboldt and his discoveries.”
“Don’t stray too far,” murmured Marco. As he turned away, he contrived to smooth his evening coat over his well-shaped… posterior. “I’m sure Vronskov would assure you that ladies would never dream of overexerting themselves in vigorous physical exercise.”
Marco had a feeling the slight hitch in her gait was due more to injured pride than any bodily ache or pain. He really ought to resist the temptation to tease her, no matter that her eyes sparked with such a beguiling blaze when she was annoyed. Not only would Alessandra be furious with him if he kept up his provocations, but Lord Lynsley expected him to perform his duty without allowing any distractions.
Wild. Careless. Losing his edge.
Lynsley’s assessment of his recent performances—delivered with the marquess’s usual analytical precision—had stung. Marco took a long swallow of champagne, trying to submerge the niggling little stirring of self-doubt. To hell with his saintly superior’s lecture. The accusations were unfair. He never allowed his drinking or carousing to interfere with his duties. Scotland had been an aberration. His nerves and his judgment were as sharp as a razor.
“Lord Ghiradelli?”
Vronskov elbowed him in the ribs and whispered, “The duke is speaking to you.”
“Forgive me, Your Grace,” apologized Marco, forcing his gaze away from Kate’s shapely silhouette moving in and out of the flickering light. “I was… admiring the magnificent painting on the far wall. It is by Tintoretto, is it not?”
Cluyne’s eyes narrowed, as if guessing what he had really been observing. “Yes, it is,” he replied gruffly. “I was asking whether you have a special interest in politics, sir.”
“Not particularly,” he responded casually. “I am far more interested in artistic pursuits.”
“Have you no concern about what will happen to the Italian peninsula at the upcoming conference in Vienna?” asked Vronskov. “Given your extensive landholdings and your title, I should think that you would have a great deal of interest in what decisions are made.”
“I leave that to the diplomats, who are far more knowledgeable about the nuances of power than I am,” said Marco, contriving to sound bored. “I should, of course, like to see the artistic treasures that Napoleon plundered from our cities be returned.”
“I can vouch for the fact that international diplomacy is not one of Lord Ghiradelli’s interests,” quipped Tappan, who had drifted over to join the conversation. “He has managed to provoke two challenges to a duel in the last month. Or was it three?”