“Not entirely.” Honora lifted her chin at two young ladies who were snapping their fans with envy at the sight of Southwell partnering her. “I was going to ask your opinion about the worship of Sebek.”
Southwell didn’t bother to hide his surprise. “Bloodthirstyandversed in Egyptian gods. You grow more intriguing by the moment, Miss Drevenport.”
Honora’s heart careened wildly about in her chest as Southwell’s hand fell to her waist. No one, not even Culpepper, found Honora intriguing. At the press of his fingertips against the silk of her gown, Honora prayed, as she had never done before, that he couldn’t feel the sharp line of her stays nor the bulge of flesh at her hip.
“Has anyone ever told you your eyes are stunning?” Southwell gazed intently down at her. “Like jade.”
Another trickle of sweat spilled between her breasts. Were the windows open? The terrace doors? Did Southwell just say he admired her eyes? Was he waiting for her to regurgitate on him her vast knowledge of Egyptian gods?
“I have a sense, Miss Drevenport, that you are having a conversation with yourself, and I would vastly prefer if you conversed withme.”
“You would?”
“Definitely. Let us discuss Sebek. I rarely find anyone to speak to about such things.” A slight frown crossed his lips. “Especially at events such as these.”
This was why Honoracould notandwould notmarry Culpepper. Much like Tarrington, it was unlikely Culpepper even knew the location of the Nile. Or had even heard of Sebek. And even if he had, Mama had expressly forbidden Honora to have even a modestly intelligent conversation with Culpepper, worried Honora might scare him away.
That would be too much to hope for.
“You’re doing it again, Miss Drevenport. Having an entire discussion without me,” he said with mock ferocity. “I insist you stop doing so immediately.”
“My apologies, my lord.”
He swept her across the dance floor as if she weighed nothing and wasn’t rounded like a tiny bowl one tosses down the green. She bestowed a wide smile on Southwell as they danced by her mother, who fanned herself furiously at the sight of her daughter dancing with one of the most desirable gentlemen in London.
A stone-faced Culpepper stood beside Mama, absently stroking his beard. His annoyance was difficult to miss.
Honora didn’t care. She vowed, at that very moment, never to accept Culpepper. In fact, after tonight, she would no longer receive him. Mama would be outraged, but Honora would plead her case to her father. Beg him to allow her to never marry if she didn’t wish it.
She tilted her head back to regard her dance partner. Southwell was very tall, much more so when dancing with him versus admiring him from across a room. “I will confess something to you, my lord.” How bold she sounded. Self-confident.
“Please do go on. I do hope,” he murmured, “this has to do with Sebek.” The words, low and silky, wrapped around Honora.
Southwell could induce a woman to do a great many things if he spoke in such a tone. She stumbled, her heel making contact with his toe.
He barely winced; instead, he twirled her until the skirts of her gown fanned out.
Honora cleared her throat. “I find, my lord, that while I am not averse to crocodiles in principle, my question has more to do with the worship of them by the ancient Egyptians. I find Sebek an odd choice for a—” She paused, feeling very forward to use such a word with Southwell.
“Fertility god?” he supplied helpfully.
“Yes. I’ve read that some households kept crocodiles as pets, decorating them with jewels and such. It isn’t the same at all as having, say…a cat or dog. You never need worry about either of them biting off a limb.”
Laughter bubbled from Southwell, a rich, wholly masculine sound like molten chocolate amusement cascading over her shoulders. And Honora did so love chocolate.
“Nor could you take them for a walk or sit them on your lap,” she continued, thrilled he found her amusing. No one liked her wit. Mama declared it barely comprehensible.
Another rumble of mirth erupted from him. She caught sight of Tarrington and Anabeth watching them dance from their place by the reception table.
“I must concur, though the thought of someone riding a crocodile down Rotten Row has some appeal, does it not?” Southwell asked.
Honora bit her lip to stifle her own laughter. Unlike the almost sensual appeal of Southwell’s amusement, the sound of Honora’s own had been compared to the braying of a mule.
“Am I to assume that because Sebek is associated with fertility”—he leaned in—“you found it preferable to be thought of as bloodthirsty? You are a very odd young lady, Miss Drevenport.”
“It would have been impolite to ask the question in such esteemed company.” Honora decided to leave out the fact she’d been so struck by him she’d found herself unable to think of anything else. “And I suppose most would consider me odd.”
“Yes, but I mean it as a compliment. ‘Odd’ doesn’t necessarily mean ‘bad.’ Just different.”
