"How...thoughtful," Anthea said, taking in the man's rigid posture and disapproving frown. He looked like he had never smiled in his life and considered such displays frivolous.
"Mr. Thornbury is very knowledgeable about natural history," Veronica added, though her enthusiasm seemed somewhat forced. "He was explaining about the different species of?—"
"Classification systems are essential to proper understanding," Mr. Thornbury interrupted. "I was telling Miss Veronica that the common misconception regarding the dietary habits of?—"
"Quite fascinating, I am sure," Gregory cut in, his tone suggesting he found it anything but. "Miss Veronica, I hope you enjoy your outing."
"Oh! Yes, thank you, Your Grace." Veronica bobbed a curtsy, then allowed Mr. Thornbury to lead her away, already resuming his lecture about animal classifications.
"He seems..." Anthea searched for a diplomatic word.
"Tedious?" Gregory supplied.
"I was going to say scholarly."
"Those are not mutually exclusive." He watched Mr. Thornbury's retreating form with obvious distaste. "Your sister can do better."
"He is the first gentleman to show interest in her all season," Anthea said, feeling suddenly defensive. "And she seemed pleased by the attention."
"She seemed relieved to have any attention at all." Gregory turned back to her.
Before Anthea could respond, a high-pitched giggle cut through the air. They both turned to see Poppy surrounded by no fewer than four gentlemen, all of whom appeared simultaneously enchanted and exhausted by her animated conversation.
"And that is why," Poppy was saying, gesturing wildly with her lemonade, "I believe society would be vastly improved if everyone simply said what they meant instead of dancing around their intentions with ridiculous euphemisms and—oh, Lord Baxley, I did not mean your poetry! Your work is quite direct. Sometimes painfully so. Though I did wonder about that verse comparing your beloved's eyes to dead fish?—"
"Shall I rescue them?" Gregory asked dryly.
"Absolutely not." Anthea watched her stepsister with mingled horror and affection. "Poppy needs to learn subtlety."
"Does she?" Gregory's tone suggested he found Poppy's bluntness refreshing. "Or does Society need to learn honesty?"
Anthea glanced at him sharply. "That sounds suspiciously like agreement with my stepsister's philosophy."
"I spent fifteen years in the army, Miss Croft. Direct orders and clear communication kept men alive. Dancing around one's meaning is a luxury I never learned to value."
"And yet you have survived the ton's intricacies well enough."
"Only barely," he corrected. "Which is why I proposed marriage to you."
Anthea had been trying not to think about his proposal, about the letter he had sent detailing the practical advantages of their union. About the fact that she had not yet given him an answer.
"I have not—" she began.
"Forgotten?" Gregory's expression turned serious, though something still lingered in his eyes—that same awareness that had hummed between them moments ago. "I had not imagined you had. But perhaps winning at Pall Mall has demonstrated that we work rather well together when we cease arguing long enough to try."
"We argued throughout the entire game," Anthea pointed out.
"And yet we won." He took a step closer, and Anthea's traitorous body immediately noticed. Noticed the breadth of his shoulders, the way he moved with predatory grace, the heat that seemed to emanate from him. ""Imagine what we might accomplish if we applied such partnership to actual endeavors." He paused, his gaze intent on hers. "Your sisters would have every advantage. Proper dowries, introductions to suitable gentlemen, the protection of a duchess's influence. My estate would benefit from your knowledge of Society—your ability to navigate these circles, to secure the cooperation I need to restore what my uncle destroyed."
His voice dropped slightly. "And we would each have what we require without the messy complications of sentiment."
There it was. Laid out with the precision of a military campaign. She would help him gain acceptance among the ton. He would provide security and position for her family. Clean. Practical. Safe.
So why did it feel like she was losing something she had not known she wanted?
Messy complications of sentiment. Yes. That was precisely what she needed—what she had to maintain. This attraction was purely physical, nothing more. She had been burned by emotion once before, and she would not make that mistake again. A practical arrangement where neither party risked anything beyond the physical was exactly what the situation required.
"I will consider it," she said finally.
