“Marchmont,” he said. “I want a word with you.”
She’d heard the door shut shortly after she left the drawing room. She’d known it was Marchmont behind her. She knew his step, and she’d trained herself to hear far stealthier footfalls than his.
All the same, she was amazed she’d heard her father coming. All the world had narrowed to Marchmont and what he did to her. She could not remember when anyone or anything had absorbed her as fully as he did when he kissed and caressed her.
She really needed to meet other men.
“You’d better go to your maid,” Marchmont told her.
“Not yet,” said Lexham. “This involves Zoe, too.”
Marchmont’s countenance, which had been almost human a moment ago when he’d got her all stirred up, reverted to its usual tell-nothing expression.
It was a face she couldn’t marry, couldn’t think of marrying: a beautiful house with all the doors closed and the windows drawn. The women in his life would always be shut out.
And she, unlike most of them, would know what he used to be and could envision what he might have become. She’d heard his laughter and watched his face before, in the drawing room. She’d seen and felt him come alive when he pushed her against the wall and when she thought he’d ravish her and it hadn’t occurred to her to do anything but let him.
Then she’d been caught up in the excitement and danger. It was so deliciously wicked, in the corridor, with her hoop petticoats going up and down like ocean waves. It was thrilling, too, knowing that any minute she and Marchmont might be caught.
The trouble was, any minute they might be caught and he’d think he had to marry her. So would everyone else.
Her body liked the idea, too much. Her heart and mind and pride knew better. When she wed, she wanted an eager and happy and, yes, loving bridegroom. She did not want a man doing his duty—no matter how beautiful and exciting he was and how wild he made her when he touched her.
“Perhaps we ought to adjourn to a less public environment,” said Marchmont.
Papa stared at him. “What’s brought on this attack of stuffiness? The trials of managing Zoe into respectability? But if it were easy, Marchmont, then anyone could do it, and you’d be bored.” He held up a thick envelope. “Know what this is, Zoe?”
“It looks official. Like the Sultan’s firman.”
Papa laughed. “You’re close, child. Only observe the seal. This is your invitation. Arrived a moment ago, direct from Carlton House.” He clapped Marchmont on the shoulder. “Lady Lexham will be in alt. I know you said it would come. I know my girls are all in a frenzy about it. But my lady didn’t want to get her hopes up.”
The frozen expression on Marchmont’s face melted slightly.
“But that’s weeks away, I understand,” Lexham went on. “And my lady and I agree with Zoe that she needs to practice her social skills before that. With strangers. Men, in particular. She’s had all the experience she needs in dealing with women, and she is a woman herself.”
Marchmont’s gaze slanted briefly at Zoe before returning to her father. “Men,” he said. “You want her to meet men.”
“Othermen,” Zoe said.
“She suggested it last night,” Papa said.
Marchmont looked at her. He gave very little away, but she was trained to notice. His eyes held some emotion, and it didn’t seem to be relief.
She told herself it was stupid to try to read his mind. They had been interrupted in a moment of passion. His mind would be muddled with balked lust.
“Mama said we could have a small dinner party,” she said.
“With men,” said Marchmont.
“No more than twenty guests,” said Lexham.
“With a lot of men she doesn’t know,” said Marchmont.
“That’s the point,” Zoe said. “I need to practice how to behave with men I don’t know.”
“But I’ll want your help with the list, Marchmont,” said Papa. “I’m liable to fill the places with a lot of fusty politicians.”
“They must be the kind of men who’ll wish to talk to me and dance with me and flirt with me,” said Zoe. “The kind of men who might wish to marry me.”
