“Exceedingly pleasant,” Lucasta said in a stony voice.
The grounds were brightly lit and not extensive—one essentially circled the Rotunda when strolling through Ranelagh—but she was alone with him and unchaperoned. Young ladies, so she had been instructed by her lady aunt, were never to be unchaperoned. Not in the retiring room, not at the home of a friend, not ever. Aunt Patience lived in a world where unscrupulous men waited in shadows to fall upon unsuspecting girls and spirit them away to ruin, like Barbary corsairs.
But Jem, it seemed, had contrived to ruin her in plain sight. She clenched her teeth.
“The musicians seem competent,” he remarked. “This group ahead, in particular, seems unobjectionable.”
Was hetryingto send her up in the boughs?
“They are playing one of Haydn’s Russian quartets.” The bright, singing strings were the antithesis of her aggravated mood. “I am particularly fond of Haydn’s quartets. Four voices in counterpoint and harmony, blending together for a beautiful effect. How rarely one finds that in real life.”
He stopped and turned to face her. Her eyes were on a level with his mouth, set in a determined line.
“You seem to have another eager swain.”
“You are the one who set them upon me.” She lifted her eyes to his. “All of a sudden I becamefascinatingto those ofton, and now I have crowds of people who know nothing about me vying to admire and pet me.”
“You called me Smart Jeremy,” he said.
“You called me and my friends Gorgons.”
That muscle in his jaw twitched. “You accused me of thinking those of other races inferior.”
“You were the one who said Selina looked like a zebra.”
“Your uncle the baron threw his daughter at my head. For no reason other than that I am presumed heir to a marquessate, and the estate is known to be solvent.”
“None of that was my doing,” Lucasta answered, stung. “Perhaps you ought not so flirt so openly with Clara Bellwether if you don’t wish to be seen as available.”
“And now you’ve brought Bertie into your set.” His nostrils flared as he breathed heavily through them. “When she is at a vulnerable moment, still grieving her father and her loss of status, and living with my horrible Aunt Payne.”
“You brought Bertie to me.” Lucasta’s eyes filled with tears. She hoped the growing shadows hid them. “That’s botched your plans, has it? You meant to make a cartoon of me, to see if poor Lucasta Lithwick could become fashionable all at a word from Smart Jeremy. Such power you have! Mongol kings and Chinese emperors now accost me wherever I go. Just what was your aim, Rudyard? To toy with people’s emotions, simply because you can?” She faltered there, and bit off the rest of what she wanted to say.
“You speak to me of toying!” His anger unleashed. “When you have poured Judith full of stories of parties and balls, madeher long for a world she can never be a part of, and let her think?—”
He clamped his lips together, nostrils flaring again, and spoke the rest through gritted teeth. “You tried to persuade her to perform at your benefit. To play for others.In public. Do you have any idea what they will do to her?”
“She will be admired, as is her right,” Lucasta retorted. “She has a skill she wants to share for a good cause, and she asked me?—”
Abruptly she reined in the words. Just as she wanted to bring Judith out of the shadows, Judith was trying the same for her. She saw the shape of Lucasta’s dream and wanted that for her, wanted to share it with her, a truly generous, warm-hearted act.
“You are trying to persuade her to expose herself on a stage, in front of people who would gossip and judge her and examine her for flaws. They will cut her terribly, make her the target of their mockery, and you’ll give her hopes that she—when she can never?—”
“She can do whatever she wishes, and much more, if you would allow her even the smallest breath of freedom.” Lucasta stamped her foot. “Instead you keep her swaddled in cotton as though she is a fragile infant. She is a woman full-grown who knows her own mind. Why do you never let her make her own choices? You keep her on a tighter leash than you would a lap dog.”
“Because they will hurt her!” Jem shouted. “I will not have her exposed to such cruelty. You have made her your pet, like your poor little foundlings, that blind girl you’re so fond of?—”
“Do not speak tomeof making people projects! When you have played the Pygmalion with me, dressing me in gowns of your choosing, driving me about in your very smart and treacherous carriage, showing me in your box at the opera! Forwhat purpose?” she cried. “What could you possibly hope to accomplish?”
He loomed perilously close, nostrils flaring again. “I have played thewhatwith you?”
“You know very well what I am talking about!” She fought back the tears threatening to spill over. Except Pygmalion fell in love with his creation. The man who had notoriously scorned women burned with such devotion that the goddess of love granted him his deepest wish.
It was the wrong parallel to make, of course. Rudyard had not been falling for her; he’d been plotting her ruin.
No doubt he meant for her to fall into the same trap he thought she was laying for Judith. Become an object of fascination, all this attention paid to her, and turn into an object of pity and derision when the world saw the truth. Why would he be so angry at a simple invitation unless he’d meant for Lucasta to fall, and now was furious that she might bring his sister down with her?
“It must stop now, Rudyard.” Her voice broke, and she cursed herself. She must keep control at all costs. The charade of his interest had to end, here and now, before she ended up heartbroken, wrecked by her own foolish hopes, gutted by his disdain.
