“It makes me feel rather foolish,” she answered honestly. “It’s one thing to be foolish, quite another to be made to feel so.”
“I beg your pardon,” he said, sitting up a little straighter and drawing back his legs. “You’re my guest after all. I’ll make an effort to please.”
Lydia doubted it was something he did often, and his concession warmed her. Or was that the Scotch? She giggled.
She was definitely beginning to feel the effects, Nathan realized. That girlish giggle was surely the beginning of the end. He started thinking about how he was going to get her back inside her Nob Hill mansion without alerting the entire household.
“Did you know Mr. Moore before this evening?” Lydia asked, interrupting Nathan’s planning.
Except for the slight narrowing of his gray eyes, there was nothing Nathan did to reveal his surprise. “What makes you ask that?” he asked, prevaricating.
“Your accent. It’s very similar to Mr. Moore’s. It’s natural that two Englishmen would have gravitated toward one another here in San Francisco.”
“Is it? I hadn’t thought about that. Did Mr. Moore tell you where he’s from in England?”
She nodded. The movement made her chin nudge the rim of her glass and a little Scotch splashed the back of her hand. Embarrassed by her clumsiness, she quickly pressed her hand to her mouth and sucked in the droplets, never noticing how Nathan’s cold eyes took on an edge of warmth as they followed her movement and came to rest on her wet mouth. “He’s from London,” she said. “Where are you from?”
“London. But don’t put too much significance into that. I don’t think you could understand how big London is.”
“I should like to see it some day,” she said dreamily.
Nathan could have said the same. It was the one place he could never return. Without a governor’s full pardon, banishment from England was forever. “It’s an incredible city,” he said instead, remembering the place of his childhood. “Exciting. Crowded. Noisy and dirty. Narrow, winding lanes lined with tenements and palaces bordering the most beautiful parks in the world. There’s mind-numbing poverty and wealth that can hardly be imagined.”
“You make it sound very much like San Francisco.”
“Do I? Yes, I suppose in some ways it is, though if you repeat that I’ll swear I never said it.” He finished his drink and set the glass aside. “London is centuries old; poverty and riches go back so many generations they’re bred in the bone, for the most part, inescapable. There’s a certain acceptance of fate that’s missing in your city, Miss Chadwick. Here wealth is only decades old and people remember their roots. Men and women still believe they can aspire to be something different than their class would dictate. I admire that.”
“Do you? I confess that surprises me.”
“Oh?”
“What do you know about any of it, Mr. Hunter?” She gestured to the room at large, indicating the richness of her surroundings. “You seem quite content to have accepted what good fate and fortune have bestowed on you. If Mr. Moore were saying these things, it would be understandable. He came to my party this evening because he knew it was a charity event. By your own admission you came to play cards with my father. Did you know Mr. Moore was raised in an orphanage much like St. Andrew’s? He escaped the London slums and made something of himself.”
“You admire him.”
“Yes…yes, what’s not to admire? He’s obviously met life’s challenges head on. He’s personable and interesting and—”
“Don’t forget handsome.”
Lydia blushed and then asked herself why she should deny it. “Yes, he’s handsome. He has kind eyes, a wonderful smile, and he’s very polite.”
“A paragon among men.”
She wrinkled her nose at Nathan, disgusted with his dry humor. “Think what you will. You could do worse than to emulate his manner.”
Since there had been a time when Nathan thought much the same way, he couldn’t find it in himself to fault Lydia for her shortsightedness. “I’ll take it under advisement,” he said, noting that that seemed to satisfy her. She was looking around the room again, shaking her head slowly from side to side, her eyes as big as silver dollars. Nathan had no difficulty reading the expression on her face. She was still astonished that she wasn’t home. Her half-smothered giggle seemed to punctuate her thought. Above the rim of her glass her smile was a trifle giddy.
“You’re well on your way to being pie-faced,” he observed. “How does it feel?”
Her grin widened. “Wonderful. I’m enjoying myself immensely.” She spoke carefully, sounding out the individual syllables. “Are you?”
“I can’t remember when I’ve been so entertained.”
Lydia’s brows drew together as she considered what he said. It wasn’t worth so much effort, she decided, and her features relaxed. “Do you know I was angry with you this evening?”
“You were?” Nathan asked politely. He wondered if he should warn Lydia that the drink was loosening her tongue. Doubting that she would take heed of anything he might say, he let her go on.
“Oh, yes,” she said. “I didn’t want you to win that last poker hand. I think you knew it, too.”
