“I know you’ve seen me,” she said by way of greeting as she came to stand beside him. “I won’t take long.”
He tucked his hands behind his back. “Did you have something you wished to speak to me about?”
“Yes, actually.” She sighed, and the defensiveness left her voice. “Can you pretend as though we are friends, just for the duration of this conversation?”
Friends?
He could not imagine anything less likely than being friends with this lady. But even so, he turned to face her, frowning slightly.
“What is this about?”
“Miss Parsons,” she said simply, and he almost groaned.
“Of course it is. Very well, you may have your say.”
“How very kind of you.” She delivered the words in a decidedly coquettish way that, in all fairness to her, had probably not been designed that way. But it had the effect of making his libido stir the way he really should not have done. “She says that you are being overbearing.”
He raised a brow. “Did she now?”
“Not in as many words, but I read between the lines.” She sighed. “I have some experience with overbearing male authority figures in my life attempting to impose their wishes on mine.”
He almost reared back. “Are you comparing me to your father?”
“Oh, you are different, of course.” These words, she leveled at him as an appeasement, but they didn’t change the fact that shehadcompared him to her father. “But the reality is largely the same, Your Grace. She feels as though she must always be held accountable, and that she may never conceive of liking a gentleman without your approval, and I am under strict pressure to marry as soon as possible. My father, I would, I think, accept any gentleman brave enough to offer for me.”
“Your father is a fool,” he said a little harshly.
“That point was never up for debate. The question is, are you a fool?” She looked at him steadily, eyelashes feathering around her eyes.
She was so very beautiful, in that understated way he found so appealing. And now he’d had her lush body against his—he knew how her curves felt against the contours of his body, and he wanted nothing more than to feel them again.
Which waspreciselywhy he couldn’t linger in her presence too long.
“I like to think I’m no fool,” he said, forcing his mind back to the topic at hand. “But I also refuse to allow my—Miss Parsons to marry a man who is unworthy of her.”
“She is young,” Lady Thalia acknowledged. “And those of us who are young often do not, I’ll admit, make the best choices. But you must give at least the appearance of trusting her judgment, or else how will she know she can trustyouwith her thoughts and feelings? A woman must feel respected in order to confide in a gentleman, and while I cannot presume to know your relationship,youmust know that you risk alienating her if you continue to behave in a high-handed way.” She shrugged, with the air of having washed her hands of the subject entirely. “And now I have done my duty, the rest is down to you. Do with that as you will, Your Grace.”
“Wait.” Despite all his instincts telling him to do the opposite, he put a hand on her arm. “What prompted you to come to me now?”
“What do you think?” she asked with a raised brow. “Miss Parsons herself approached me. She seems to think I might have some sway with you. If you prove her wrong, it is no skin off my nose.”
He stared down at her, and she stared back just as defiantly, her chin raised, her eyes flashing. He had never encountered a woman who defied him so openly. Most people who defied him did so as subtly as they dared, hoping he would never notice.
Joyce, for example, frequently sought to prove her superiority by undermining his authority, but she did so with a smile on her face. And he endured it because of Lydia.
But here was Thalia, her hands on her hips, blistering in her open derision.
The sight made him eager to encourage her to submit. Not by force, but by concession, through her own free will. That would make his victory all the sweeter.
Time—beyond time—to let her go.
“Very well,” he said, and turned back to the window. “Your concerns are noted.”
She hesitated, as though she had expected more, but unless she was hoping for a repeat performance of the masquerade ball, during which he forgot himself entirely, she would find herself mistaken.
Eventually, she shook her head and returned to the soiree, and shortly after, he saw her dancing with a gentleman who clearly bored her. Just once, their gazes met, and it was as though fire licked down his spine.
He almost invited her to dance with him. Then, aware that he had lost his mind, he tasked Joyce with getting Lydia home safely and leaving the event entirely.
