“We were always fighting, and you were flirting with every other woman.”
Mary would certainly never flatter his ego.
“And you were ignoring me and treating me like something stuck to your shoe.” He sank his teeth gently into her shoulder. She shivered. Everything between them had always been fiery, and this would be no different.
“We need to return, Zach.”
“I want to stay in here with you.” But he stepped back and away from her. “But you are right.”
He let his eyes trail over her flushed features and down her body, her eyes were a bit dazed, lips swollen from his kisses.
“We will finish this another time.”
Her chin went up. “Will we?”
He smiled and held out his hand to her, and she did not hesitate to take it. “Yes, we will.”
They sat with his family, and he ignored the knowing looks sent their way and instead moved his leg slightly until it brushed Mary’s.
She jerked in her seat, which made him smile.
“I’m hoping for some Wordsworth,” the Duchess of Yardley said from in front of him.
“Why?” Zach asked her.
“Because he is one of the best poets,” Mary said.
“Surely you jest?”
“You tell him what an uncultured buffoon he really is, gal,” the duchess said.
“Gladly.” Mary turned in her seat to look at him, her eyes sparkling with laughter. “You are a fool, sir. It is clear you are uncultured with an inability to see what is obvious. Wordsworth has a radical and direct approach to poetry. His use of the lyrical prose is unequalled.”
Zach scowled but knew his eyes were laughing right back at her.
“Lyrical prose? Please,” he scoffed.
“Oh now I protest,” Mr. Moulin said from two rows in front of them.
“For a brief shining moment, I thought they may have formed a truce,” someone behind them said. “It appears I was wrong.”
“If I may have your attention,” Lady Latham called from the stage.
Mary muttered something rude under her breath and then faced forward once more. Zach lowered his hand, caressing her leg on the way.
“First, we have… ah, we have Lord Plunge. I have convinced him to read poetry I have selected rather than his own words tonight.”
The audience clapped loudly at Lady Latham’s words. Beside Zach, Mary coughed behind her hand.
“Lord Plunge.” Lady Latham waved at the man, who was seated in the front row conversing with Lady Beckham.
He quickly got out of his seat and clipped the leg of the chair, pitching sideways. It took several hands to right him.
“Now that I know, I can only watch and admire,” Zach whispered to Mary.
She nodded, eyes on the man, who he now knew she cared for as a friend, therefore he could like him too.
“Is your maid’s father by any chance named Bobby?”
