“I-ah, pardon?” The question shocked her because it was so unexpected. Plus, there was also a great deal more between her and Lord Plunge that no one knew about, and never would.
“Are you hard of hearing as well as annoying?” He leaned closer so their faces were now a mere foot apart.
“What is it with your family all crowding me? Back away.” Mary waved her hand at him. He did not move. She inhaled and her nostrils filled with his spicy scent. Why did this man always smell and look so good? Tonight, he wore a dark grey jacket and black waistcoat with grey stripes. His necktie was not too elaborate and his trousers white like his shirt. Vital, Mary thought and hated that his presence bothered her so much.
“Answer the question, Mary. Why are you friends with Plunge?” He raised a dark brow.
“None of your business. Why are you so vile?” she said through her teeth.
“Oh now we both know that’s not true, ask anyone.” His expression changed suddenly, and he grinned. Flashing his teeth in a boyish smile like that just added to his charm. It infuriated her how handsome he was.
“You…you are a horrid beast,” she managed to get out and was instantly annoyed, as she was usually far more articulate than that, but nothing else had come to mind.
“Au contraire, my dear Miss Blake. There are many here in this very ballroom that would disagree with your insult.”
“You are an incorrigible flirt!” Her anger was making her irrational, which was never good for either Mary or the person closest.
“Jealous, Mary? Would you like me to flirt with you?” His smile was mocking.
And that was the final straw for Mary. For some reason, she laid the blame entirely on exhaustion, but she felt the sting of tears. That would never do. No way would she weep before his man. Instead, she hissed out a breath. “Only because you are a flirt and want every woman to fall at your overly large, highly polished evening shoes. You have no substance, very little intellect, and are extremely vexing. So you’ll excuse me if I take myself from your presence with haste.”
“Mary—”
She ignored him and walked away without looking back. As far as parting shots went, it was a good one. Seething, she headed anywhere but here. She was unsettled, tired, and yes, anxious. It was not her usual state, and that had made his words hurt her. Normally, she could laugh them off, as he would. It was their way, to insult each other. A game almost. Tonight it had not felt funny and had hurt.
Mary hated that he could hurt her when she’d been sparring verbally with him for years. Why now did she feel this way? Zacharial Deville meant nothing to her.
Looking down the skirts of her hideous dress, she felt the urge to shriek. Suddenly everything that she had always just lived with was unsettling her.
Why must she be forced to wear such hideous creations? The unfairness of it all made her eyes water even more. As she wasn’t looking where she was going, of course she bumped into someone.
Reaching out she steadied the woman, and to her horror it was the Duchess of Yardley. Mary was about to be eviscerated with a tongue-lashing.
“What’s wrong, gal?” The Duchess studied her with absolutely no malice on her face.
“Nothing,” she said quickly, eager to escape. She needed solitude to calm down.
“I know when someone is not right, which is fortuitous as I have just the thing to fix you.”
“How is my current condition fortuitous?” she snapped and then regretted it. “Forgive me, Duchess, I was rude.”
Mary hadn’t seen the duchess standing in her path, which, considering the hideously loud shade of green she wore, showed just how preoccupied and filled with self-pity she’d been.
“On a daily basis I am rude more often than I am polite. Think nothing of it, gal. Now come along.”
“To where am I coming along to?” Mary asked as she was tugged right by a surprisingly firm grip on her elbow.
“Supper of course, gal!”
“But it is not suppertime surely?”
“We will get there before the others and have the entire selection before us.” The duchess, who was dressed even worse than Mary, cackled.
“I’m really not hungry, but thank you, Duchess. You go, and I will take some air.”
“Is there none in the room then?” the duchess muttered. “I’ve never understood the need to ‘take air.’ It sounds like a lot of fluff and nonsense to me. We’d all be dead if we didn’t take air in constantly.”
“Ah, well yes,” Mary managed.
