“And nothing with you must be conventional or ordinary,” she said dryly. “I suppose I must be grateful you didn’t hire the balloon for the middle of St. James’s Park.”
He grinned. “That would be a sight! Would you have come with me, if I had?”
“Most certainly not.”
“Wouldn’t you?” His voice dropped a register. “But you enjoyed it. What would be different, if people hadseenyou enjoying it?”
“They would have seen me with you,” she said before she could stop herself.
“Right.” His coaxing grin disappeared. “Heaven save you from that.”
“No.” She stopped in her tracks and a few paces later he did as well. “I didn’t mean that,” she apologized. “I did enjoy it, and it was entirely thanks to you, for having such a brilliant, unexpected idea and going to some considerable trouble to arrange it.”
He just looked at her. His long hair had come partly untied by the winds aloft, and a stray strand blew near his cheek. For once there was no trace of mockery or arrogance or even humor in his expression. He simply stood there, waiting for her to explain.
And she owed him an honest explanation, not some prevarication about her mother’s approval. Joan had often wished she possessed more courage, more bold willingness to blaze her own path and pursue her own interests, no matter what her mother or society said. But her rebellions were of the small sort; when faced with the thought of public censure or her mother’s disappointment, she curbed her impulses. Hiding a copy of50 Ways to Sinwas a minor transgression. Gallivanting about London with Tristan Burke would not be viewed the same way. “I’m just not accustomed to people staring at me,” she went on awkwardly. “It isn’t usually for the right reason, and it rarely ends well for me.”
“What would be the right reason?” he asked after a moment.
“Well ...” She quickly closed her mouth. The right reason would be that she was wearing something stunningly fashionable, or had lost two stone of weight and six inches of height and looked like a siren, or that she’d just done something amazing, such as revealed a hitherto unknown talent for singing Italian opera. Or even, perhaps, attracted the most eligible, elusive gentleman in town to her side...
“It just never is,” she said with a sigh. “When people stare at me, it’s because I’ve worn something frightful or suffered another ball without dancing once. Sometimes they stare at me in pity, when my brother’s done something particularly dreadful. Or, lately, they stare in expectation of my aunt corrupting me into her scandalous and outrageous ways.”
His jaw tightened. “And being seen with me would be scandalous and outrageous.”
It would be. All of London would be shocked. Abigail would be worried. Penelope would be thrilled. Evangeline would probably be proud. But her mother ... Her mother would be appalled. Not only did she distrust Tristan Burke, she had extracted a firm promise from Joan not to see him. Ballooning with him, anywhere, would definitely count as a violation of that promise, even if Joan invented a whopping story involving highwaymen and abduction at gunpoint to explain it.
“You must admit you have worked hard at creating that impression,” she said, dodging a direct reply.
“Have I?” He rocked back on his heels. “You give me too much credit.”
She scoffed. “You open doors half naked, you wager on everything, you fornicate in public—”
“Never in public,” he said immediately.
“Near enough!”
He shrugged. “Not nearly enough, in Lady Elliot’s opinion. She’s the one who took off her pantalets and threw them at me.”
Joan’s cheeks burned. “I can’t believe you said that! That’s indecent!”
“You brought it up,” he said, unrepentant.
“You really don’t know how to talk to ladies, do you?” she exclaimed, but the moment she heard the words aloud, they made perfect sense. It explained a great deal about her infuriating encounters with him. He didn’t follow the usual rules of gentlemanly conduct or conversation, and he refused to give ground. No topic of conversation was out of bounds—in fact, he seemed to delight in shocking and unsettling her. Telling her that women took off their pantalets for him! As if she wanted to picture Lady Elliot offering herself to him on the chaise; Joan had thought it a particularly juicy bit of gossip a few weeks ago but now it put her in a cross mood, even crosser than when Abigail suggested Tristan could be Lord Everard in50 Ways to Sin. Only a very loose woman would do such a thing, of course, but ... she wished Evangeline hadn’t said Tristan would make some indecent woman very happy. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t right that it sounded so dreadfully fascinating. Why couldn’t he be just a little more proper and save her from the most terrible thoughts? Why couldn’t he want to make a moderately decent woman happy?
There was only one thing to do. She must think of her mother. She must try to thinklikeher mother. And above all, she must not wonder what he might do if a woman ... such as Joan herself ... were to tempt him to win that cursed wager right here and now...
He gave her his slow, heavy-lidded smile, the one that almost burned with wicked suggestion. “No? I seem able to convey my intentions well enough.”
Think of Mother. What would Mother say?Joan inhaled a desperate breath. “That’s exactly what I mean. You talk approvingly of loose women who pull up their skirts for you. You talk with notorious gossips because you delight in sending them off with some wild rumor you know isn’t true. But the rest of womankind you avoid, because you haven’t the slightest idea how to be genuinely polite or charming or considerate. You’re like a child, Lord Burke, taking delight in shocking and outraging people.”
He did not look reproved, or even moderately abashed. In fact, her stern rebuke appeared to amuse him, as his smile grew. “Oh?” he drawled. “You prefer dull, dry men who can’t say one interesting thing all evening?”
Not in the slightest. Even Mother wouldn’t agree with that statement. Joan glared at him in impotent frustration. “At least they don’t drive me mad!”
“Do I really drive you mad?” His voice dropped as he asked the question, managing to make it sound seductive and—and—and interested.
Oh, help. Surely not even Mother would know what to say to a man when he looked at her this way.
