Almost all of them.
“Good evening, Miss Comerford,” the Marquess of Saltersberry began, for he was the man of the highest rank. Arabella searched the collection of information in her mind to find any facts she could recall about him. He was older than her by at least a decade and a half, but that didn’t mean much. She’d had far older lovers and they’d been fine.
But now that she stared at him she recalled he’d been linked briefly to a friend of hers, Lavinia, and she’d said he sometimes had a harsh temper when drunk. That certainly knocked him down a fraction in Arabella’s mind. Abusive situations were intensely difficult and dangerous to escape for women of her ilk. She tried to avoid getting even remotely near them.
Viscount Saxton was the next to greet her. He was the man who had been staring. He was handsome enough to look at. He had an interesting smile and a Roman nose. He also had ten thousand a year and his last mistress had been settled reasonably well. Arabella though she remembered Betty complaining about his lack of skills in the bedroom, but one could bring their own orgasms when one needed them. Still, months or even years of fruitless fumbling? Ugh.
The final gentleman was Mr. Patrick Murray. He was a grandson of the Earl of Jacksnewton, untitled himself, but certainly not without means. She thought he’d gotten himself involved in some kind of mining investments and made himself a fairly tidy fortune far beyond the small inheritance spread about by his grandfather. He seemed intelligent as he spoke to her and he wasn’t startlingly attractive like Silas, but he wasn’t hard to look at. His dark brown eyes seemed kind.
She talked to all three for a little while, using the mask of her personality and the draw of her wild to dangle them on her string. To play them off each other. Of course, it worked. She knew it would, it always did. By the time the three gentlemen excused themselves, two had asked to call on her later and one was talking about his wealth in the kind of terms that were part of the negotiation of these types of arrangements.
It was successful and it drew the attention of even more men in the room, which was the purpose, after all. But God, it was boring. Arabella had never found the hunt boring before, but tonight she was pleased when she was left alone for a moment and could gather herself.
“Here, have a drink.”
Arabella started at the sound of her sister Evelina’s voice. She hadn’t realized she was even in attendance tonight, which was evidence enough of her distraction. She turned to find Evelina approaching, a glass of punch outstretched toward her.
“Thank you,” Arabella said and took it. “Where is Harry?”
She looked around the room for Evelina’s duke and found him with a small group of gentlemen gathered by the punch table. He was frowning and talking.
“Negotiating something to do with parliament with those men,” Evelina sighed. “He scooted me off, told me I wouldn’t understand.”
Arabella pursed her lips. Evelina was the cleverest person she knew. The fact that the duke would think she wouldn’t understand some debate about farms or roads or taxes was ridiculous. Her sister could likely talk circles around those fops about it all.
“Why do you look so sour?” Evelina asked as she slid an arm through Arabella’s and squeezed gently.
Arabella glanced at her. “Do I look sour?”
Her sister nodded. “Yes. Not for more than a flash of a moment after the latest group of popinjays walked away from you, but I saw it. Were they so terrible? I noted Saltersberry was amongst them.”
There was a waver to Evelina’s tone. Concern for Arabella, so she quickly nipped the reason in the bud. “Yes, and before you say anything, I recall the talk about his temper. I’ve already crossed him off the list, though he was certainly charming enough for the little while I spent with him.”
“They always are,” Evelina said softly.
They both flinched. Her sister had been through a great deal with her second protector. The topic of violent tempers and what they could lead to was always a tender one.
“I would never consider him, Evie,” Arabella promised, and squeezed her sister gently.
“Good. But what about the others?”
“The viscount seems interesting enough to get over his lack of prowess in bed. And Mr. Murray is richandfascinating. Double points for him, even though he isn’t titled. I don’t think I’ve ever been with a protector who wasn’t titled.”
“Except Silas Windham,” Evelina said.
Arabella looked at her. There was a certain tone to her sister’s voice that was meant to elicit a reaction and she fought to keep it from doing so.
“Silas isn’t my protector,” she said and stared off into the crowd as if that didn’t matter. “We’re both very clear on that.”
“And is whatever it is between you over? I thought I heard you were out last night, but here you are on the hunt.”
“Itwillbe over. Probably sooner rather than later since he’ll be leaving London in a very short amount of time.” She swallowed, wishing her eyes didn’t burn with that reminder. She wasn’t about to shed tears about a man. That was ridiculous.
“I see.” Evelina was quiet a moment. “You’ve always liked the hunt. It’s always been magical to watch you stalk your prey and make them think it was them who drew you not the other way around. And don’t misunderstand me, youaredoing that right now. But I know you. Iknowyou, Arabella. I can see that you’re only going through the motions. Do you want to talk about why?”
Arabella turned her head. Her sister saw far too much. Under normal circumstances shewouldtalk to her about it. They’d often compared notes about lovers and discussed tactics—she adored Evelina and trusted her opinions.
But right now the answer to the question of why Arabella didn’t have her head in this most important game wasn’t one she wanted to consider for herself, let alone bring her intelligent sister into. She feared Evelina would see even further than she did now.
