“I’m not sure that I would agree,” he murmured, as he settled his serviette in his lap and paused for the first course to be served. “That kiss in the gardens was rather intriguing.”
“I don’t care to remember that,” she snapped.
He lifted a hand and ran his thumb lightly over his lower lip. “Wouldn’t you?” he taunted.
Her expression quickly shuttered, but he could see the hitch in her breathing and he knew she wasn’t as unaffected by the memory as she might like to believe. “It’s vulgar to discuss such things at the dinner table.”
“And where might one discuss them?” he asked. He lowered his voice, added a hint of suggestion. “In the bedchamber?”
Dulcenia had just lifted her spoon, only to have it clatter back on her plate. The noise caught the attention of a few other guests, including Marcus and Lady Jane, who sat across from them. Deciding to give his companion a reprieve, Carew fell silent and concentrated on his meal.
However, it wasn’t long before she hissed, “I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t speak to me the rest of the evening.”
He lifted a brow. “Surely you don’t mean that?”
“I absolutely do,” she returned without hesitation, and Carew might have believed her if it wasn’t for the slight twitch of her lips. He wanted to laugh with the knowledge that she was actuallyenjoyingtheir banter.
And if he was honest with himself, he was too.
Unfortunately, if he kept thinking like that, it was going to be difficult to recall that he was supposed to be rebuffing the lady’s charms, not encouraging them.
Something was happening to Dulcenia.
Never in her life had she actually attempted to flirt, because when she did, her tongue would sadly trip over itself. But for some reason, the sparring match she was engaged in with Lord Dalhousie was… different. Not once did she have to think about what to say. He annoyed her so much that the words just spilled forth.
And yet…
Every time he brought up that ridiculous kiss, it unnerved her. She was sure that was the point, because if he kept her at sixes and sevens, then he wouldn’t have to worry about her leading him to the altar. However, she had been completely honest when she said she didn’t think they would suit. Even if the interlude in the garden had been appealing, it wasn’t enough to base a marriage upon. While unions had been made on less, she didn’t intend to settle for anything other than love. She was sure that Lord Dalhousie would scoff at the very idea, likely imagining that it was a fleeting emotion like most of the rakes she had observed at varioustongatherings. She would rather be a spinster than the forgotten wife of a peer in some crumbling estate. If she wed the marquess, there is no doubt in her mind that’s what she would be.
Once dinner was over, the ladies left the table so the gentlemen could converse amongst themselves with a port and cigars, and while Dulcenia would have liked to retire instead of joining the other young ladies in the parlor, Lady Osbourne encouraged her to take part. “As the wife of a gentleman, you will have to learn to entertain. This will be great practice.”
Of course, the lady had taken her leave after that, so any support Dulcenia might have had was gone the moment she walked into the room and was forced to endure Lady Jane’s smirk.
Dulcenia ignored her and the rest of her group as she walked over to one of the paintings on the wall. It was an interesting piece with an almost fantasy-like quality.
“It’s calledGothic Cathedral on the River, by Karl Friedrich Schinkel.”
Dulcenia tried to suppress a thrill at the sound of Lord Dalhousie’s deep baritone. “Shouldn’t you be with the rest of the gentlemen in the dining room?” she returned dryly.
He shrugged. “It wasn’t my idea. Marcus wished to further his acquaintance with Lady Jane.” He rolled his eyes and Dulcenia turned to see that the gentleman was, indeed, doing his best to charm the lady. And by the sparkle in her gaze when she looked at him, he was doing a marvelous job.
“Ah, I see,” Dulcenia murmured, and then turned her attention back to the painting.
There was a brief pause, and then the marquess said, “You seem rather taken with Schinkel’s work.”
“I can’t really say.” She shrugged one shoulder. “This is the first piece I’ve encountered.”
“Don’t tell me you haven’t been to the British Museum?”
She could hear the frown in his voice, so she turned back to see that a crease had formed between his brows. “Why do you find that so difficult to believe?”
“Well, if it is something you enjoy, I would have thought your father—” He stopped abruptly.
She crossed her arms. “I didn’t realize that you were so familiar with my father.”
He seemed uncomfortable all of a sudden. “Er... I have heard mention of Lord Lovell, of course. I suppose I mentioned him because I find it difficult to believe he wouldn’t do whatever was necessary to please his daughter.”
“Then you know nothing about him. He’s nearing seventy years of age, and he doesn’t care to venture out of doors more than is necessary.”
