Why was she angry?Had someone said something to upset her? Looking at the person she was with, he noted it was the youngest of Anthony’s aunts. Perhaps they were pressing her about her marriage prospects?
“And now if you’ll all come through, dinner will be served,” Lady Petunia announced in tones as commanding as a field marshal. Her voice carried easily to every corner of the townhouse, and Jamie suspected even the neighbors two doors down had heard the summons.
Much to his relief, he found himself paired with Anthony’s other aunt, Lady Agatha, on his arm. Relief, however, proved fleeting.
“Now, Jamie,” Lady Agatha began in her brisk, determined way, “tonight will give you ample opportunity, without hordes of people interrupting you, to chat with the three women on the list.”
Jamie stiffened. “I do not wish to marry, Lady Agatha.” He kept his voice low and direct, hoping honesty would stall their matchmaking attempts. “I understand you and your lovely sisters want my happiness—as Toby and Anthony have found it—but I can be content without a wife for now, thank you.”
“Oh, pooh to that.” She waved off his declaration. “You need a wife to help you heal and move on, dear.”
The word heal slid under his ribs like a blade. Jamie’s fingers twitched where her gloved hand rested lightly on his arm. He had no wish to revisit those wounds, not here, not under the blaze of candlelight and the watchful eyes of Anthony’s aunts. He owed this lady and her sisters a great deal, but his marriage was not part of that.
“It is time, Jamie,” Lady Agatha added softly, as they entered the dining room. “You’re seated here.”
Now wasn’t the time to continue this discussion, so he inclined his head, and took up his place behind the designated chair. As custom dictated, he waited until all the ladies had claimed their seats before lowering himself.
Directly opposite, Lady Alice Smythe sat in her own chair with her usual composure. Her ivory silk gown caught the glow from the candelabra above, the delicate sheen making her appear almost luminous. Pearls rested against the graceful column of her throat, modest enough in appearance, but the gentle curves above the bodice had his blood heating.
He’d kissed this woman, and held her. Jamie had felt every lush curve of her body pressed to his.Not now, Jamie.Having lustful thoughts for a dinner guest was not exactly the done thing in such a setting.
He noted, with a sinking heart, that clearly the aunts had placed the other two ladies on his list beside him to his left and right. Lady Alice, the third, was opposite. He was hemmed in on all sides. To his right, Miss Devlin offered a greeting.
“Good evening, Lord Stafford.”
“How wonderful,” cooed Miss Timothy on his left, as if being seated beside him were akin to discovering a treasure.
Jamie sent Anthony’s aunts a look sharp enough to draw blood. All three, grouped together like conspirators at the far end of the room, returned his glare with indulgent smiles. He was a reluctant pawn on their matrimonial chessboard.
Forcing a polite expression onto his face, he acknowledged both women at his sides before lifting his gaze across the gleaming white linen and colorful blooms on the table to Lady Alice.
She was poised, and distant. There was no trace of the woman who had wept in his arms outside the Black Dog in sight. Tonight she was all elegance and haughtiness, her expression polite as she spoke with the gentleman to her right, Lord Braxton.
Jamie’s jaw tightened. Braxton was a second son miraculously turned heir after an uncle’s death abroad and a brother’s fatal fall from a horse. Elevation had not improved his character, only his debts. And the way he leaned too near Alice, smiling with practiced charm, spoke volumes about his intentions.
Jamie wanted to tell him to sit back, to warn him off. But he had no rights where Lady Alice was concerned. No claim. No promise. Nothing but the uneasy feeling that she was angry with him, though he did not yet know why.
Her eyes turned suddenly and locked on his. The candles flickered, casting her face in a golden hue, but those eyes were once again narrowed. She was definitely angry with him.Why?
He’d tried to speak to her, but hadn’t in two weeks, so to his knowledge nothing had passed between them to warrant her anger. She looked away first.
Jamie had admired many women in his time, even desired some, but none intrigued him as Alice did. He knew he needed to get her alone. He had to tell her what he’d discovered. It was only fair.
Braxton bent nearer still, murmuring something that drew a polite nod. Jamie caught her slight retreat as she leaned back. The man mistook her distance for coyness, idiot that he was.
Jamie clenched his hands beneath the table. He wanted, badly, to break Braxton’s nose.
Which should tell you, he reminded himself grimly,that distance from that woman is the best course forward.
Conversation around the table ebbed and flowed. Servants glided in with the first course, tureens of fragrant broth. Jamie nodded for the footman to ladle some into his bowl.
“Shocking business in Covent Garden, shocking,” boomed Mr. Rushbridge from Jamie’s left, his voice carrying above the general din. “A gentleman stopped in his carriage, bold as brass. Robbed him right there on the street.”
Gasps circled the table and then the questions started. Jamie’s attention wavered between the conversation and the woman across from him, who still did not glance in his direction again.
“Are you enjoying the soup, Lady Alice?” Jamie said, reduced to seeking her attention.Fool that I am.
“Yes, thank you, my lord.” Her eyes went to his left ear.
