“I’m sure that’s true, Mr. Bastin, and I don’t think he meant to imply you are dishonest.” She rose from her chair and unfolded her cape.
Jack stood. “Let me help you with that.” He approached her and took the cape from her hands. “What do you think Hudsyn meant?” he asked, laying the garment across her shoulders.
She tied the string of her cape and turned to face him. “I think he meant that no woman should trust herself in your company.”
Jack leaned forward, taking in her flowery scent. “And what do you think? Can you trust yourself in my company?”
“I don’t know.” Her lips parted slightly.
Jack’s breathing shallowed. If she had been any other woman—anyone other than Hudsyn’s cousin—but he could not be disloyal to a friend. “Then, I promise never to give you a reason to distrust yourself. I will treat you as if you truly are one of Artemis’s virgins.” He straightened and took a step back, increasing the distance between them.
Chapter Eight
Vengeance is in my heart, death in myhand,
Blood and revenge are hammering in myhead.
—William Shakespeare,Titus Andronicus
Jack Bastin’s faceblurred past Ottilie as she stepped, turned, and swirled around the ballroom floor with Lord Towne. She’d accepted his invitation to dance in an effort to placate her aunt, and to make matters worse, he insisted on engaging her in conversation.
“Do you agree, Miss Hamilton?” Lord Towne breathed, rather than spoke, the question.
“Yes, certainly,” Ottilie murmured, despite not having heard a word he’d uttered. Her thoughts were entirely on Mr. Bastin, who appeared to be engaged in his own string of fruitless conversations. It seemed the fiasco with Madame Baudelaire had served to increase his popularity.
“I’m glad to hear it. Of course, I haven’t read the book myself, but I have it on good authority that it’s scandalous.”
“What book?” Ottilie asked, the words “book” and “scandalous” having caught her attention.
“Mr. Bastin’s novel. I have no idea why society makes such a fuss over him. At least you and I are in agreement.”
“Are we?”
He looked down at her as they turned and stepped. “Yes, you agreed his book is scandalous and not worthy of being read.”
“I agreed to no such thing. Indeed, I have read Mr. Bastin’s novel twice and enjoyed it more the second time.”
“Well, I am certain your aunt will not approve.”
“My aunt is out-of-touch with the times. She doesn’t approve of secondary education for women, either. Yet in a few years, you will see young women attending university and getting jobs instead of getting married.”
“Preposterous! First, they will take over our universities, and the next thing you know, they will want the vote.”
“They? Do you mean the mothers, sisters, and daughters of this world? You are uncomfortable with the notion of change, I see.”
Mr. Towne’s light polka step turned into a stomp. “I would have thought you might show a little more gratitude toward me, Miss Hamilton.”
“Gratitude?”
“Yes, for offering to marry you. Not many gentlemen of my rank and wealth would consent to marry a six-and-twenty-year-old bluestocking, who—”
“How interesting. I received no offer of marriage from you, Lord Towne.”
“That is because I made my offer to your aunt.”
“Did you, indeed? And did my aunt accept this offer on my behalf?”
“She thinks it is a splendid match. Although, I am starting to doubt it shall be. I have no desire to acquire a quarrelsome wife.”
