“I don’t know what you mean.” Ottilie played ignorant.
“The rumors about Mr. Bastin and how he—you know,” Miss Witley urged.
“I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I haven’t heard any such thing. I only arrived in London a few days ago.”
“But your cousin is his friend, so you must know something—more than I, at least,” she pressed.
“Lord Hudsyn and Mr. Bastin are not friends,” Lady Hudsyn snapped. “They are merely acquaintances.”
Ottilie peered across the way to where her cousin stood. Mr. Bastin and Henry were huddled together, and the two appeared to be engaged in deep.
“They look to be very close acquaintances,” Miss Witley murmured under her breath. “I am certain you can learn all sorts of interesting details from your cousin,” she continued to whisper so only Ottilie could hear her.
She smiled. Only seventeen, Miss Witley was the same age as many of Ottilie’s students; while she understood the girl’s curiosity and desire for excitement, she knew better than to indulge her whims. “Sorry to disappoint you again, but Lord Hudsyn doesn’t engage in gossip, and you will do well not to, either.”
“I only seek your opinion on the matter.” Miss Witley’s voice was laced with dejection.
Ottilie glanced at the girl’s downcast face and flushed cheeks. The poor child needed to escape her mother’s clutches and socialize with young ladies her own age. But she’d likely be bargained off into a marriage arranged by her mama before she’d even had a chance to grow into herself.
“I don’t mind sharing my opinion with you,” Ottilie relented.
“Oh?” Miss Witley’s countenance brightened. “Tell me.” She inched closer to Ottilie as if the two were best friends, and Ottilie’s heart went out to her again. Young ladies her age belonged in school, not on the marriage market.
Ottilie linked arms with Miss Witley and whispered. “I think it probably wouldn’t take much for a man like Mr. Bastin to make a woman fall in love with him.”
“I agree.” Miss Witley’s voice grew wistful. “Look at him. He’s as beautiful as Adonis.”
She makes a good point.Ottilie peered at Mr. Bastin.The man does look like a Greek god. No doubt he had the power to seduce Madame Baudelaire and many other women besides.
As though he felt her stare, Mr. Bastin looked up and met Ottilie’s gaze. His dark eyes traveled from her face down the length of her body and slowly up again.
Ottilie’s skin tingled with pleasure, and she stiffened in an attempt to control the sensation.
“I do believe he is staring at you,” Miss Witley said.
“Who?” Ottilie played ignorant and attempted to suppress the quiver in her voice.
“Mr. Bastin.”
A nervous laugh escaped Ottilie’s throat. “Nonsense! Why would he be looking at me?”
“Perhaps he thinks you’re beautiful.” Miss Witley sighed. “I don’t know. But I do wish he’d fix those lovely eyes on me.”
“My dear.” Lady Hudsyn came up behind Ottilie and clutched her elbow. “Will you fetch your cousin? I should like to go home now.”
“Of course, Aunt. Do you need to sit down?”
“Yes, I think I will. No need to accompany me.” She waved Ottilie away like one would a pestering fly. “Just go and fetch Lord Hudsyn. I’ll be waiting in the sitting room.”
“May I accompany you, Miss Hamilton?” Miss Witley pleaded. “I would so love an introduction to Mr. Bastin.”
“You most certainly may not accompany her!” Lady Witley snapped before Ottilie could reply.
“Why not, Mama? He is a famous writer. I only want to meet him.”
“Come along, dear,” Lady Witley said. “I do believe you have some dances left on your card.”
“But Mama—”
