She turns to Jonas. “Can we change the topic now? This conversation is growing dull.”
His dark eyes remain trained on me like he didn’t hear her request.
This conversation may very well be dull, but I’m not done with Count Jonas d’Alenq yet. In our battle of wits, a truce is not an option. One must prevail. The other must acknowledge how misguided he was.
I dip my final sea snail into the dollop of mayonnaise on my plate. Everybody else has now finished their main course. No one has ordered a dessert.
“Canallwomen be strong,” I ask Jonas, “or only the plain ones with a high IQ?”
The glint in his eye tells me he knows I’m referring to his dumb theory of women.
“All can,” he says, “but few are willing to put in the physical and mental effort it takes to be strong.”
I mull his words. “Do you mean things like learning a martial art? Lifting weights? Studying hard science or mathematics?”
“For example.”
“Those aren’t the only measurements of strength, even for men,” I say.
“I never claimed they were.” He flashes me a crooked smile. “It just so happens that the few women that bother with them are more often plain sages than pretty dimwits.”
I tug at my ear, thinking about his words and how to respond.
Hyacinth stands up and in a fit of pique, declares, “I’m heading back to the house. Enjoy your debate club!”
Given how pretty and extroverted she is, my guess is she isn’t used to men ignoring her the way Jonas has.
Phil springs up from his chair. “I’ll walk you back!”
“I’m wasted.” Anand levers himself up and waves to Peter, Jonas, and me. “See you tomorrow!”
After the three of them pay their shares at the counter and leave, the three of us remaining at the table shift in our seats, smiling awkwardly.
Peter draws in a breath and asks me, “Would you like to hit a pub for a quick drink before we go back?”
Whoa!When I made up my mind about giving him a chance, I didn’t expect it to be tonight. But what’s a point of deciding something and not following through? I ought to say yes. My hesitation is causing him discomfort and underserved embarrassment in front of Jonas… who’s eyeing me intently.
“With pleasure,” I say.
“Do you mind if I tag along?” Jonas asks at once.
Whatever for?
“Just so we can finish our fascinating exchange,” he answers my unspoken question.
“You’re welcome to join us,” Peter says with a canned smile.
I give Jonas my coldest look, desperate to hide how profoundly ashamed I feel at how thrilled I am.
CHAPTER19
MARGOT
We find a pub four or five blocks down the street. Through the window, it looks simple but cozy with rough wooden tables, chairs upholstered in dark leather, waiters slaloming around with pints, and a jukebox by the wall. The smells of malt and the gentle hum of conversations greet us as we step inside.
We get our drinks at the bar and take them to a vacant table. Peter is having ale, I ordered a gin and tonic, and Jonas opted for a Scotch. Ha, I bet he wanted to have a more masculine drink than Peter’s!
The jukebox is playing classic rock tunes. Normally, music like that sets the mood for an evening of fun. But I’m not sure how fun it’ll be for Jonas after I’m done wiping the floor with him.
