“I saw the Duomo.”
“And?”
“It was large.”
Lady Sophia pressed her fingers to her temples. “You are hopeless.”
“I am efficient.”
“You are a disaster.” She dropped her hands and fixed him with a glare that, perversely, made him want to smile. “Lady Georgiana is kind, intelligent, and would have made an excellent mother to Oliver. And you drove her into the arms of Lord Fenwick with your complete inability to engage in basic human conversation.”
“Fenwick has an unfortunate nose.”
“Fenwick has charm.” Lady Sophia stepped closer, and Edward caught her scent. Something floral beneath the cloying perfume of the ballroom. “Charm, Your Grace. The ability to make another person feel seen and valued. You might try gaining some of those skills.”
They stood too close. He could see the rapid pulse at her throat, the slight parting of her lips, the fire in her eyes. A flush crept up from her décolletage, painting her skin with warmth that made him wonder how it would feel beneath his fingertips. Something stirred in his chest, warm and unfamiliar.
“Perhaps you could teach me.” The words escaped before he could stop them.
Lady Sophia blinked. For a moment, she seemed at a loss for words. Then her chin lifted, and that familiar spark of defiance returned.
“Perhaps I could.” She held his gaze. “If you are willing to learn.”
The music swelled around them. The crowd laughed and chattered, oblivious to the charged silence in the alcove. Edward found he did not want to look away. Found he did not want to step back, to restore the proper distance between them.
Found he wanted things he had no business wanting.
“The musicale ends at eleven.” Lady Sophia’s voice emerged softer than before. “We will discuss strategy during my next visit with Oliver.”
“Very well.”
She turned and walked away, disappearing into the crowd. Edward watched her go, the blue silk of her gown swaying with each step, the candlelight catching the shine of her hair.
Hugo appeared at his elbow. “How did it go with Lady Georgiana?”
“The Duomo was large.”
Hugo stared at him. “I beg your pardon?”
“Never mind.” Edward straightened his cuffs. “I need more champagne.”
He walked toward the refreshment table, ignoring Hugo’s confused protests, and did not look back at the spot where Lady Sophia had stood.
He did not need to look. He could still feel her presence, like a brand on his skin.
CHAPTER 9
“The Elgin Marbles were acquired by Lord Elgin during his tenure as British Ambassador to the Ottoman Empire.” Edward gestured toward the massive frieze, its carved figures frozen in eternal procession across the marble surface.
The British Museum bustled with visitors around them, voices echoing off the high ceilings, footsteps clicking against polished floors.
Oliver stared at his shoes.
“They once adorned the Parthenon in Athens,” Edward continued, determined to impart something of educational value. “Constructed in the fifth century before Christ, during the age of Pericles. The sculptures depict the Panathenaic procession, a festival held every four years in honor of the goddess Athena.”
Oliver picked at a loose thread on his coat sleeve.
“The architectural significance cannot be overstated. The ratio of the columns, the optical illusions built into the design to counteract perspective distortion, the remarkable preservation of the metopes and pediments?—”
