Why should he not invite her and a few guests? The gardens looked splendid. The gardeners had made great inroads. And autumn was a few short weeks away. A beautiful time of year in Northumberland, he’d been told. The house looked and smelled considerably better, now with floral scents wafting from the vases of flowers Miss Jenner kept filled in the reception rooms.
He frowned. On reflection, he doubted Lady Anne would accept his invitation. Not unless a proposal was in the offing. And that was not his intention.
Miss Jenner, her coffee cooling beside her, studied her cards, dark lashes fanning her cheeks. He would lose again if he didn’t pay attention. He discarded his hand and picked up the widow hand, dealt for the absent fourth player, which any player could exchange for his own. It was only marginally better than the one dealt him, but he could now play the queen of clubs.
Williams followed with a low club.
Miss Jenner a trump.
One thing Dominic was certain of, she would see to his guests’ every need. Damn, but she played whist with skill. While he fought to concentrate and beat her in this last game, when his gaze rested on the soft skin of her throat, and down to the swell of her breasts above her bodice, his blood deserted his brain for another part of his body.
He took a deep swig of champagne.
Moments later, she looked up, merriment brightening her blue eyes as she put down her winning hand. “I believe I have your measure, my lord, and yours, Mr. Williams.”
He tossed down his hand. Dash it all. It was mortifying.
“By Jove, so you have.” Williams raised a questioning brow at Dominic’s poor play. “Well done, Miss Jenner.”
She laughed. “The luck of a beginner.”
Dominic shook his head, amusement tugging at his lips. “You would be a sensation at White’s Club in London.”
“I fear I would,” she said, raising her eyebrows. “Just by stepping through the door.”
“We couldn’t allow that. A gentleman’s club is a man’s last bastion.”
“I confess such clubs are a mystery to me. Do they exist for members to escape from women, my lord?”
Williams chuckled. “Touché. I suspect Miss Jenner has you at point nonplus, milord.” He drained his coffee cup and stood. “But rather than risk putting my point of view, I believe I shall retire. Good evening.”
As the door closed behind Williams, Miss Jenner stood. “I, too. I have enjoyed this evening very much. Thank you for inviting me.”
“You cannot retire on that note, Miss Jenner.” Rising, he gestured for her to join him on the sofa. “Allow me to add something in a man’s defense.”
With an amused small shake of her head, she obeyed his request.
He joined her, sitting at a discreet distance. She had a refreshing view of life. She hadn’t been brought up in that world where women expected their men to be away for long hours at their own pursuits. His arm resting along the back of the sofa, he leaned toward her and said, “Men, being of a simpler nature, enjoy each other’s company without the complicated presence of women. We value our freedom, our clubs, our male pursuits: hunting; fishing, and boxing bouts, carriage races, which interests few ladies.”
“I offer no objection to men seeking their own interests.” She studied the gloves she held in her hand. “But sometimes they take men away too often from their families.”
He could hardly disagree with her. Some men rarely went home after their sons were born. But some women could be merciless. Too many unhappy marriages in society, arranged or otherwise. He recalled a friend, Jeremy McConnell, who’d been discovered kissing a young woman with no chaperone present. The debutante and her mother plotted to trap him, and Jeremy, not much above twenty, faced with his father’s threat of disinheritance, had little choice but to marry the girl. When in his cups, Jeremy miserably admitted to Dominic he did not love his wife, and worse, fervently disliked her.
“Not every man is capable of rakish behavior,” he said, aware he had veered from the topic. Somehow, that she might think him a rake, mattered.
It was not long after young McConnell’s experience that Dominic found himself unfairly branded a rake by society. The source of the rumor denied him, he had no recourse but to ignore it. He looked into her wide eyes, her smooth forehead puckered. Did she believe the gossip which had obviously reached the village all the way from London? Why did he feel the need to defend himself?
“Didn’t Descartes say that perfect men are very rare?” she said with a hint of a smile curling her lips. “I take that to include women who can behave just as badly as men, while sometimes, good men are treated poorly.”
“Descartes also said that you must never accept a thing as true unless you knew it without a single doubt,” he said. “You’ve read Descartes?”
“Very little. A book of my father’s.”
He enjoyed talking with her. She was wise beyond her years, and her responses, were delightfully unpredictable. He couldn’t remember having such a stimulating conversation with a woman before, politics certainly, poetry, even philosophy, but rarely discussed with a good deal of sense. It reminded him again of the life she must have enjoyed with her father, no longer hers.
Raindrops pattered against the windows, a warm, intimate sound. A pensive mood settled over them. As the silence lengthened, he sensed a sudden intimacy, tense with expectation. Their gazes collided. Her eyes widened. Her sweet, feminine scent drifted across to him. He battled against moving closer to seek her softness and her warmth.
Her tongue traced the soft spot on her upper lip he wanted to kiss. The unconscious gesture sent heat straight to his groin, and he almost groaned.
