She had sought to discover how old he was. He found himself flattered but quickly dismissed it as foolish. “Tell me about the play.”
With a nod, she took a deep sip of champagne and launched into a description of the violent last act. “If only Othello had talked to Desdemona, had believed her. The tragedy is that he failed to do so, don’t you agree?”
“Shakespeare’s intention goes further.” Gene discussed Shakespeare’s play at length, while Lady Mellicent watched him, her fan stilled in her hand.
When Gene finally drew breath and admitted he’d gone on a little long, she shook her head. “The play is about jealousy and hate, but it is also about love.”
“A destructive form of it.”
She nodded. “It is also about passion.”
“I cannot deny it.” Gene realized they’d been talking for some time. Those around them had become interested, no doubt because of the intensity of their discussion. Gene had broken his rule. He seemed always to be at risk of it in her company. “I shall make a point of seeing the play with your thoughts in mind.”
She curtseyed. “I enjoyed our talk very much.”
“As did I. But forgive me, I have an engagement.”
Her slim shoulders tensed as she crossed the room to her mother and Pallthorpe.
When Lady Abbersley’s attention was claimed by the woman in the next chair, Pallthorpe leaned over and said something to Mellicent which caused her shoulders to droop. Gene tightened his jaw. What was he about? Was he trying to manipulate her? Why the devil was Abbersley intent on Mellicent marrying him?
Troubled, Gene excused himself from his hostess and made his way down the steps to his carriage to attend the Waterson’s card party.
He sat back against the squab. There was nothing he could do, nor would Mellicent want him to. He could hardly marry her and shut such a passionate and spirited young woman away in the country. That would be cruel. He imagined Pallthorpe would escort her to all the balls, parties, and routes during the Season. The man might just be jealous. And Gene supposed he hadn’t helped.
But something about Pallthorpe left a nasty taste in his mouth. It was clear to him, at least, that Mellicent did not wish to marry him. Why then would she? Was it the man’s wealth and status that attracted her? Didn’t it matter if she disliked the man? Gene couldn’t believe it of her. She was too honest, entirely too unaffected. The answer must lie with her father.
The question of what Gene might do to intervene lingered as the carriage rattled through the Mayfair streets. By the time he’d reached the Waterson’s mansion, he was considering the possibility of snatching Lady Mellicent from the arms of a brute. Surprised at his ability to conjure up such an outlandish scheme, he chuckled.
Unable to let it go, he considered it further. If he approached her father and asked for her hand, he would favor Gene’s suit over the baron’s. It was not conceit on his part; it was the way of things. Even so, he could not be entirely sure of it. The merging of estate lands was involved, he’d heard. And from his secretary, he learned Abbersley’s financial situation had deteriorated after some poor investments. If one was inclined to view the matter cynically, and Gene did, Abbersley’s daughter was to be married to Pallthorpe to save the family coffers. It happened, of course. Marriage was often a business agreement. And yet, thinking of Mellicent, he disliked it intensely.
Still disturbed, he left the carriage and entered the elegant townhouse, handing his cloak, gloves, and top hat to the liveried footman. The hubbub from the drawing room failed to stop his line of reasoning as he followed the butler inside. That wonderful girl, whom he believed he would never meet the like of again, was over ten years his junior. He considered other successful marriages where the man was older. Why old Crowheart was twenty years older than his wife, but Gene often saw her about Town during the Season, and she seemed happy and enjoying her life. But then Crowheart was an engaging fellow, always laughing at some jest, and he clearly doted on his wife. Was Gene a fool and entirely too selfish to consider it?
Lady Waterson greeted him at the drawing room door. “Your Grace, how delightful to see you again.” She took his arm. “Do you plan to play faro tonight?”
“Perhaps.”
“Before you decide, do come and meet some people new to London.” She led him over to a small party gathered near the fireplace. Gene bowed to the two ladies and the gentlemen.
“I should like to introduce you to my niece, Charlotte,” Lady Waterson said. “Of course, you know her father, Lord Ambersham.”
“How do you do?” Gene smiled at the pretty brunette.
“Your Grace.” She curtseyed and rose slowly, gifting him with a warm, seductive smile while she fluttered her fan before her bosom.
Gene groaned inwardly and counted the days until he could decently leave London. Did he really consider marrying Mellicent? It would be wise to make his excuses and return post-haste to his quiet way of life. Before he did something he could come to regret. But as he made his way through the elegant reception rooms, pausing for a word with those who greeted him, it occurred to him that Mellicent had not once fluttered her fan at him with that look some young women employed. Her clear brown gaze engaged his as if they were friends.Friends!That was how she saw him, of course, fool that he was. But he didn’t want to be her friend. He wanted badly to make love to her. To wake with her in his bed and slowly discover every delightful thing about her. To teach her how exquisite making love could be.
A friend of Harry’s, William Brightmore, approached him with a somber expression. “How are you bearing up, Your Grace?”
“I am well, thank you, William.”
William took his arm and drew him into a quiet corner. Gene groaned inwardly. The man was insufferably maudlin. He never knew what Harry saw in him.
“Harry told me once he worried about you. Said a malady blighted the whole family.”
Gene raised his eyebrows. “What malady would that be?”
“A depressed nature. Harry had it, of course. Although he handled it in his own inimitable fashion.”
