I wondered how much he had told Mrs. Langham about our acquaintance. But then, the woman seemed all too happy to help. It was ridiculous to think she was jealous of me. What possible threat could I, a woman on the cusp of middle age with two children, pose to someone like her?
“Yes,” he replied after a moment, his voice sounding oddly strangled.
I pulled the lacy black veil over my face. The fabric’s design seemed to obscure my features enough to provide a degree of anonymity.
“How do I look?” I asked with a cheeky tilt of my head, hoping to break the tension that had begun to fill the space between us.
But Mr. Dorian remained serious. “Perfect,” he said softly. “You look perfect.”
I was grateful that the fierce blush I felt heating my cheeks was undetectable under the veil. I cleared my throat before I could manage a reply. “Thank you.”
He gave a little nod of acknowledgment before turning to look out the window. I couldn’t begin to understand his behavior just now, so instead I sat back in my seat and went over everything I hoped to learn tonight.
We arrived a short time later at the opulent redbrick home of Sir Armstrong-Hughes.
“What do you know about him?” I asked, as I looked out the window.
Mr. Dorian immediately knew who I meant and let out a sigh. “Not much. He spent many years abroad in Egypt with the army. Apparently that was how he earned his knighthood.”
I glanced at him. “He must have done something more than that. One doesn’t just hand out knighthoods for a job well done.”
“You’ll have to ask Victoria Regina about the particulars,” he drawled.
I rolled my eyes at his insouciant answer. “Mrs. Langham didn’t know?” I deeply regretted the question as soon as I asked it.
But Mr. Dorian didn’t seem to notice my sarcasm. “No.”
Unfortunately, this only emboldened me. “How did they happen to meet?”
“The theater, I suppose. She meets lots of people thatway,” he added, entirely unconcerned by the thought of his mistress forming acquaintances with any number of wealthy gentlemen.
Reluctantly, I had to admit it was a point in Mr. Dorian’s favor that he didn’t seem overly possessive of her. Granted, my understanding of such arrangements was limited, having mostly been gleaned from gossip I heard when I was still married. But as I understood it, protectors usually expected their mistresses to remain cosseted away somewhere and ready to fulfill their duties at any time. Yet Mrs. Langham appeared to enjoy a healthy independence.
“She told him I developed an interest in Italianate glassware when I was abroad and wanted to start collecting pieces of my own.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Even though you were in Corfu?”
He smiled. “It was the first thing she could think of. I should have better prepared her. Luckily, Sir Armstrong-Hughes was charmed enough by her tale that he deigned to admit me and a guest.”
“Then, who will he thinkIam?” I asked slowly. For surely the man would have assumed a personal connection between Mr. Dorian and Mrs. Langham.
“I’m sure he will make the obvious assumption,” Mr. Dorian drawled. “And I trust he is a gentleman and thus will not ask directly.”
Fair enough.
By then, the coachman had opened the door, and Mr. Dorian climbed out of the carriage. As he handed me down to the pavement, he pressed his lips close to my ear, and I sucked in a startled breath.
“Just stay close and let me do the talking, all right?”
I bristled a little at this directive, but we didn’t have time to argue. Other attendees were already heading inside, and the auction would start soon. “Fine.”
Mr. Dorian then held out his arm, and I took it. “Now, remember,” he began as we ascended the front steps, “you are supposed to find me irresistible.”
“I’ll try,” I said dryly and pressed a little closer to him.
He glanced at me. “I wish I could see your face clearly right now.”
“I’m frowning,” I snapped. “An expression you are quite familiar with.”
