The echoing clatter made her start.
“And how, pray tell, was that contemptuous?” she demanded.
He paused and turned again. And then very slowly and carefully, as if he’d been up all night itemizing her sins and memorizing them for recitation, he said, “Well, let’s see. There’s contempt for the man who made the effort to choose and send the flowers. Contempt for all the other men who’ve sent flowers. Contempt for the fool who took the time to write a deeply stupid poem. Contempt, no doubt, for anyone who isn’t the heir to a duke. As if it’s simply your queenly due.”
The last words were almost but not quite a sneer.
She felt as though she were being piled with bricks. If she’d had something to throw, she might have, and she wasn’t the throwing-things-in-a-pique type.
“You don’t understand.” Her voice was frayed.
“I think I do.” He sorted through the boards and found the one he wanted, apparently. “You might want to step back. You might inadvertently get some manual labor on you, Lady Lillias.”
Her head was light now with fury. In slow amazement she said, “Why you arrogant...”
He whirled.
“Go right ahead,” he said silkily. “Tell me what you really think, Lady Lillias.”
His anger was daunting, but her own gave her strength. Still, she could hear her own breathing.The air she pulled in was hot. “Very well then, Mr. Cassidy.” She was so angry that her voice shook. “Given that you’re a simple American from the country, I’ll forgive you for not knowing it’s asportto them. To all those men. The flowers and that nonsense.I’ma sport to them. They don’tseeme. They don’t care about me. They don’t knowme. It’s a ritual. I’m theobject. It’s what everyone does and I haven’t really had a say in it. And every time I get a bouquet I’m reminded of that.”
She realized her voice had escalated in pitch and now her eyes were burning and she was perilously close to furious tears. She went to brush her hand across her eyes. She realized she’d crushed the two roses in her clenched fist.
Oh, to be a man, able to stand there with an eyebrow up and not fall apart when ferocious emotion assailed you.
She uncurled her fingers. They both watched as the roses fell to the floor with a soft thump and a spray of red petals, like drops of blood.
And hehadgone motionless. All traces of irony were wiped from his face. Something like epiphany lit it. Then, to her amazement, his head went back a little, and came down with a nod, as if he finally understood something. His expression gentled, and then went inscrutable, as he at once took what appeared to be an involuntary step toward her. His hand rose slightly, as if he meant to touch her arm.
He stopped himself.
He let her breathe.
She took a shaky breath, and another. “And thatfool who wrote the poem has absolutely nothing else to do with his time, any more than my darling brother does.”
She said this more calmly.
They stood in this relative détente for another silent moment.
“But you’ll have to pick one eventually, right, Lillias?” He was only mildly ironic. Still gentle. “As long as he’s got a title.”
“Yes,” she said after a moment, quietly. A little desperately. “Of course. That’s what’s expected. That’s how it’s done.”
She swiped at her eyes.
But in silence, in the dim, dusty light of the ballroom, they regarded each other, and it was an absurd relief to have his attention again. To be heard by him.
And yet he’d still judged her. And her anger wasn’t spent.
“I want you to know... or rather, I should say I did like them, at first. The flowers. Who wouldn’t? It’s flattering, isn’t it? Flowers are lovely. It’s meant to be a compliment. And I know that I’m considered pretty, and I don’t dislike being told. And yet do you have any idea how often men are unkind about it? Do you know how ridiculous they can behave about it? It’s allwantingand competition and it colors their perception of me and I cannot free myself of it. All themendecided who I was. And you’re just the same.” She was ashamed that her voice was shaking. “Youdon’t even really like me. It’s the only reason you noticed me at all.”
He took this in, his expression inscrutable.
“Actually, I think it was the wreath of smoke around your head,” he said.
This surprised a short laugh from her.
It was the first time she’d said these things aloud to anyone. She felt shaky and a little exposed, but the liberation was dizzying.
