Ernest leaned forward and did the same to show his two cards. An unbeatable ace of spades and jack of hearts snuggled together – the beautiful widow and her rakish lover.
“Shame, indeed, Lathbury.” And with a nod, he pocketed his winnings, gathered his glass of liquor, bid his adieu, and took himself to an alcove from where he could surreptitiously observe Mrs Locke.
Ever since the Plymtrees’ ball, he’d been intrigued by this woman – her enticing figure, contemptuous rebuffs and lake-blue eyes.
With blond curls swaying she played the roulette table with gusto, her manner towards her female companion attentive, and when she genuinely smiled – which wasn’t often – it lit her face with an alabaster glow, her tense deportment softening.
A few scoundrels circled like pirate ships around a Spanish galleon and he wondered what it would take to woo such a woman?
For he so yearned to witness those eyes burn with fire, not ice…
So Ernest plonked down his empty brandy glass, made fashionably crooked his cravat and sauntered over.
“MRSLOCKE?What a pleasant surprise. It seems we cannot be parted.”
“Lord Ernest, what a…” A hiss in Hebe’s ear reminded of her promise to be agreeable to the sub-species. “Delight.”
With an elegant bow, his insufferable perfect lips curved. “And who is your beautiful companion?”
Fluttering her eyelashes, Aunt proffered a silk-gloved hand while Hebe fixed a minimal smile in place to make the introductions, wondering why she’d ever made such a daft promise.
Lord Ernest did the pretty, bussing knuckles and exclaiming over mutual acquaintances, but Hebe’s patience this night had been worn to a thread. How many more times must she feign agreeableness with an ardent gentleman? This Golden Hell had more rakes than a gardener’s shack.
“And, if I might say…” Lord Ernest was still waffling on. “What a thrill to hear the three of us will all be together this summer.”
Hebe’s minimal smile dropped. Quicker than a gallows trapdoor. “T-together?”
“Indeed.” He angled his head in her direction. “A mishap at the castle stables has necessitated my immediate return so I shall be in residence for the month of August to host and entertain you both.”
Hebe’s mouth gaped, blood running chill. “I…”
“Oh, how delightful!” cried Aunt. “Isn’t it, my dearestagreeableniece?”
“I-I…I can hardly believe it true.”
“Fortune,” the rake drawled, “has indeed smiled upon us for I can picture it now – the picnics, song, dance and laughter. What do you say to that, Mrs Locke?”
With indescribable effort, Hebe curved her lips. “Such heights of anticipation will cause me to weep upon my pillow tonight, Lord Ernest.”
A splutter came from Aunt.
“How…rousing for a host to incite such eagerness.” The rake’s blue gaze danced with blatant mirth. “Yet I cannot help but notice a certain…placidness in you tonight, Mrs Locke. I do hope you are not sickening?”
“Oh, not at all, Lord Ernest. I am simply overwhelmed by this news and beneath it all, I’m…bubbling with emotion.”
“Splendid.” He pulled his cuffs. “And I hear from my brother that you are also an artist of fine talent, so perhaps I could sit for you? It would be no trouble, though I imagine a portrait must take hours? Days even of being closeted in one room together.” And the rake peered up over his golden spectacles.
He was goading her. Hebe knew it.
Enough was enough.
After all, Aunt had never stipulated that Hebe could not be the one to assume unwarranted closeness and hence void her promise.
So she stepped forward to yank that irritating skew-whiff cravat vaguely straight.
“Oh, no, Lord Ernest,” she purred, “I’m sure it would take no time at all. For ’tis said that the aim of art is to represent not the outward appearance, but the inward significance.” She patted flat his collar. “So a half-hour at most.”
The rake adjusted his spectacles before claiming her gloved hand.
