Page 41 of A Deal for the Duke’s Virgin

“Shall I fetch you another glass of wine, Lottie?” Christian asked softly, watching her carefully. She was very beautiful. He might enjoy her company for a while if she were amenable.

She glanced up at him, meeting his eyes, and for one moment he was entirely sure that she wore spectacles. The firelight made her hair glint red.

He blinked, flinching, and at once her hair returned to its golden color. Somehow, it seemed rather bland compared to red.

“No, thank you,” she replied, frowning, and he realized that he had been staring. “You are looking at me as if you have seen a ghost.”

“It’s nothing. For a moment there, I simply… I simply thought you looked like an acquaintance of mine. There are some similarities around the nose and mouth. You are the same age, I think.”

She chewed on the nail of her pinky. “Is she pretty, your friend?”

“I… I believe so.”

“You don’t sound certain.”

“It is not a euphemism. We really are friends. Acquaintances, perhaps.”

“Mm-hm. And yet you see her in my face. Does she have golden hair?”

“I… No.”

Lottie ran her tongue over her teeth and returned her gaze to the fire. “Interesting,” she murmured.

Christian flinched, beginning to feel ill at ease. He did not like the sensation. Generally, if he wished for companionship, he had no difficulty in getting ladies to like him. A little charming conversation, a few smiles, and they fell willingly into his arms. A little dalliance, and the next morning they would go their separate ways in peace and perfect contentment.

Really, it was an ideal situation. Women like Lottie could not marry, and even if they could, they would likely not risk it again. And yet they wanted warmth and companionship without losing their reputations. Everybody got what they wanted.

And the very fact that Lottie had not dismissed him was a good sign. So why on earth did he keep thinking about Thalia and that lopsided smile of hers? A particular image came to mind of her squinting through her spectacles, peering up at a particularly bad painting of some mountains.

“You are smiling, Christian,” Lottie observed. “What are you thinking of?”

He hastily concocted a lie. “I was only thinking that your hair looked like spun gold in the firelight. Quite angelic.”

“Spun gold,” she repeated with amusement. “Angelic. Very lazy, my friend. Very lazy. Are you also going to tell me that I am beautiful with the air of bestowing such a compliment on me for the first time?”

He cleared his throat. “No.”

“Good. Tell me more about this friend of yours. This lady whose face you see in mine.”

“There is really nothing to tell,” he said shortly. “As I said, she is an acquaintance. She is not here. I wish to acquaint myself with you, Lottie, if you wish it.”

She studied him for a long moment, fingers drumming on the armrest.

“Perhaps you remind me of an old acquaintance, too,” she murmured. “How strange it is to find resemblance in the eyes of people we do not know.”

He wasn’t entirely sure how to respond to that.

Before he could string together a sentence, Lottie spoke again. “We should talk more privately.” She rose to her feet. “I have rooms upstairs, with a parlor. Come with me, and we shall talk away from this racket. If you like,” she added and reached out her hand.

Christian stared at her hand, a smooth, white, pretty little palm with long and elegant fingers. He felt Thalia’s fingertips press against the back of his neck and saw her eyes squeezed shut behind her crooked spectacles.

Dear God, what is happening to me?

Lottie’s hand dropped. “Oh, dear,” she murmured.

“I… I do not know what has come over me,” Christian stammered, his desire cooling.

“I think I might guess,” Lottie said, tilting her head. “This acquaintance of yours lingers on your mind, perhaps?”