Page 29 of The Language of Love

“Hmm.” He propped a broad shoulder against the wall and crossed his arms. “The earl’s plantation, Sheesham Bagana, is north of the city of Dacca, tucked at the edge of the jungle.”

“Sheesham Bagana,” she repeated. “What a wonderful sounding word.” She looked up into eyes that were a dizzying kaleidoscope of greens, golds, and browns. “Tell me, what does it mean?”

“It means, in the shade of the sheesham tree.”

“Sheesham Bagana.” Annis savored the taste and texture of the musical word. She knew that her love of words baffled most people. Only her father had ever understood the appeal of languages, both English and foreign.

“I’ve never heard of a sheesham tree before.”

“They are a type of rosewood the Indians use for furniture. It has beautiful pink and white flowers.”

“It sounds lovely. And you say they grow around the earl’s house?”

“Yes, not his town house, but the one in the country. It is far away from the noise and bustle of the city, where the air is thick with perfume from sheesham and dozens of other flowers, a banquet for the senses. At night there are an untold number of insects which provide a deceptively beautiful symphony, a pleasing background to velvet nights filled with stars.”

Annis realized her mouth was open and hastily closed it. “You are a poet, Mr. Parker. That was lyrical.”

His mouth pulled into a mocking smile, and his eyes flickered toward the dancefloor. “You do not care to dance, Miss Bowman?”

“I love dancing.”

“Then why are you standing here listening kindly while I bore on about nothing?”

“You are not boring me. I asked you to talk about India. As for why I am here with you, instead of dancing, that’s because nobody asked me to dance.” She felt flustered by the time she reached the last word. His gaze was intense, yet it did not show what he was thinking. Probably that she was babbling imbecile.

“Will you dance a set with me—the next waltz, perhaps? I believe they dance it in London?”

“But…” She bit her lip. “That is the supper set.”

“Oh?”

“Perhaps you did not know, as you are new, but you would have to eat supper with me afterward.”

“I have no objection to eating supper with you, Miss Bowman.” He paused and his mouth hardened, the humor draining away from his mesmerizing eyes. “Unless you’d rather not eat with a mere servant?”

He was a rather prickly man. Doubtless he’d been the recipient of untold snubs these past weeks as he’d accompanied his friend; the beau monde guarded jealously against allowing commoners into its midst.

“I would be delighted to eat supper with you, Mr. Parker.”

Her words appeared to smooth his ruffled feathers. “How are you enjoying the Season so far, Miss Bowman?”

“I am glad I’ve had the chance to join in, but I can’t say it has been entirely enjoyable.”

“Oh? You do not care for the social whirl?”

“Perhaps not quite so much of it. My cousins keep a rather hectic pace.”

He pulled a face. “Indeed. Lady Sedgwick has set a brutal schedule for his lordship, too. Although this is the firstball of this size that we’ve attended, we’ve been burning the candle at both ends.” His eyes narrowed, and he gave her a sly smile. “I wonder where that saying originated?”

Annis chuckled. “What makes you think I would know?”

He merely grinned.

“You are shameless, Mr. Parker—has anyone ever told you that?”

“I can be,” he admitted. “When I’m in pursuit of something I want.”

Annis pursed her lips at his flirtatious words. No doubt her cheeks were a mortifying shade of red. Again.