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Must the man smell so blasted divine?
If temptation had an aroma, Jackson Matherfield had doused himself in the essence and was devilishly enticing even to a firmly-on-the-shelf spinster such as herself.
Quirking an eyebrow, she stepped away.
“Obviously.” Her droll reply was as dry as desert sand. “Don’t you have someplace you need to be? Overseeing one of your establishments?”
He and his brother owned four clubs. He called them restaurants, but she’d heard titillating whispers that the establishments were something much less reputable.
“Wagering on something ridiculous at White’s?” Was he a member of White’s? “Flirting with a debutante?”
Debutantes. Duchesses. Widows. Wallflowers. Elderly dames. Maids…
The man was a consummate charmer, and women flocked to him like ants to spilled honey. He pressed a black-gloved hand to his broad chest, mischief and merriment dancing in his eyes.
Oh, the bounder.
“You wound me, Aubrie, love. You know I never flirt with anyone but you.”
A snort worthy of a stallion escaped her.
A more susceptible woman might’ve been taken in by his pretty words and even more alluring, seductive smile. Fortunately, Aubriella lacked most feminine weaknesses and merely found his bedevilment bothersome.
She fashioned a sweetly demure smile in imitation of those she’d seen diamonds of the first water bestow upon gentlemen. A gratified thrill zipped along her pulse when the corners of his eyes flexed the merest bit.
Tit for tat.
Feeling particularly bold and naughty, she leaned toward him, and his nostrils flared.
Hmm. Interesting and unexpected.
“Bollocks to that drivel, Jack.”
As she stomped up the stairs, his laughter rang in her ears.
“I’m looking forward to continuing this intriguing conversation at supper tonight,” he said.
She froze, mid-step.
What?
Supper? Tonight?
One foot resting on the landing, she pivoted halfway around. “I beg your pardon?”
A little warning bell sounded.
Aubriella vaguely recalled Mama mentioning Emmet’s friends would attend his birthday celebration.
Blister and blast.
She should’ve paid more attention. Adjusting her satchel, she sent the driver a swift glance.
Mosley observed the conversation with undisguised amusement. No point in telling him he could leave because he wouldn’t budge an inch until she closed the door.
“Sup-per.” Did satisfaction gleam in Jack’s eyes, the cad? “You know, where people gather, eat, drink, and converse? Sometimes play cards or dance afterward? We’ve done so numerous times over the years.”
“You are dining with us tonight?” Aubriella sounded like a simpleton to her own ears.
