Marcus’s attention turned once again to the crowded ballroom. Somehow, the violins were starting to sound like the screech of a hoot owl, the deep bass of the violas no better than the lowing of a cow. The mingled laughter rang shrill to his ears and the scent of the flowers seemed unbearably cloying.
His mood grew even darker as he rued the force of habit that had caused him to dress with great care and come out, even though his inclination had been to retreat to his library and begin perusing the sheaf of articles he had lately gathered on the state of child labor. Firebrand’s essay had piqued him to look into the matter and it was proving a most interesting subject.
Abandoning his usual nonchalant manner, he turned abruptly on his heel—only to collide with another figure half-hidden in the wave of fronds.
Splat.
A goodly amount of lemonade splashed onto his cravat and dribbled down the front of his waistcoat. As he watched the sticky liquid turned the embroidered cream silk a sickly shade of yellow, the look of faint ennui on his countenance dissolved into an expression of undisguised anger.
“Damnation.“ The words slipped out of his mouth, just loudly enough to be heard. His gaze came up from the ruined garment, only to find the subject of his curse was a female. Still, his ire was roused enough that he continued on, despite the look of shock on her ashen face. “Can’t you look where you’re going?” he snapped. Taking in the spectacles perched on her nose, he added, “Or do you require even more than four eyes to avoid being a menace to Society?”
“I … I …” she stuttered.
“Eyes, not eye. Plural, not singular. Try keeping them open!” He knew it was hardly fair, using such biting sarcasm on one who clearly would not have the wits nor the backbone to fight back, but he found he couldn’t restrain himself.
The young lady drew in a sharp intake of breath.
The earl’s eyes pressed closed. Hell’s teeth, that was all he needed! No doubt the chit was about to dissolve in a fit of hysterics and the whole room would know of this ridiculous incident. Why hadn’t he reined in his temper?—
“Pompous ass.”
His lids flew open. “What?” She had spoken so softly that he wasn’t sure he had heard her correctly.
The young lady’s hand flew to her mouth, as if it could belatedly snatch the words back. But instead of mumbling some distraught apology, she sucked in another breath and went on. “And a vulgar one as well. How dare you speak of the young ladies here as if they were … idiots.”
With a start he realized she must have overheard his previous words. His lips compressed. He was certainly not showing to advantage in this whole mess, but somehow, the knowledge only goaded him to further rudeness.
“Theyareidiots. All of them.” By the way his disdainful gaze slowly traveled the full length of her person as he spoke, he made it quite clear she was not excluded from the sweeping generalization.
She gasped, whether in horror or outrage he wasn’t sure. Then he looked through the glass lens of her spectacles and caught sight of the storm of indignation swirling in a sea of hazel frothed with specks of gold. Oh, it was anger all right, nearly as tempestuous as his own.
For a moment he regarded the face glaring up at him. Or rather straight at him, for she could hardly be described as diminutive. She was not quite so young as the other misses gathered under the watchful eyes of their chaperones. Aside from the intriguing eyes, which showed no lack of expression, her cheekbones were high and prominent, her mouth a little wider than conventional beauty allowed, giving her features a certain unique character. She was not exactly pretty, but … interesting, especially now that a flush of color had returned to her cheeks and several wheat-gold tendrils had escaped the simple arrangement of her hair and fallen to accentuate the graceful curve of her neck.
By now, she had finally managed to think of a reply to his mocking statement. “Well, why are you complaining, then? I … I thought that is what men wanted—ladies who are idiots.”
He was rather surprised she hadn’t simply turned tail by now and slunk away. Never had he encountered a female who dared raise her voice to him—or any gentleman—much less mutter unflattering epithets. She was certainly exhibiting an unusual spirit to go along with her unusual looks. However, at the moment such singular behavior was only serving to fan the flames of his temper.
Marcus drew his brows together in a manner calculated to appear intimidating. “Ah, but what we want arecharmingidiots,” he countered. “Well-behavedidiots. Not ones whose tongues are sharper than their wits, and who have no better common sense than to create a hoydenish scene in a crowded ball room.”
His gaze raked over her once again, taking in the defiant tilt of her chin, the unladylike scowl. “With such lack of restraint, not to speak of clumsiness, no wonder you have reached an advanced age with no success in snaring a husband.”
Her color deepened to a bright red. She stood utterly tongue-tied for several moments, her mouth opening then shutting without a sound coming forth. Then, with the half empty glass still clutched in her hand, she whirled and disappeared behind the trees.
Marcus’s mouth thinned into a tight line. That had been needlessly cruel, he thought with a twinge of conscience. It wasn’t at all like him to act in such an ungentlemanly fashion, but somehow the chit had caused the frayed ends of his patience to snap. He supposed he ought to follow her and make some apology. He had been wrong to let his damnable temper cause him to lose control. If he were honest with himself, she had not been entirely to blame for the unfortunate incident. After all,his words had been rather harsh and, as she had put it, rather vulgar.
Indeed. The young lady—for despite his cutting words, she did not appear to be entirely on the shelf—didn’t deserve to be so ruthlessly skewered for trying to defend those of her sex. She had shown more grit than he had ever expected in a female, even though she had been no match in trying to cross verbal swords with him.
His lips suddenly twitched as he recalled she hadn’t been totally unable to express herself. Why, she had called him a pompous ass! A glance down at his ruined garment caused another wry grimace. He could almost believe the chit had done it on purpose … but that would most likely be according her too much credit for clever retribution.
At least, she had made his decision on how to pass the rest of the evening a simple one. He had no choice but to return to his townhouse and change out of the sticky mess. And given the way the evening had been progressing, the thought of reading by the fire seemed even more appealing.
Odious coxcomb!
Augusta took a deep breath and tried to settle her seething emotions. Why was it she seemed to need ink and paper in front of her to compose her thoughts properly? From her pen, the right words seemed to run with an exuberant spontaneity … while when she was in the presence of strangers they tripped on her tongue, tangling themselves in such a way as to make her sound, well, idiotic—that is, if she managed to speak at all.
Only the fact that she had been absolutely furious over the insult to Marianne had allowed her to make such a bold assaulton the gentleman before her natural reticence reasserted itself. That she had turned and fled without coming up with even a halfway pithy retort to his insult made her annoyance with herself even greater.
If she were going to make an ass of herself in public, why couldn’t she at least be a clever ass?
