“Still, it doesn’t sound as though he’s one to be loyal to love.”
“Perhaps he’s never been in love.”
“Does that make it better? That he surrounds himself with women who do not hold his heart?”
“No, I suppose it doesn’t.”
“I’ve seen him at a ball or two. He’s devilishly handsome.”
“I hadn’t really noticed.” She wondered why she felt a need to lie. She’d attended a few balls but had never spied him there. She didn’t think he attended them regularly. None were marked on his calendar anyway, but she supposed, based on his recent scandals, invitations were sparse.
“I wish you had more interest in attending balls. Your uncle is willing to provide you with a dowry.”
Five thousand pounds, he’d told her. “I’m quite on the shelf. Besides, my mother’s experience was a cautionary tale. She loved my father, but it wasn’t enough to reform him.”
“They loved the opium more. Such a shame. How long before your work involving Blackwood is done?”
“Another week, maybe two.”
“I despair that in that time you will fall victim to his depravity.”
“Trust me, I’m not attracted to him in the least.” Her hand chose that moment to throb and warm, and she curled it into a tight fist as though she could hold on to the feel of the touch of him.
Chapter 7
Leaning against a wall in the socializing parlor, scotch in hand, Bishop was bored. He’d come to the Fair and Spare, hoping to ease some of that boredom with a willing partner. Griffith Stanwick had opened the club that catered to those in want of companionship, but what Bishop was truly looking for was an opportunity to forget the night Marguerite had come into his bedchamber, stumbled, and fallen against him. All too often he wandered through his residence, longing for a chance encounter with the intriguing woman, but his efforts had proven fruitless. All too often when he rang for something to be brought to him, he hoped she’d be the one who’d do the bringing, but he was left to suffer the disappointment that coursed through him when she wasn’t. However, he refused to ask for her by name and have to deal with Perkins’s damned raised eyebrow.
He rubbed his chest, the exact spot she’d touched, and wondered if she’d used it as a portal to enter his soul. It was all so deuced irritating. At four and thirty, he was far too old to be mooning about like a lovelorn schoolboy.
Upon first arriving at the club, he’d explored thevarious rooms, searching for a distraction in the form of an adventurous lady. None of the members were innocent. Occasionally he enjoyed an intimate encounter with one of them. He didn’t often visit the club, and new faces were usually about, but tonight none drew his interest. He’d had a few speculative glances cast his way but hadn’t reciprocated. For most of the women in attendance, the reputation he’d garnered of late didn’t matter. They weren’t here because they were pure or expected fidelity in a relationship. Most were simply, like him, searching for a bit of fun.
A woman with blond hair caught his eye and gave him an inviting smile even as she carried on her conversation with two other ladies. All he had to do was hold her gaze and respond with a seductive grin, and she’d be his for the night. But her hair was too sandy, not pale enough. Not moonbeams gliding through the sky toward earth. So instead, after deciding he should simply be on his way, he offered an apologetic expression, shifted his attention toward the doorway, and stood bolt upright.
It couldn’t be. And yet it was.Her. Here. Marguerite. In a low-cut gown of pale greenish blue that revealed her bared alabaster shoulders. As she glided into the room, she smiled confidently at one swell and then another, and it took everything within him not to cut a swath through the assembled horde in order to get to her and claim her as his own.
Then her blue gaze fell on him, and he felt as though he’d been zapped by lightning, like his childhood friend, Will. The lad, all of eight, had slammed into the ground, his body had seized up, and the odor of burned cloth and singed hair had permeated the air.After he’d finally come to, it had taken him a while before he could move. That was how Bishop seemed. As though he couldn’t move. Then she looked away, and he was no longer certain if she had indeed seen or recognized him.
He watched as, smiling softly and nodding, she spoke with a gent, but whatever she said must have left the fellow unsatisfied because he walked away. For the span of a heartbeat, she appeared lost, uncertain. He should still head out, skirt around her, leave her to the enjoyment of the night. Instead, he found himself striding directly toward her.
It didn’t matter that the room was crowded. When he reached her, he breathed in her unique scent of violets. “Hello, Marguerite.”
She blushed. “Sir.”
“I’m astonished to find one of my servants here.”
Her smile was small, teasing. “My aunt brought me, on my twenty-fifth birthday and purchased me a membership. She explained that a spinster should have the opportunity for at least one dalliance in her life.”
His gut clenched with the thought of her engaged in a casual encounter with someone who might not appreciate her, who might not bestow upon her all the attention she so rightly deserved. “And did you? Have that dalliance?”
She shook her head. “We didn’t stay very long. I believe she was striving to frighten me into marriage, to thinking that the alternative wasn’t nearly as secure or trustworthy. But this evening I was feeling restless and in need of company. Although it shall be another brief visit. Perkins warned us that he’d lock up at ten,and if we hadn’t returned from our free day by then, we’d end up sleeping on the stoop.”
“How fortunate then that I possess a key that would grant us both access through his locked door.”
She swallowed, her delicate throat working as she glanced around. “I wasn’t really expecting to run into you.”
He wondered if she’d browsed through his diary and noted no appointments for today, tonight. He hadn’t planned to come this evening, but the residence had become too quiet, and he’d grown irritated listening to the echo of his own footfalls, especially once he’d come to realize what he was truly doing was striving to hear hers. “May I fetch you something to drink?”
“A red wine would be lovely, thank you.”
