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“There are?”
“Yes, though it depends on the gentleman in question. Each man has flaws he would not countenance in a woman.”
“How did you come by this knowledge?”
“My source is of little consequence; however, I will admit men do converse on such matters together on occasion.”
“Upon my word, I never knew gentlemen were also taught to perfect the art of gossip.” Before he could respond, she continued, “Please, you must tell me, how do I discourage the duke?”
The Duke of Carlyle was close friends with Richard’s father, the Duke of Salop. Richard thought of what he knew of the man. Carlyle was stiff, proper, and impeccable in his mannerisms; he would expect the most severe adherence to comportment and propriety in his duchess. It was even quite a stretch to imagine the staid duke allowing passion to overcome him and kissing this girl. Though her beauty would be a temptation for any man, young or old. “Carlyle truly kissed you?”
Disgust crossed her face and she lifted her hands to her lips. “Yes. He said he had to…to taste me. After, he said he was well pleased and would speak with my father. I think my coming out ball and my presentation to Almack’s in a few weeks’ time will be a farce for the matter of my husband appears to have already been decided.”
A rush of sympathy filled him. Richard moved closer, leaning against the tree beside her, aware of how close they were. “Listen to me keenly.”
Hope brightened her green eyes. “Yes?”
“At tomorrow’s ball, when you are alone with the duke—and only when you are alone and there is no chance of anyone overhearing—blech as much as you can. In between conversation, while dancing…belch.”
She glared at him. “You expect me to behave in such an unladylike fashion?”
“Yes. If you can, will yourself to fart as well. That would settle the matter most decisively.”
For precious seconds her face blanked, shocked awareness dawned in her eyes, and then horrified laughter spilled from her. “You are cruel to jest with me so when I desire your advice.”
“I do not jest. Carlyle is very proper and he will be grossly offended. Gentlemen such as the duke retire to their libraries with a sniffer of brandy to fart in relative privacy.”
“You reprobate,” she gasped, clearly offended.
“You wound me unjustly. I only seek to offer valuable assistance.”
“There is much to reprove in your behavior, my lord…to even suggest…” Her face crumpled. “I cannot credit you would speak so of His Grace. I am appalled, Lord Richard, at you for speaking in such an ungentlemanly manner and at myself for being amused by your ghastly vulgarity.”
“Richard,” he murmured, unaccountably pleased to see the lingering uncertainty had vanished, even if it had only been replaced by horrified humor. “Let’s not stand on formality. Please call me Richard and I shall refer to you as Lady Evie, inarguably after speaking of farts formality is no—”
She leaned over and clamped her hand over his mouth. “Please, no more.”
He nodded and she lowered her hand, a thoughtful frown on her face. “My parents would be most disappointed in my behavior if I should follow your advice.”
“So will Carlyle.”
She scowled fiercely at Richard. “You are unpardonable.”
He could see he had planted the seed, and it only needed a bit of encouragement to flourish. “If you are truly disenchanted with the idea of marrying the duke, think on my advice.”
She gave a weak nod. “I will.”
“Lady Evelyn,” a voice called to their far left.
“Mrs. Winters, my governess, looks for me. I must leave, Lord…Richard.”
He straightened from his casual pose. “Would you like me to walk back with you?”
Her smile turned wistful. “No, but I should like for us to be friends.”
Friends? With a slip of a girl? “Friends,” he repeated without inflection.
“Yes,” she said. “I do find you interesting.” Tentative hope and something akin to embarrassment swirled in her gaze.
