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Both understood what was going on here. The proverbial elephant in the room. The mistake of yesterday dictating their behaviour. She would not talk about it for the life of her. It would bare her conflicting feelings about it and her dire need to keep him at arm’s length. Knowing it did not erase the tension, the fevered memory and the unconfessed need underlying every word that saw the light of day.
She must put distance from him, but she would not flee the room and play the coward. Instead, she sat there with her body locked in a defensive stance, her hands en
twined tight under the table where he could not see them.
“I suggest you think less about the disgust.” The drawl dripped with sarcasm and something else related to the flesh, to dark yearnings, to unquenchable thirsts.
Which implied she should think more about the share. About what they shared.
He watched her as his merciless answer dawned on her, and she cast a sulphurous look that clawed at his eyes. It meant they exchanged a direct stare for the first time this morning. They stayed connected like this for several seconds.
As soon as she gave in to it, he sketched a smug smile as if he had won a contest she did not realise she had entered. He stood up with that feline elegance she began to regard as his private coat of arms. “Have a good day, Miss Kendall.” He bowed and left the room while she boiled in fury.
CHAPTER FOUR
Otilia clapped delicate, gloved hands as the Marchioness of Mandeville’s granddaughters, Edwina and Philippa, finished their piece at the pianoforte, putting an end to this soiree’s musicale. Both girls proved to be accomplished, and Otilia enjoyed their skill. It provided a refreshing interlude in which she could forget this morning and last evening for a few hours. She wished she forgot every single minute, including the man, preferably forever. Since this would be a rather difficult task, she was grateful for what she had.
The footmen circulated with champagne and canapes as the attendees stood from their chairs to talk to one another.
“My child, such a long time I do not see you.” Otilia turned to her right to see the dowager approach her with the aid of a cane.
Lady Charlotte Whitman was a short woman in her seventies who still conserved her good looks enhanced by her fine coiffured grey strands and powdered face. Her slow, delicate manners hid a strong and compassionate woman.
“Lady Mandeville,” Otilia greeted. “I missed you, too.”
“Oh, pish.” She waved her hand dismissively. “Nobody misses an old woman.”
“That is not true, and you know it,” Otilia countered with a smile. “Here, let me help you to a seat.” The dowager’s companion had been granted a break and left the room not long ago.
She took the older woman’s arm and guided her to a settee on the corner. “Thank you, my child.” She made herself comfortable and leaned her cane beside her. “I hear you came to town to find a match.”
“I heard that as well,” Otilia jested.
“They say the new Earl is helping you.” The woman’s water blue eyes were clear and direct.
“He is, my lady.” Otilia would not expose her objections on the matter in the middle of a crowded place.
“Do any gentleman show interest?” A footman came with full glasses, and Otilia helped the lady with one. The older woman’s hands had become a tad infirm in these last few years, she realised.
“Too early to say,” she answered.
“It should not take long,” the dowager said hopefully. “Your beauty and the Earl’s money will do the trick.”
Otilia smiled with sincerity at the lady’s bluntness. “Hopefully it might be a good man.”
“They are all more or less the same,” the Marchioness said in a tone of someone revealing a secret. “They will expect you to manage their house, bear their children and talk very little.”
Otilia released a short, surprised laugh at the woman’s candour. “A pity we have to conform to their standards, is it not?”
The lady eyed her directly. “Yes, but they are a bore in any case. Forever blabbing on about horses, gambling or mistresses.”
“Lady Mandeville!” Otilia admonished, trying not to laugh out loud.
“You have seen enough of the ton to admit it as true.” The Marchioness shrugged off the bluntness.
“I cannot contradict you there.”
Both women continued chatting for a long while as the older lady enumerated her granddaughters’ accomplishments and the latest gossips of the ton.
