“Thank you.”
Discussing normal boy behavior candidly with a young lady, on the other hand, was not.
The lone freckle that disappeared when she scrunched her nose. “But my discontent stems from the fact that they insist theirs is ‘lads only’ behavior.”
“God, you are horrifying.” He didn’t repress his shudder. The only thing she was missing was a pair of horns atop the big blonde curls piled high on her head. He squinted. In fact, maybe they were actually under there.
“Looking for horns?” she asked.
“Yes.”
She smiled like he had called her the prettiest girl in court.
Good God. Hart had greatly underestimated how awful the McQuoid family was.
After being with Fleur, who openly spoke about belching and flatulence, he found himself belatedly appreciating the earlier normal discourse her McQuoid kin had managed. To think he had almost married into this family.
“If it is any consolation, you were not the only one dissatisfied with your table partner. Lord Kerr was as displeased with me.”
Kerr might not have enjoyed the lady’s discourse, but the rake had certainly enjoyed his view of her plump breasts.
The shrew didn’t need any encouragement from him. Prattling on to an uninterested party was a McQuoid trait—as she had demonstrated throughout Baron Chilton’s auction.
Off that freckle went again as she wrinkled her nose and disappeared the brown speck…as if the lady was bothered by the prospect of that scarred monster not enjoying her company.
Fleur continued. “Lord Archdale, on the other hand, proved a clever dinner companion.”
“And that upsets you?” he asked.
“On the contrary. It just reminds me that Lord Kerr found me offensive.”
He gritted his teeth to keep from shaking her and silence her infernal rattling. No man wanted the female in one’s company running on about another man, and certainly not that half-handsome, half-hideous sailor.
“What do you care? You don’t even like them.” Hart wanted to bang his fists.
“No one wants to be disliked.”
God spare him from the logic of females.
For that matter, what was Hart even doing carrying on a conversation about the McQuoids seating arrangements and Fleur’s hurt feelings?
“With all your lamentations over Culross’s men,” he mocked, “I am fast rethinking your loyalty, Lady Fleur.”
“Is that a warning?”
“I wouldn’t waste my breath, given you’re incapable of heeding one. Mine was an observation.”
Fleur looked beyond him.
He followed her stare over to a harried-looking footman bearing his cloak.
About bloody time.
Hart bowed more out of habit than out of any real respect.
There came no answering curtsy, just a minx’s smile. “Ah, we’ll do no more roving, so late into the night.”
“Quoting Byron,” he said, shrugging into his cloak. “How predictable.”
