And with a swish of scarlet, he strode away.
“Lawks,” her aunt whispered, fanning herself. “He causes certain parts of me to thrum rather alarmingly.”
A breath gusted from Hebe. “I agree. He gives me the tremors.”
Aunt cast an askew glance. “Not quite what I meant, dear. But you are correct. He’s not for you.”
“I-I do not believe anyone is, Aunt.” Hebe gave a slight shrug, lips attempting nonchalance. “I’m rather…broken, I think.”
“Oh, Hebe, no.” A gloved palm brushed her cheek. “You are whole and stronger with each day that passes. Not all men are like your husband and you’re still so young. One day you may meet a decent, kind gentleman, perchance even here tonight… So I think you should endeavour to enjoy yourself with all that you are. Promise me?” She patted her arm. “And…how shall I put this? Perhaps, try to be…agreeable?”
“Of course,” Hebe replied with a frown. “Am I not always?”
Aunt narrowed her hazel eyes. “That includes rakes.”
“Oh, Aunt, no. Surely not. They are a distinct sub-species of vermin – irritating and proliferate.”
“Promise, Hebe? For me.”
Aunt tilted her head, then beseechingly smiled, and Hebe’s stubbornness dwindled. She knew she would do anything for this lady who had forever imparted sage advice, endless affection and the address of a decent modiste.
“Very well. But if a rake does assume any form of unwarranted closeness, all promises are void.”
“Agreed.” Aunt surveyed the room. “So, how about…. Ah ha. Him.”
Hebe followed the lace tip of Aunt’s fan.
“Isn’t he delectable?” her aunt chattered. “That smile? Those flashing eyes? That Byronic hair? That viripotent pose and cravat which–”
“Needs straightening. That’s the infamous Lord Ernest from the papers, Aunt. How could you suggest such a thing?” Hebe thinned her lips. She might have guessed that a debauched rake such as he would haunt the gaming tables of a night. “And in any case, you are too late. I was hardly effusive after his gallantry in Hyde Park and before that I insulted him at the Plymtrees’ ball.”
“Oh, Hebe.” Aunt Beatrice lifted a palm to forehead in despair – which contradicted the twinkle in her eye. “To what degree?”
“I inferred he was a repulsive creature from the shadows.”
“Inferring is not insulting.”
“Then called him a gambling, licentious, profligate rake.”
“Oh.”
“But, Aunt, he’s the very duplicate of Tobias. All golden charm and white-toothed smile. He’s as shallow as a puddle.”
Hebe glared at the gilded vision and endeavoured to assess him from an unbiased and purely amorous female point of view – so her aunt’s then.
Artfully dishevelled blond hair lapped his collar for attention, a masculine chin with a cleft in it, for heaven’s sake, held firm despite his reputed dissipations, and eyes of light sapphire gleamed with innate sensuality. Added to that he wore gold-rimmed spectacles, one assumed in order to appear intelligent.
Yet it was his lips that drew a woman’s attention. Not because they were sculptured to a perfect shape, which, of course, they were. No, it was the easy smile and mischievous tilt that drew feminine sighs at every ball and soiree.
Lord Ernest leaned forward at a card table, glass in one white-gloved hand and his spectacles now dangling from the other. He chuckled, a carefree ease emanating from him, and Hebe felt so…so empty and envious.
Maybe she was better off with dangerous and dark; it was all she knew, after all.
“ANOTHER.”
The dealer slid a card face down across the green baize and Ernest lifted the corner.
Damn.
