As well, if it were all true, why did Lord Grayson engage in such behavior? That, of all questions, burned in her the most.
“Lord Dalton,” she’d said, “while it is of no concern to me, I am curious.Whydoes Lord Grayson behave so badly?Whydoes he seek to injure any lady?”
“He does not imagine he injures, it is only meant to be a bit of fun,” Lord Dalton said. He paused, as if he were parsing his thoughts. “Grayson, if I understand him, is not capable of falling in love, therefore, he falls in infatuation. His pursuits are rather like a meringue—wonderful in the moment, but an hour later one has forgotten all about it. Despite the poets’ high-flying phrases, I think it a rather common condition.”
“Is it a condition you suffer from yourself?”
“I am even less likely than Grayson to be slayed by love,” Lord Dalton said with a rare smile. “Though I do not see that deficiency as suffering.”
Kitty would have liked to press on. She was not sure she had ever had a gentleman speak to her in such a frank manner. And yet, her mother’s training and good example overtook her. She merely nodded and turned to Sir John.
And what of Sir John? Over dinner, they’d had a perfectly acceptable conversation about the various papers from the Royal Society they’d both read. Sir John had been kind enough to mention other papers that had been published earlier than her current collection and point out particularly interesting studies.
She was very sure she should have been more fascinated by an examination of the head of a platypus. And why could she not pay proper attention to the description of the gizzards of a cassowary?
These sorts of conversations were just what she’d most wished for. A gentleman who would discuss the findings of the day, and she his equal.
Perhaps it had not been to Sir John’s credit that he had seemed over-smug at Lord Grayson’s outburst across the table. Though he could not know the circumstance, he seemed to take too much pleasure in another’s apparent distress.
But then, he had allowed himself to be guided back to scientific discoveries and had informed her of the properties contained in the tusk of a narwhale. In any case, did not every person have their faults?
Sir John might be, on occasion, a bit unkind. But he was learned, and he recognized that she was too.
But why did he not have a greater effect on her? Why did her heart not skip a beat in his presence? Perhaps it would, but it had not done yet. And, if it never did, was that so terrible?
Her mother might say so, but she was not her mother.
Kitty gazed around her sitting room. The bookcases that had been empty upon her arrival were now filled with books. She was safe here, she understood this room. As for what went on outside of this room, she was entirely lost.
“You are in over your head, Kitty Dell,” she said quietly, “and you’d best get out of the water before you drown.”
*
Giles galloped hishorse through the streets, determined to catch up with Dalton. The devil had studiously avoided his stare over port at Lord Milton’s table and then promptly joined a card game in the drawing room. Giles had turned his attention to Miss Dell. It was urgent that he speak to her. She must know that Dalton was full of tricks and nobody should believe him if he claimed the sun was out or the day was Wednesday.
Miss Dell had been no easier to reach than Dalton and had seemed to adopt the same evasions. She partnered at whist with her brother and there was no getting near them. It would be difficult enough to strike up a conversation in a card game one was not a part of, but then there was Dell himself. What had at first seemed a neutral stance had seemed to have hardened somehow. Giles got the distinct impression that Dell did not care for him. He supposed the fellow was still sore over having been thrown in the vicinity of Miss Blaise’s fan.
Giles had hoped to bide his time, waiting for Miss Dell to leave. He might depart at the same time and have a moment to speak to her in the foyer as she waited for her cloak.
That was not to be, she’d been surrounded by her brother, Mr. Fister, and Sir John—all wishing to be the first to hand over her garment.
If Giles had not been in such earnest, he might have laughed at the near-wrestling between Sir John and Fister, before Dell settled the matter by demanding the delicate velvet wrap be handed over.
Somehow, Dalton had slipped out when he was not looking, though he did not think the man could be too far ahead of him. In any case, he knew where Dalton was going, as they lived in the same house.
He would demand to know what Dalton had said. Then he would demand that Dalton retract his words the next time he encountered Miss Dell.
But first, he must catch him.
He reined in his horse and trotted down a narrow alley. It was a shortcut and would bring him to the avenue that was Dalton’s likely route.
He hurried over the wet cobblestones, not caring to think what they were wet from as it had not rained all day. He turned onto the better lighted street. Dalton was trotting toward him.
Giles blocked his path, forcing Dalton to rein in his horse.
“Well?” he said. “What lie did you tell Miss Dell?”
Dalton yawned, as if he had been expecting to be waylaid. “Is it a lie to say that there are bets laid all over town about whether you can win the heart of a particular lady?”
