Page 10
I could pour it over him. Accidents do happen.
“The privilege of conceding does not belong to me.”
“I care not whether you concede or not, Viscount Rochefort.”
He inclines his head toward my glass.
“If you do not wish to be looked at... why remain?”
He pauses briefly, then gestures to my flute.
“Perhaps to savour this?”
He closes the distance by a step, without violating etiquette but deliberately brushing its limit.
His words come low, almost drowned by the surrounding hum. “What a... vulgar taste you have.”
I feel the blood ignite beneath my skin. For an instant the room vanishes, leaving only those glacial eyes and the thin edge of provocation.
“Vulgar is not a term I would associate with my person.”
He slowly raises an eyebrow. “I perceive disdain in your voice.”
“You perceive incorrectly.”
I do not grant him another look. I make to move away, when his voice reaches me.
“May I ask you a question?”
“If you deem it necessary.”
“Which part of what I say irritates you most?”
“You do not irritate me, Lord Vasiliev Ashford.”
“From the way you say it,” his voice seems lower and slower than before, “it would almost seem like I am not even worth the trouble of a slight disappointment.”
“You presume,” I retort coldly, “correctly, this time.”
“How cruel you are, Viscount.”
His voice remains low, with a veil of feigned wonder, while his eyes follow my every movement.
“If your ears are not prepared to hear anything but the flattery,” I reply, “which I am certain is lavished upon you constantly, I would avoid, were I you, asking such questions.”
One of the servants approaches with a tray of champagne flutes, and he takes one, his fingers delicately brushing the rim.
“So,” he says, bringing the glass to his lips, “you think I receive flattery constantly?”
The liquid slides down his throat slowly.
“I do not think it,” I reply, staring at the foam stirring in the glass, “I know it.”
He raises an eyebrow again, a half-smile that does not reach his eyes.
“Have you heard any of late? Pray, enlighten me. You have piqued my curiosity.”
“It is not my intention,” I take a step toward him, “to magnify the already immeasurable echo of a man.”
