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“Rees and I are such old friends that we are utterly uninteresting to each other,” Darby said. “I have never asked him.”

“His wife is here.” Selina nodded across the room. Sure enough, the countess was seated at the pianoforte. “I insist that you share the truth about his domestic situation. But we should move away from this area, so as not to upset the countess, should she hear us.” She took his arm firmly and led him away from the goggling matrons.

Damn it all, the last thing he wanted to do was wander about with a lascivious woman who offered an affair, not marriage, given that he had almost decided to seek a wife. Not thinking too hard, he led Mrs. Davenport directly to the table where Lady Henrietta was seated. “What a pleasure to meet again,” he said, bowing.

“Indeed,” Henrietta said. “How are your stepsisters?”

“They are safe in the hands of Lady Rawlings’s nanny, who appears to be most competent, and unlikely to leave Anabel in wet clothing. I knew you would appreciate that, Lady Henrietta.”

58 Eloisa

James

He was right. She had a truly remarkable smile.

“We are just taking a stroll,” Selina said with a roguish smile. “Mr. Darby has promised to tell me London gossip.”

“Perhaps you should introduce him to the conservatory,”

Lady Henrietta said. “Likely Mr. Darby has never seen such exceptional roses at this time of year.”

His eyes narrowed. She was throwing him to the hounds, the little vixen. She gazed at him with limpidly innocent eyes and the faintest smile and yet—and yet. She had quite interesting eyes. They tipped up slightly at the edges, and they were fringed with the longest lashes he’d ever seen. And he’d seen plenty.

He turned to Selina and took a quick glance at her truly magnificent bosom. The woman was wearing a girlish little gown but it suited her. The cotton looked frail, as if it were about to collapse under the weight of those glorious breasts. Darby felt a stirring in the region of his loins. Selina Davenport was beautiful, luscious, and clearly available. Lady Henrietta’s gown was indeed a muddy green crape that dulled her hair. Moreover, it not only didn’t display her bosom, but the neckline was so prim that ruffles almost brushed her ears.

He bowed over her hand. “Your servant,” he murmured. The expression in her eye was as effective as an icy shower. She was amused. No two words about it. She knew precisely what his reaction would be to Selma Davenport’s bosom, had cataloged it and expected it, and was now showing pleasure that the little dog had jumped through the appropriate hoop. Darby’s teeth involuntarily snapped together.

“I believe I have more familiarity with exceptional beauty than you believe, Lady Henrietta,” he said with a wolfish grin. “I should wish nothing more than a stroll in the conservatory with Mrs. Davenport.” And he walked away. Henrietta was disappointed. No two ways about it. For Fool for Love

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whatever reason, she thought Darby would react with slightly more sophistication to Selina’s obvious ploys. But the moment Selina Davenport sauntered toward him, he turned to her like a bee drawn to a flower. If you could imagine a fleshy flower made up of a creamy pair of breasts, precariously bound in violet ribbon. It seemed that even the exquisite London breed of men were turned into jelly by swelling mounds of exposed female chest.

Darby didn’t reappear in the Rose Salon for well over twenty minutes and when he did, he didn’t even glance in her direction. He appeared to be deep in conversation with a gray-haired gentleman, although of course she didn’t watch him all the time. Then, quite suddenly, he raised his head and met her eyes. Swift heat raced down her body. At first she thought it was embarrassment—after all, she’d been caught peeking. But the heat didn’t melt away. He kept looking at her, and there was something in his eyes that made her feel a bit dizzy. If she’d been standing, her leg would surely have given way.

Even as she watched he courteously disengaged himself from the gentleman he was speaking to and walked straight toward her. It was as if she called him, she thought numbly. As if she— she—had Selina’s power. She almost glanced down at her gown, but she knew full well that her breasts were exactly what they had been that morning. Quite nice in their own way, but nothing like the bovine-like exuberance of Selina’s.

He must not know about her hip. Her common sense filled in the rest for her. If he was a bee, he’d picked the wrong flower.

This one had no pollen to give away.

< 9 =

Of Fox Hunts and . . . Other Sorts of Hunts

“May I join you?”

“Naturally you must do whatever pleases you.”

Darby was utterly stunned by the vision that jumped into his head in response to the question of pleasure. Surely not. He was used to being chased by women, not hankering after them. And certainly never after young—or youngish—virgins endowed with undoubted respectability and fierce temperaments. It must be the accrued shocks of the day. He was deranged by the conversation with his aunt. He should retreat to his bedchamber and recline on the bed.

Although he would thereby pass up the attentions of at least fifteen country gentlemen with perfectly good daughters on the market. Daughters he ought by all rights to be assessing for their motherly qualities. Henrietta Maclellan wasn’t a candidate for wifedom, given her propensity to throw water on small children. That particular trait reminded him of his own mother.

He sat down anyway.

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