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Chapter Two
Had he been listening the entire time? Ursula’s cheeks burned. Jay, Jay Truitt. John was his real name, wasn’t it? John Thaddeus-the-something, like his father. He hadn’t been home in years.
There was gossip about him, and not the good kind. She frowned. Something about him being a drunkard? He was certainly staring at her with a particularly foolish grin—probably with a devastating quip at her expense right on the tip of his tongue. As if she needed that. The backs of her eyes ached.
Time to get rid of him.
“I don’t do business with intoxicated individuals.” She pointed at his empty glass in case he couldn’t understand.
School. That was the bent of the rumors. Well, actually, schools. Plural. He’d been kicked out of multiple schools, quite the feat for someone with the Truitt name and legacy.
Wasteful miscreant.
“I’m not drunk.” He lifted the glass, jiggling it. “I’ve had two of these, maybe three.”
He hiccupped.
Typical.
Society was a mystery. This man was celebrated while she, and her mother before her, were ostracized over a few too many beads and some innocuous verbal stumbles?
“I can handle three. I’m not a small man.” As if to emphasize his point, he straightened his back and stepped towards her.
No, he wasn’t small. She was a decent height herself, yet he was at least a head taller and in the chandelier light, much more handsome than he’d been when they’d last crossed paths. His chestnut hair, full and thick, was shorter than fashionable and without sideburns.
Not lean, not bulky, Jay was just, well, large, like a Great Dane. With a wolf’s attitude. He certainly was no Saint Bernard bent on rescuing innocents, though who’d rescue her?
Ursula swallowed. His eyes were something else. What color were they? Green, brown, gray, all three? A fascinating mixture.
“Still, it just wouldn’t be fair.” She hugged herself. Maybe she’d shrink herself down to nothing and he’d leave her be.
His smirk deepened. Perhaps not. She gulped.
“What wouldn’t be fair?” One long stride and he was mere feet away.
Do not be intimidated, Ursula, do not be intimidated.
“Taking advantage of a poor drunkard.” She brushed past him, her sleeve grazing the brass leaves at the bottom of a sconce.
Her lungs pumped her ribs against her corset boning. She needed to find her father. She’d convince him to take her to Philadelphia. He’d get her into the parties. Money was money. Everyone had a price. Where to stay, that was another matter. No, she was getting ahead of herself. First thing was to get rid of Jay Truitt.
The last thing she needed was to be humiliated by some smug, spoiled profligate. His type adored her for “pranks.” She couldn’t stomach another “accidental” spill down her bosom or wine in her hair after what happened with Hugo.
And the metal biscuit was back, cutting off her air, along with a burning behind her eyes.
Think Ursula, think.
She grasped for a barb from the gossip she could hurl to repel him. “Isn’t that why you were asked to leave, where was it, Harvard? And then Yale?”
Jay strolled over and leaned against the railing, his body so close the wool of his frock coat kissed the silk of her sleeve.
“My parents would’ve preferred that.” He stretched his arms above his head in the most undignified manner possible. “Harvard’s dean didn’t appreciate my friendship with his daughter, and Yale’s with his niece. Fortunately, Brown’s dean was an only child with sons. To be fair, my marks weren’t anything to write home about either.”
Jay’s arm brushed against hers again and she shivered.
When she caught his eye, he cocked his head as if he dared her to react, to move away, or worse, move closer. Like she’d give him either satisfaction.
“It’s a wonder you even have a degree.” Ursula scrunched her nose. “So, a dullard, not a drunkard, and libertine to boot. I’m not sure if that’s an improvement.”
