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‘I was admiring your eyelashes,’ Ashe admitted. She turned and laughed and something inside twisted with a kind of pleasurable discomfort. Ridiculous, to be so captivated by a laugh, especially when he strongly suspected Phyllida was laughing at him. Yes, it would hurt more than his pride if he allowed her to escape his net, he realised. ‘They are very long.’
‘So are yours.’ She studied him openly for a moment before turning back to watching the crowd. ‘But yours are darker than mine, which is unfair. Ashe, when you were dressed as an Indian at the warehouse, had you put something on them?’
‘Kohl,’ he admitted. ‘You can have it if you like, I doubt I’ll need it again in this country. When I was at my great-uncle’s court I found it handy on the occasions I wanted to pass unnoticed as an Indian on diplomatic missions.’
‘Was it dangerous, that work?’
‘Sometimes.’ He had the thin knife scar over his ribs and the nick out of his collarbone to prove it.
‘Will you be going back to Eldonstone Hall soon?’ Phyllida asked after a moment, as though that was a logical continuation to his answer. He supposed it was, if she was wondering how he intended to fill his time now without the stimulus of intrigue and danger.
‘Perhaps, for the odd day or so. But I will need to be here, courting you, don’t forget.’
‘What about the unsorted objects? I do not think I had better go there again, not until our betrothal is announced.’ Then she answered herself before he could reply. ‘Have Perrott pack up all the items we weeded out and any more of the indecent objects and paintings that he discovers and send them to London. I can assign them to the right dealers and auction houses for you in my guise as Madame Deaucourt. That will at least save your mother and sister the worst of it when they visit.’
Thinking about her work had meant she had relaxed in his company again, Ashe realised. ‘Thank you, I will do that.’
He watched as she greeted some more acquaintances. Ambivalent as her position might be, Phyllida knew everyone who was anyone in society and knew, too, how to navigate its shoals and rapids. It made him think of the less pleasant social obligations. ‘I have been taking dancing lessons,’ he admitted. ‘It was rather worse than learning Persian, but I think I have the waltz under control now, as well as the others, so will you dance with me?’
‘That was very fast,’ she exclaimed. ‘Or did you dance in India? Of course you will have done, English society in Calcutta must have had regular dances.’
‘I usually managed to avoid them, although I could stumble through a cotillion and the country dances if I had to,’ Ashe admitted. ‘But I learned to dance at court in Kalatwah.’
‘Will you show me?’ Her eyes were wide, her lower lip caught between her teeth as she turned to him, full of interest.
‘In India men dance with men and not for a female audience.’
‘Oh.’ She sent him a sliding, sideways look full of speculation. ‘You must not demonstrate for me, then? It would be improper?’
‘Very improper. So, not until we are married.’ She had not answered his question. ‘Will you waltz with me?’
‘I have not been approved by the patronesses,’ Phyllida said and the laughter vanished from her eyes.
‘You aren’t approved by them for anything,’ Ashe countered. ‘Why should you care about this? If they won’t let you into their stuffy club, one more infraction will not make any difference.’
‘True.’ Her lips curved into a reluctant smile. ‘But everyone knows I do not dance.’
‘Dance with me and they will see you have changed your mind. You know you want to—you enjoy it, don’t you?’
‘You could tell? Oh, yes, so much. But then gentlemen started getting warned off by their mothers in case they forgot my situation. So I stopped.’
He imagined the subtle snubs, the gradual realisation that this was happening. Or perhaps it had been sharp, like a slap in the face. Now if anyone tried to wound Phyllida in his presence, he would call them to account for it. His conscience jabbed at him. So he was the only one to be allowed to hurt her then, forcing her to do what she did not want?
‘There is Lady Castlebridge,’ Phyllida said, her voice tight.
‘Excellent.’ Ashe began to rein in, ignoring Phyllida’s hand closing hard on his left forearm.
‘I don’t want to talk to her,’ she hissed.
‘Oh, but I do.’ The curricle came to a halt beside the open carriage Lady Castlebridge was occupying with three other ladies of a similar age. ‘Lady Castlebridge, good day to you. Ladies.’ He gave them the look that Sara described, amidst giggles, as his seducer’s smoulder and they fluttered their plumage a little and smiled back.
‘Miss Hurst, fancy seeing you with his lordship. Are you quite well now?’ Lady Castlebridge asked, her eyes narrowed on Phyllida’s face.
‘I believe Miss Hurst feels better for the fresh air,’ Ashe said before Phyllida could reply. ‘I was just congratulating myself on the very mischance that led us to meet,’ he added. ‘It is probably most ungentlemanly of me to be grateful that a lady was indisposed, but I suspect that she would not have agreed to accompany me to try out my new curricle if had not been for that chance encounter at the inn.’
Four sets of feminine eyebrows arched upwards. Phyllida’s unobtrusive grip on his arm developed claws. ‘I certainly realised you were a safe pair of hands, my lord,’ she said demurely.
Ashe bit the inside of his cheek hard to stop himself laughing. ‘Good day, ladies.’ He raised his whip in salute and drove on. ‘For goodness’ sake, Phyllida, you almost had me losing my countenance then. I think we had better be seen with my mother as chaperon as soon as possible.’
