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Chapter Six
Delilah couldn’t believe the bold nature of this man. She drew herself up. “I did no such thing!”
He snorted. “Didn’t ye?”
“Absolutely not! I only met you because I was looking for another infuriating groom and literally ran into you in my haste!”
“And yet,” he countered softly. “Ye always manage to melt in my arms. Ye respond with passion to my kisses. But most of all—” He leaned down to whisper in her ear. “—I bet ye dream about me at night when ye pleasure yerself.”
Delilah’s cheeks instantly heated. “I have never…” She couldn’t even finish the sentence; the thought was just too asinine. “And if I did, I most certainly wouldn’t be thinking of you!” She prayed that her clear enunciation of each word would finally make it through that thick head.
Instead, all he said was, “Never?”
“Oh, for the love of—” She broke off her tirade, for she hadn’t ever lost her temper to such a degree that she was in danger of being overheard by anyone else.
Thankfully, the music ended, and Delilah could finally separate herself from the man. “Good evening, Mr. Flannigan. It has been rather… insightful as usual.”
She turned and walked away, hoping that would be the end of her encounter with the libertine, for she no longer considered him a scoundrel. They generally had the possibility of being redeemed, at least. Whereas she doubted there was any hope for Mr. Flannigan.
Nevertheless, she thought a brief reprieve would be in order in which to compose herself. Each time she was around the Irishman he flustered her to the point of madness.
As she was heading for the ladies’ retiring room, her hostess, the Duchess of Waterford caught her eye and beckoned her over. She obediently walked over to join the lady where she stood with several other matrons of the ton, including some rather influential women from Almack’s, the club which everyone clamored to join. It had become more popular for society matches as opposed to being presented at court, and although the punch was rumored to be weak at best, and the surroundings less than ideal at times, on Wednesday evenings during the season, if you weren’t able to gain a voucher to attend their soirees, you were not considered influential, no matter one’s standing.
She held her breath as one of the patronesses personally handed her an invitation with the hopes that she could attend the next evening at the assembly rooms. Delilah was so stunned for a moment that she didn’t know what to say, but when she did reply, it was with a breathless thank you. Not only was she ecstatic for herself, but this could open up so many possibilities for her father. He was always eager to chat about his Arabians and had managed to sell some of the yearlings for quite a price because the right gentleman had overheard his conversations. She imagined that the Prince Regent himself might even purchase one someday, which would ensure her father’s success for years to come if one of his fine horses were to grace the royal stables.
Delilah was so eager to tell her father about this turn of events that she had to stop herself from running in an effort to find him. Once she did, some of her excitement burst, for he was standing and speaking to the one man she would have rather ignored for the rest of the night.
Or her life.
“Ah, Delilah. There you are. I—”
He gestured to Mr. Flannigan, but she wasn’t interested at the moment. She held up the voucher she’d been given. “Look, Papa! A voucher to Almack’s for tomorrow evening! Francesca has always waxed poetic about the assembly rooms, and we can finally find out for ourselves!”
Her father laughed. “Capital! I couldn’t be happier for you, my dear. Now, allow me to introduce you to—”
“Papa!” She interrupted again. She wasn’t generally so rude, but she couldn’t understand why he wasn’t as eager about the prospect as she was. “Don’t you understand what this means? We can tell more people about Hercules and his lineage!”
Finally, her father seemed to ponder her words. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Indeed. He does have an impeccable line free of blemish as I was just telling—”
She waved a dismissive hand. “Yes, we’ve already met, Papa. Remember? At Tattersall’s. He was our groom when David was relieved of his duties.”
Again, her father laughed. “Ah, yes. What a grave error that was made! I should tell you that—”
This time it wasn’t Delilah who cut him off, but a particular horse enthusiast who had not only purchased one of her father’s best yearlings the day before, but also a carriage and a pair of hunting hounds at the auction.
“Pardon me.”
He regrettably took his leave, leaving Delilah alone with Mr. Flannigan for the second time that evening. While he had actually looked like a gentleman standing with her father, the insolent rake had returned as he swept his gaze lazily up and down her form. “I must say, Miss Rollins, ye didn’t give me the chance to compliment ye on yer dress this evening.”
It was such a proper statement that she inclined her head. “Thank you.”
“And I must add that ye fill it out in all the right places.”
This time she sighed. “Must you do that?”
“What?” he asked innocently.
“Take a simple compliment and turn it into something… crass.”
“Lass, trust me when I say what I feel toward ye goes beyond crass and into pure depravity.”
Unwittingly, Delilah’s heart started pounding furiously. “You, sir, are nothing but a wretch.”
She started to leave him again, but he stopped her by saying, “So, ye’ll be at the assembly rooms tomorrow evening?”
“I will, yes.” She added with mock sincerity, “It’s unfortunate that you won’t be able to do the same. Besides, it’s all peerage, so I’m sure you wouldn’t care to join.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” He rubbed the side of his jaw, and she couldn’t help but note the slight stubble there. “It sounds quite intriguing to me.”
* * *
