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Rhys opened the bottom drawer of his desk and retrieved her reticule. Only noticing it after she had left the library, he had picked it up and considered giving it back to her, but something had prevented him from doing that, and he had brought it home with him instead. Even now as his fingers traced the yellow glass beads that decorated it, he did not want to give it back to her. It was shaped and decorated like Athena’s shield. His brows drew together as he thought.
He wanted to marry Lady Irene, but after hearing Lady Elizabeth’s last words to him the night before, he was certain she meant to stop him. He would have to disarm her, take her shield from her as he had taken this reticule, and the first step was being courteous.
He needed to show her that he was not the monstrous rake she thought him to be, and he would not touch her again. Ever. He put the reticule away, finished reading the letter, and wrote his response before asking for his carriage to be brought around.
There were two barouches in front of Winston House when he arrived, and he suspected they belonged to the gentlemen who had called upon Lady Irene. He disliked playing the courtship game: drive the lady to the park, have ice at Gunter’s Tea Shop, attend the opera. When he saw a woman he wanted, he seduced her. That was how he had done things since he was a youth.
Rhys gave the butler his calling card when he opened the door and was shown to a drawing room. He sat down to wait, and as the minutes passed, he began to grow annoyed.
As his patience waned, his eyes caught sight of a newspaper on the table beside his chair. The heading read:Johnathan Myers Says It All Again. Frowning, he picked up the newspaper and began to read the section dedicated to sports. The prediction Johnathan Myers made about young prizefighters had come true, and the town was celebrating him as the ancient’s celebrated oracle.
“Ridiculous,” he said, shaking his head as he set the paper down.
“I suppose His Lordship does not agree with Mr. Myers,” a voice said from the doorway, and his body stiffened. He looked up to see Lady Elizabeth walk in, dressed in a dark-blue dress that complimented her pale skin. On her heels was an adorable brown and white Cavalier King Charles Spaniel.
He remembered his manners and quickly rose to his feet. “I agree with him because his predictions have never been wrong. What I cannot understand is the crowd that reveres him. He can say no wrong.”
She laughed and sat on the sofa across from him. “Well, there is a Marquess who can do no wrong in Society’s eyes. I say you are on even ground with Mr. Myers.” There was none of the disapprobation he had seen in her demeanor the night before, and Rhys was relieved. It should make being courteous easy.
He would also not speak about their kiss unless she did, and he doubted she would. He wanted them to forget it had occurred.
“I assume you are part of the deferential crowd.” He sat and tilted his head to regard her. She was no diamond of the first water, but neither was she the plain sister that most people seemed to think. If she had been able to draw him like a lodestone last night, then she was anything but plain.
“I belong to no crowd, Guildford,” she said with a small smile.
“Very well,” he muttered. “Is Lady Irene in the habit of being late?”
“Is that something that would make her unfit to be your Marchioness?” Her eyes gleamed.
“You would very much enjoy that, would you not?” he asked, leaning forward in his seat, his eyes meeting hers in a challenge.
“There are other diamonds for you to seek, Guildford.” Oh, it was not politeness he had perceived from her earlier. She had been waiting for him to attack first. How clever.
“I have no desire to seek another. Where is she?” he demanded.
The dog at her feet growled and began to rise. “Brutus dislikes your tone of command, My Lord,” she said softly, reaching to stroke the dog.
“Brutus?” he asked, wondering why she would give her dog that name.
“Yes, and unless your name is Caesar, you should have nothing to fear.” She smiled sweetly, and he grimaced. Both his body and mind reacted in opposite ways.
“Why did you name him Brutus?” he asked, curious.
“Assuming I named him after the Roman politician tells me something of your arrogance and disinclination to welcome views that contradict yours.” She looked up at him, blinking slowly.
Rhys felt his lips part, but he could not speak. Not only had she antagonized him without truly knowing him, but she was disarming him very quickly and efficiently. Her wit was as dangerous as her body was.
Rhys recovered as quickly as he could and asked, “What strong opinion do you have that contradicts mine?” When he saw her brows furrow, he began to anticipate her surrender.
“You invest in prizefighting and give your support to William the Hammer.” She watched him as she spoke as if to measure his reaction. He remained expressionless. “I think supporting younger pugilists would serve you better.”
“William the Hammer is a five-time Champion, and he won four of those championships consecutively,” he defended.
She leaned back and grinned. “I am sure this is but one of many things we would disagree on.” Rhys inhaled slowly. He was starting to understand why she was unmarried after three seasons. Most gentlemen of thetonwere not clever enough to verbally spar with her and win. She would injure their pride, and no man wanted a woman who would do that. None!
“That is exactly what Johnathan Myers would say if I spoke to him about prizefighting, My Lady.”
“I never denied agreeing with him,” she replied. “I simply do not belong in the crowd that follows him, but I agree with many of his opinions.”
