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His parents had neglected him during his childhood, and turning his heart cold had been the only way he had been able to bear it. The only warmth he had ever received had come from Mayton, and he greatly valued that. He did not need any other person’s affections.
“I know I do not, but I do.”
Now Rhys was anxious to change the course of their conversation, and he returned it to Lady Irene because Mayton would eventually come back to it even if Rhys did not. “Lady Irene fulfills my requirements for a wife,” he pointed out.
“Are you still clinging to those requirements?” Mayton’s brows rose. “Remind me of them.”
“That she is beautiful, of reasonable intelligence, well-accomplished, her bloodline can be traced back to the Tudors, and she is in possession of excellent manners.”
“And what would constitute excellent manners?” Mayton sat on the ledge of the fountain and looked up at him with a slanted grin.
“She will speak only when spoken to, and my pleasure should be the most important thing to her.”
“Humbug!” Mayton regarded him with disbelief. “Have you considered her pleasure?”
“She will become the Marchioness of Guildford and one of the wealthiest women in England. She will want for nothing.”
“And love? Will you love her?”
Rhys scoffed. “Spare me the sentiment of romantics, Mayton. I have no time for this tonight.”
“Have you gained her sister’s approval?”
“I will. It should not be difficult to persuade a bluestocking spinster to allow me to marry her sister,” Rhys returned, recalling everything he had gathered about Lady Elizabeth.
“If you—”
Someone shouting, “Johnathan Myers,” from the direction of the ballroom interrupted his cousin, and Mayton shot to his feet.
“I must hear what is being said about Johnathan Myers,” Mayton exclaimed. “We will finish this conversation later.”
“We have finished it!” Rhys called after him. Johnathan Myers was the alias of a gentleman who shared his opinions on sports and politics daily in the news sheets, and although Rhys respected him, he could not understand theton’sobsession with him.
He did not think Athena was in the garden, and he sighed, looking around him once more. Where are you? He was about to take the cobbled path on his left when he heard rustling from the bush he was facing. “Who is there?” he asked.
Athena rose from behind it, and his body tensed in excitement. He started to take a step toward her, but she held up a hand to stop him.
“Don’t you dare come near me!” Her pale-green eyes blazed under the lamplight. She was still angry although he did not know why.
“Athena.” He took another step.
“And do not call me that. It is not my name.” She tried to step out from behind the bush, but it appeared something was preventing her. She tugged at her skirt and then cursed. Rhys’ brows rose as he suspected her dress was caught in the bush.
“Do you require assistance?” he asked.
“No.” She tugged at her skirt again.
“Are you angry because you saw me dance with a lady?”
“Yes.” She bent to free her dress from the clutches of the bush.
Rhys laughed. He had been right about her being jealous. “A kiss is not a promise, My Lady. I am not yours, and even if—”
“What?” She rose, her small shoulders rigid. She was a sprite of a woman but a perfectly formed sprite because he found his gaze wandering her body again, the memory of how she had felt in his arms still fresh.
“I would never want you,” she said passionately, and Rhys blinked. “Not even if you were the only man in the world.”
He was utterly confused. “You claim not to want me yet are jealous.”
