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“I did not seduce the woman,” Blake snapped, shoving his chair back, his hands to the desk. “We merely had a conversation.”
“Is that what they are calling it these days?”
“Good God, Ashford. Do you really think so little of me?”
Ashford smirked, his blue eyes twinkling. They’d known each other prior to their college years and Blake should recognize well when Ashford was teasing. However, their conversations had changed tone of late. As though Ashford was...worried about him? First his mother trying to look after him and his friend. What the devil was the world coming to?
“Look, Lady Demeter Fallon is a sweet girl. Everyone knows it. If you were to trifle with her, her brother would have to call you out and I have little desire to play your second. You are a terrible shot.”
“I am a far better shot than you,” he snapped back.
“All I am saying is, be cautious. I saw how you looked at her.”
Blake scowled. “How did I look at her?”
Ashford lifted both shoulders. “It’s hard to say. But I have never seen you look at a woman thusly before.”
“Probably because I wasn’t actually intending to seduce her.” Blake rose from his seat and motioned to the footman who scurried off to retrieve his hat and gloves. “We were merely having a conversation.”
Ashford arched a brow. “If you say so.”
“Damn it, Ash. Am I not allowed to talk to a woman?”
“Yes. And I encourage it. It would not do you any harm to get to know a woman. But does it have to be her?”
Actually it did. But he couldn’t tell his closest friend why or else he’d wind up revealing her secret. He might be many things but he did not break promises, and he’d vowed to keep her secret safe. Besides, Ashford had nothing to fear. Lady Demeter might be pretty and rather bold in a sort of quiet way but she wasn’t his usual sort. Whatever had come over him at the ball was long gone. Perhaps simply because he had been celibate for—what?—five months now.
Lord, Five months. No wonder he’d been obsessing over her breasts or how she smelled or what she might taste like.
He sent his friend a firm look. “It was a conversation. Nothing more.” He took his hat from the footman and rammed it onto his head, then shoved his fingers more aggressively than necessary into his gloves.
Ashford shook his head. “I don’t like it.” He waved a hand toward him. “You are different this Season.”
“Were you not saying I should be different? What was it...that I should get a mistress or choose women who are not going to leap from my bed into the arms of another after one night?”
“I have been saying that, yes, and I stand by it. It would do you good to actually get to know one of your lovers. You always go for women who are...what’s the word?” He twisted a finger in the air.
“Attractive? Enticing? Experienced?”
“No. The sort that you will never, ever even have to get to know.”
“Why would I want to?”
“You are missing out, Blake.” Ashford clapped a hand to his shoulder. “What wonders can be unveiled when one gets to know a woman.”
“Next you will be telling me I should get married,” he muttered, shrugging away from his touch.
“God, no. Never. Marriage is the single most idiotic institution the world could have ever conjured.” Ashford sighed. “All I am saying is you seem somewhat unsatisfied of late and I cannot help think it has to do with the quality of women you have been spending time with. Why not actually get to know one of your lovers?”
His mother saved him from a response when she hastened through the door, a long, knitted scarf in hand. “Oh good, you haven’t left yet.”
“Are you coming too, Mother?” he asked, ignoring Ashford’s befuddled look.
The fact his mother was even in his house was unusual, as he well knew. No wonder Ashford was confused. Usually during the Season, they associated with each other at various events and left it at that. For some reason, she called upon him early today and had been lingering around, watching him in the oddest of manners. Between her and Ashford worrying for him, this Season was going to be a strange one.
“I will be promenading with Lady James but you must wear this.” She was upon him before he could back away, looping the scarf around his neck several times and pulling it so tight he felt blood rush to his head. “It has been uncommonly cold this Spring. I do not want you to ail.”
He tugged at the scarf but to no avail. Whatever she had done to it, she’d tied it more efficiently than his valet tied his cravat. Perhaps he should hire her instead.
