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Chapter Eight
LORD DEVON’S LOOK of appreciation as he eyed her over from head to toe was all Mildred required to shore her resolve to see her night through at Château Follet, regardless of her cousin’s presence.
During the remainder of dinner, she had caught the solemn stare of Alastair more than once and determined that she would stop looking his way. If she were to enjoy herself, she had to pay him no heed. He would surely forget her soon enough, especially as that scarlet beauty beside him clearly took an interest in him, as most women were wont to do.
“You have not touched your pudding,” Devon remarked.
“In truth, I am too nervous to eat very much,” she answered, though she could not recall the last time she had passed on dessert.
“Ah, that is to be expected your first time here,” he said with reassurance.
She returned a grateful smile.
“Perhaps another glass of port will ease the nerves?” he offered, waving at one of the footmen.
Mildred felt the gaze of her cousin upon her but resisted looking at him. She hesitated at a second glass, for she had already consumed a full glass of wine and was not accustomed to partaking of more, but Devon was already instructing the footman to refill her glass.
Devon held up his own glass. “To an unforgettable first time.”
She clinked her glass to his before putting it to her lips. Perhaps the glass of port was precisely what she needed. She was surprised at her present disquiet, especially after she had so firmly declared her intention of staying to Alastair.
She finished the glass of port, and from Devon’s look of surprise, she must have done so rather quickly.
“The port is far better than the pudding,” Devon acknowledged.
Blushing, she replied, “Yes, it is a very fine port.”
When Devon made to gesture again for the port, she stayed him, placing a hand upon his arm. “No, no. I will not be seen as a glutton, particularly upon my first visit.”
“Madame Follet would welcome your gluttony and be happy to have the offerings of her cellar so enjoyed.”
She chanced to look Alastair’s way and found him staring in her direction. Blast it. She would have thought him lost in the brilliant, thickly lashed eyes of the redhead by now. Realizing her hand still rested upon Devon, she quickly withdrew and straightened in her chair. Devon looked to where she had gazed.
“Do you know that man?” Devon asked.
She waved a dismissive hand. “Hardly.”
“It seemed he followed you when you left the table.”
Though she had no appetite for food, she decided to take a large spoonful of pudding. “He felt obliged, as my cousin, to see that I was well.”
Devon’s brows shot up. “Your cousin?”
Having no desire to talk of Alastair, she replied quickly, “By marriage. And we are scarcely in the same company.”
“How coincidental that you should both be here then.”
“Yes, it was completely unexpected.” And unwanted.
Devon looked down the table toward Alastair.
“Perhaps I will have another glass of port,” she declared to draw his attention.
She accomplished her goal, for he seemed quite happy to supply her with more wine. She did not consume the third glass with quite the same thirst, for she could start to feel the effects from the first two glasses of wine, the chief benefit of which was that she ceased to mind Alastair and fixed upon Devon’s increasing charms.
After dinner, everyone retired to an assembly room adorned with paintings, replicas of works such as The Nude Maja by Francisco de Goya y Lucientes, and Venus of Urbino by Titian. More wine was served by maids and footmen, scantily dressed in the costuming of ancient Egyptians. Millie tried unsuccessfully not to stare at the abundant amount of flesh revealed, wondering if she would ever have enough nerve to parade in front of others with her midsection and the entire lengths of her arms bared. Or, if she were of the other sex, to expose the whole of the chest. She had always liked that part of a man. It was so very different from that of her sex. The width, the taut ridges, were as pleasing to her eye as anything.
The wine having increased her bravado, she found herself commenting to Devon, “Do they not feel chilled?”
