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Xavier looked down at me, honestly shocked. “You forgetting what happened when you let him take you out? He’s a twat who doesn’t know when to stop. And this time, I’m your man, not the babysitter. It’s my right to fuck up someone who doesn’t know the limit.”
I sighed heavily but smiled under the looks we were attracting—obvious curiosity regarding the prodigal duke amongst them. Xavier didn’t seem to care what any of these people thought of him, but I certainly did.
“He didn’t do anything but escort me inside,” I said through my teeth. “And you’re lucky he did, by the way, because they wouldn’t have let me in otherwise. And then you would be in for a nice fight withmewhen you got home.”
“You in the mood for a fight, babe?”
Something glinted in his blue eyes, like he wanted me to say yes.
I almost did. I almost threw his arms off me right there and told him not to touch me again unless he wanted to be the dead man in the room. I could see it play out perfectly, a game of cat and mouse in this room full of glittering people. I would hurry through the crowd, maybe out to a shadowed part of the garden. He’d chase me out there, just like all rakes do. We’d snarl at each other in the dark, until eventually, it was too much, and then I’d compromise my reputation completely by allowing him to ravish me amongst the hydrangea bushes.
Or something like that.
Xavier tipped his chin, clearly waiting for whatever remark I had for him. “Which novel is in your head now, babe?” He leaned down so his lips brushed the top of my ear. “By the look on your face, I hope it’s a dirty one.”
I shivered. But in the end, found I didn’t particularly like being teased. Not right now. Not here. And not by the only person who supposedly wanted me here.
As the music ended, I stepped out of his arms as gracefully as I could. “I’m thirsty. I think I’ll track down some punch, or whatever they’re serving, that isn’t alcohol.”
Xavier eyed me a long while, like he was waiting for something.
For what, I didn’t know.
“Right,” he said finally. “There’s food through those doors over there. I’ve got to talk to some people anyway. Find me when you’re ready to go.”
And with that, we both allowed the next round of music to play us off the dance floor. In entirely different directions.
EIGHTEEN
Ididn’t tell him when I was ready to go. Either time.
The first was minutes after we had last spoken, and I just didn’t want to be that girl.
The second was because I was drunkety-drunk drunk, and I’ll admit, a complete mess.
As promised, I found the punch, then proceeded to anger-drink several more glasses of champagne and tell at least five verifiable noblemen to sod off in my best Queen’s English when I caught them staring at my décolletage. They did not find it amusing.
I kept spotting Xavier lurking about the party, almost always with his hand on Frederick’s shoulder, doing his duty and introducing his stepbrother to the right people. I was drunk, but not to the point that I wanted to ruin the real reason they were here. It was when I spotted Xavier woefully accepting Imogene’s offered hand and escorting her to the dance floor that I was really and truly done.
I borrowed fifty pounds from Adam in exchange for my London phone number and got a car to Parkvale. By the time I arrived, I found myself even angrier than before. And still completely three sheets to the wind.
“May I help you?” asked the man who opened the arched front doors. Like Gibson, he was also dressed in a starched black suit. A livery, was it? Did butlers wear livery, or was that just footmen?
I was honestly too wasted to remember.
“Step aside, Jeeves,” I ordered. “I’ve had a hell of a night, and I need a giant vat of wine and a bath, if you don’t mind.”
“Pardon, miss!” The butler blocked my entrance to the house. “We are not in the business of allowing vagrants on the premises. I must ask you to leave.”
“Fat chance,” I snarled as I tried to shove my way around him.
Screw this guy. Screw all these people. I had absolutely no tolerance for this world right now, and that included this pompous penguin.
Then something occurred to me. “This is Parkvale, isn’t it?”
It would be just my luck that on top of everything else, I’d have ended up at the wrong freaking house.
“Bledsoe, it’s all right.”
