the ladies in the music room, and Honoria's evening would
only get worse. She doubted this awful evening would ever end.
She heard the women whispering in their little groups, by the
door, on the settee, near the fireplace. She was not fool enough to
pretend that the whispering wasn't about her; they would not be
whispering otherwise. Whispering about her and Derrick Russell.
She knew his reappearance would be of more interest than Mr.
Marbury. As far as society was concerned, apologies had been
tendered and accepted; the Marbury Affair was settled.
At least she had gotten through the meal with no one the
wiser. The important thing was that her father suspected nothing.
Her father had paid far too much attention to Diego—James, but it
had been normal paternal attention. The Spaniard—the Honorable
Mr. Marbury—had been at pains to show his charming side to the
Duke of Pyneham. Her jaw clenched in fury as she remembered all
too well just how charming he could be. She was still singed
around the edges from having his warmth turned on her this
evening. Knowing that it was a false warmth didn't lessen the effect
any, it only served to make her wary. She was still frozen inside.
He was responsible for the ice around her heart that would never
melt, especially not in the light of his sunny smile.
What about the heat of his kisses? The fire from his touch?
Honoria pushed away the questions that rose unbidden, and
the memories they brought with them. She reminded herself sternly
that having been burned beyond healing once, she was not fool
enough to risk a second exposure. Ice and fire, indeed, she added
with a mental snort of derision. What fanciful nonsense!
Lady Asqwyth said something to Cousin Kate, who replied,
and Honoria realized they'd been involved in a lively conversation
for several minutes. Whether either of them had spoken to her in
this time, she didn't know. All she knew was that the smile on her
face was so fixed, she doubted her lips would ever return to their
normal shape again.
Her attention kept turning to the open doors that led to a wide
terrace and the back garden beyond. She very carefully did not look
toward the hall door. The men would arrive whenever they chose,
and this waiting would then seem like a pleasant purgatory
compared to the hell of enduring his presence once more.
Yet she knew very well that she was waiting for the door to
open and for him to come in.
She took a few deep breaths, hoping the fresh air would aid in
calming the nervousness she ordered herself not to feel. The breeze
was pleasant, scented by roses and air washed clean by rain earlier
in the day. The garden beckoned her, dark and mysterious—as
much as a neatly groomed walled lawn in the middle of a safe city
neighborhood could be. The truth was, anywhere away from this
crowd of brightly clad, avid-eyed females beckoned to her.
Why had she not taken the coward's way out, pleading a
headache and fleeing to her room as soon as the meal was over?
She had already done her duty to society and her father this
evening. Could it be , a creeping snake of speculation whispered
inside her, that you want to see him ? Nonsense. The man was not
the fruit of the knowledge of good and evil; he was not ripe and
rich and tasty with sensuality. Well, he was—but the analogy to an
apple certainly didn't suit. He was not sweet. His kisses were, she
remembered. Concealing bitter poison , she argued back to the
snake of memory. He would not tempt her. Not again. She would
keep control of her emotions and her life, perform the duties
expected of her place in society, and bring no shame or criticism
upon her father or family name. She had her books, her quiet place
in the country. Those were rewards enough for leading an
exemplary life. She'd put the past behind her; now all she had to do
was get through the present.
"Only a few more hours," she murmured.
"What, my dear?" Cousin Kate asked,
only get worse. She doubted this awful evening would ever end.
She heard the women whispering in their little groups, by the
door, on the settee, near the fireplace. She was not fool enough to
pretend that the whispering wasn't about her; they would not be
whispering otherwise. Whispering about her and Derrick Russell.
She knew his reappearance would be of more interest than Mr.
Marbury. As far as society was concerned, apologies had been
tendered and accepted; the Marbury Affair was settled.
At least she had gotten through the meal with no one the
wiser. The important thing was that her father suspected nothing.
Her father had paid far too much attention to Diego—James, but it
had been normal paternal attention. The Spaniard—the Honorable
Mr. Marbury—had been at pains to show his charming side to the
Duke of Pyneham. Her jaw clenched in fury as she remembered all
too well just how charming he could be. She was still singed
around the edges from having his warmth turned on her this
evening. Knowing that it was a false warmth didn't lessen the effect
any, it only served to make her wary. She was still frozen inside.
He was responsible for the ice around her heart that would never
melt, especially not in the light of his sunny smile.
What about the heat of his kisses? The fire from his touch?
Honoria pushed away the questions that rose unbidden, and
the memories they brought with them. She reminded herself sternly
that having been burned beyond healing once, she was not fool
enough to risk a second exposure. Ice and fire, indeed, she added
with a mental snort of derision. What fanciful nonsense!
Lady Asqwyth said something to Cousin Kate, who replied,
and Honoria realized they'd been involved in a lively conversation
for several minutes. Whether either of them had spoken to her in
this time, she didn't know. All she knew was that the smile on her
face was so fixed, she doubted her lips would ever return to their
normal shape again.
Her attention kept turning to the open doors that led to a wide
terrace and the back garden beyond. She very carefully did not look
toward the hall door. The men would arrive whenever they chose,
and this waiting would then seem like a pleasant purgatory
compared to the hell of enduring his presence once more.
Yet she knew very well that she was waiting for the door to
open and for him to come in.
She took a few deep breaths, hoping the fresh air would aid in
calming the nervousness she ordered herself not to feel. The breeze
was pleasant, scented by roses and air washed clean by rain earlier
in the day. The garden beckoned her, dark and mysterious—as
much as a neatly groomed walled lawn in the middle of a safe city
neighborhood could be. The truth was, anywhere away from this
crowd of brightly clad, avid-eyed females beckoned to her.
Why had she not taken the coward's way out, pleading a
headache and fleeing to her room as soon as the meal was over?
She had already done her duty to society and her father this
evening. Could it be , a creeping snake of speculation whispered
inside her, that you want to see him ? Nonsense. The man was not
the fruit of the knowledge of good and evil; he was not ripe and
rich and tasty with sensuality. Well, he was—but the analogy to an
apple certainly didn't suit. He was not sweet. His kisses were, she
remembered. Concealing bitter poison , she argued back to the
snake of memory. He would not tempt her. Not again. She would
keep control of her emotions and her life, perform the duties
expected of her place in society, and bring no shame or criticism
upon her father or family name. She had her books, her quiet place
in the country. Those were rewards enough for leading an
exemplary life. She'd put the past behind her; now all she had to do
was get through the present.
"Only a few more hours," she murmured.
"What, my dear?" Cousin Kate asked,
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