over the piano music.
That she was talking to herself again frightened Honoria. Any
lack of control was disturbing, and now more than ever, with him to
face. "It's been a long evening for me." She smiled and spoke
pleasantly, as she looked from her cousin to Lady Asqwyth. "I am a
country girl at heart, you know. I would be in bed by now if I were
at home."
"You'd be up reading a book," Cousin Kate said, as though
this was a nasty habit she intended to break her younger cousin of.
"You're in London now, my girl." She gestured about the room
with her fan. "At the height of the Season, I might add. With Her
Majesty's coronation and—ah!" Her voice lit with joy. "The
gentlemen have joined us at last!"
Looking toward the hall door, Honoria was aware of large
black lumps spilling into the room and spreading out across the
floor like an overturned bucket of coal. The timbre of the women's
voices changed, skirts rustled, the whoosh of fans stirred the air,
and excitement lit the air brighter than gas lights or candle flames.
With bitterness, Honoria realized that the past hour had been the
lull in an ongoing hunt. The Season was a long, elaborate mating
dance. Most of the women here were involved in that dance, either
for themselves or for their daughters, or as avid observers and
critics of the chase. Honoria was not one of the hunters, or allowed
to observe with the aficionados; she was one of the observed. And
a veritable prize among the prey animals, as well.
Honoria snarled angrily at the thought.
"Indigestion?" Cousin Kate questioned. "Or is it the sight of
Captain Russell approaching that makes you look so sour?"
Honoria made out Derrick's form a moment after her cousin
spoke. She caught a gleam of gold hair in the lamplight and a pale
oval of face, a suggestion of broad shoulders. Was that a hint of
desperation underlying his confident swagger as he moved closer?
She turned her back, ostensibly to speak to Lady Asqwyth.
This didn't stop him. "I must speak with you, Honoria.
Alone."
The intensity of Derrick Russell's whispered entreaty when
he came up behind her was more annoying than disturbing. He had
bad breath as well. Too much wine, and not only from tonight's
meal, she thought, was the cause of the sour stench that hung about
him. Possibly it was an outward manifestation of his rotten soul.
Lady Asqwyth put her hand over her mouth and tittered at the
sight of Derrick Russell standing so close behind Honoria. Lady
Asqwyth, of course, knew that they had once been betrothed.
Almost everyone else in the music room did as well. Everyone was
watching. Was he in the room? Did he care who she was with or
what she did? And did she care if he cared, or not? She decided that
she did—if she could in any way hurt him. Such maliciousness was
foolish, she supposed, since the man was heartless and soulless and
had no personal interest in her at all. If she could manage to get
even some small measure of revenge, would it be sweet? She had
no way of knowing, having never even contemplated revenge
before. The thought that she might make him uncomfortable was a
pleasant one. Of course, showing Derrick any attention might make
Marbury think he could still use Derrick against her. She would
disabuse him of the notion, if necessary. Right now, it would be
politic to disabuse Derrick of any notions he might have as well.
She'd managed to fight her grimace into almost a smile when she
turned to face Derrick. "Alone?" she questioned, as coquettishly as
she could manage. "That would hardly be proper, Captain Russell."
That she could pronounce his name with anything approaching
civility delighted her.
"We have a past relationship." He sounded as if he thought
that what they had once meant to each other somehow granted him
private privileges. "I hope to renew that relationship," he added for
everyone nearby to hear.
He spoke with a sincerity that twisted in Honoria's guts. Her
soul
That she was talking to herself again frightened Honoria. Any
lack of control was disturbing, and now more than ever, with him to
face. "It's been a long evening for me." She smiled and spoke
pleasantly, as she looked from her cousin to Lady Asqwyth. "I am a
country girl at heart, you know. I would be in bed by now if I were
at home."
"You'd be up reading a book," Cousin Kate said, as though
this was a nasty habit she intended to break her younger cousin of.
"You're in London now, my girl." She gestured about the room
with her fan. "At the height of the Season, I might add. With Her
Majesty's coronation and—ah!" Her voice lit with joy. "The
gentlemen have joined us at last!"
Looking toward the hall door, Honoria was aware of large
black lumps spilling into the room and spreading out across the
floor like an overturned bucket of coal. The timbre of the women's
voices changed, skirts rustled, the whoosh of fans stirred the air,
and excitement lit the air brighter than gas lights or candle flames.
With bitterness, Honoria realized that the past hour had been the
lull in an ongoing hunt. The Season was a long, elaborate mating
dance. Most of the women here were involved in that dance, either
for themselves or for their daughters, or as avid observers and
critics of the chase. Honoria was not one of the hunters, or allowed
to observe with the aficionados; she was one of the observed. And
a veritable prize among the prey animals, as well.
Honoria snarled angrily at the thought.
"Indigestion?" Cousin Kate questioned. "Or is it the sight of
Captain Russell approaching that makes you look so sour?"
Honoria made out Derrick's form a moment after her cousin
spoke. She caught a gleam of gold hair in the lamplight and a pale
oval of face, a suggestion of broad shoulders. Was that a hint of
desperation underlying his confident swagger as he moved closer?
She turned her back, ostensibly to speak to Lady Asqwyth.
This didn't stop him. "I must speak with you, Honoria.
Alone."
The intensity of Derrick Russell's whispered entreaty when
he came up behind her was more annoying than disturbing. He had
bad breath as well. Too much wine, and not only from tonight's
meal, she thought, was the cause of the sour stench that hung about
him. Possibly it was an outward manifestation of his rotten soul.
Lady Asqwyth put her hand over her mouth and tittered at the
sight of Derrick Russell standing so close behind Honoria. Lady
Asqwyth, of course, knew that they had once been betrothed.
Almost everyone else in the music room did as well. Everyone was
watching. Was he in the room? Did he care who she was with or
what she did? And did she care if he cared, or not? She decided that
she did—if she could in any way hurt him. Such maliciousness was
foolish, she supposed, since the man was heartless and soulless and
had no personal interest in her at all. If she could manage to get
even some small measure of revenge, would it be sweet? She had
no way of knowing, having never even contemplated revenge
before. The thought that she might make him uncomfortable was a
pleasant one. Of course, showing Derrick any attention might make
Marbury think he could still use Derrick against her. She would
disabuse him of the notion, if necessary. Right now, it would be
politic to disabuse Derrick of any notions he might have as well.
She'd managed to fight her grimace into almost a smile when she
turned to face Derrick. "Alone?" she questioned, as coquettishly as
she could manage. "That would hardly be proper, Captain Russell."
That she could pronounce his name with anything approaching
civility delighted her.
"We have a past relationship." He sounded as if he thought
that what they had once meant to each other somehow granted him
private privileges. "I hope to renew that relationship," he added for
everyone nearby to hear.
He spoke with a sincerity that twisted in Honoria's guts. Her
soul
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