Revenge Wears Rubies by Renee Bernard Page B

all the world like a man who would rather be on an inquisitor’s rack than in a discussion that mentioned ladies’ undergarments. His color had gone a little gray, but he plucked out his white handkerchief and gave his forehead a characteristic pat. “No! No! But I think I’ll head off to get a plate, after all. I heard that the earl spent a pretty penny on all of it, and I wouldn’t want to see it wasted!”
    He turned to carry out his mission and disappeared from view amidst the gathering attendees.
    Haley took a deep breath and wondered what conversation was appropriate after what had taken place between them.
    Though Alice had no such hesitations. “Doesn’t my niece look fetching in her emerald silk?”
    “Extremely fetching,” he said, a smoldering look at Haley underlining his words. “I would be surprised if she hasn’t fetched every heart in London into her hands by now.”
    “I am not . . . in the habit, of collecting hearts, Mr. Hawke,” Haley said.
    “I’m glad to hear it.” Galen’s eyes seem to darken as he looked at her. “So many women seem to think it a game, gathering men’s hearts like trinkets.”
    “Lah! But what a lot of clutter!” Aunt Alice interrupted. “Where in the world would a person put all those trinkets? Although, if I had wisely gotten expensive trinkets instead of hearts, perhaps I’d be a wealthier old woman today.”
    “Aunt Alice.” Haley had to bite the inside of her cheek to hold back a lecture on appropriate moments to reminisce on instances of youthful indiscretion. “Please.”
    Herbert returned without the promised plate of food, startling a few nearby guests as he hailed them. “Look who I found near the sandwiches! What a jolly surprise to see him here as well!”
    Rand Bascombe smiled at his elbow, apparently flattered to be the subject of a remarkable discovery. “Common enough to see me by now, I would think, Mr. Trumble, but thank you. Is it possible that this is the elusive Mr. Hawke?”
    “It is!” Herbert beamed. “Mr. Hawke, Mr. Rand Bascombe was your host a few days ago at his home, so I assumed you knew each other well enough. Bascombe was kind enough to harbor my future in-laws and fiancée until I could find suitable lodgings for them when we first arrived in London, and I am forever in his debt.”
    “Not forever, Mr. Trumble,” Bascombe corrected him with lofty charm, “but perhaps for a Season or two until I can think of a favor you can do me in return.” He turned to Galen. “It is a pleasure to finally meet you face-to-face, Mr. Hawke.”
    Galen nodded, his expression more neutral. “Mr. Bascombe.”
    Mr. Bascombe waved over a servant with a tray full of sparkling crystal flutes of champagne. “Let’s toast to your return, Mr. Hawke.”
    “I wasn’t aware the man had been away!” Mrs. Shaw said, only to be roundly ignored by Mr. Bascombe.
    “What a lively idea! A toast!” Herbert replied to Rand, as if never in his life had anyone proposed a toast in his presence.
    “Yes, back from . . . where in India was it?” Bascombe asked Galen, his gaze intent.
    Galen seemed to ignore the question and held up a hand of refusal, even as Herbert eagerly took a glass. “I don’t drink, but thank you.”
    Rand’s hand hesitated for a moment, but then he also took a goblet. “Are you a religious man, then, Mr. Hawke?”
    Galen shook his head slowly. “Not at all.”
    “Don’t tease him, Mr. Bascombe!” Mrs. Shaw chimed in. “Besides, I never saw why God would object to a good glass of sherry now and again!”
    “Mr. Melrose said he never trusts a man who doesn’t demonstrate a good command of his faculties after a bottle or two,” Herbert added cheerfully. “But he must not trust too many men then, for I swear I don’t know any man who demonstrates any good sense after two bottles of distilled spirits! I hardly make sense after two glasses, and where’s the reason in that?”
    “Reason to try temperance, I’d say,”