Iverley, I believe. Should I congratulate or commiserate with you?”
“You are very kind.” And couldn’t think of a thing to say. Which didn’t matter since engaging her in conversation was not part of the evening’s strategy.
“Lady Gee,” he said instead. “May I accompany you to the refreshment room? Rumor has it there is food to be found there.”
Lady Georgina’s titter almost rivaled her sister’s. “Oh Lord Iverley! You are so very droll.”
Fifteen minutes later Diana tracked down James Lambton.
“Diana,” Lamb said, bowing with grace despite the burden of a glass of claret cup and a rout cake. “I haven’t had the pleasure since Mandeville. Do you see who’s here?” He jerked his head toward a part of the room where Sebastian Iverley, surrounded by a sizeable group, appeared to be the life and soul of the party.
“Yes,” she replied.
“Hard to believe the transformation, isn’t it?”
“Lamb,” Diana said as calmly as she could. “Have you spoken to anyone about our wager?”
“How can you ask? Upon my honor, I said I would not and a gentleman always keeps his word.”
“What about Blake?”
Lamb stared at her. “How could you even suggest such a thing?”
Diana shrugged, not wishing to stir up gossip by confessing that Sebastian had almost cut her dead. “I just wanted to make sure there was no way he might know about it.”
Lamb repeated his protestations. “Look at him,” he added. “Coming into the title must have turned his head. Obviously it hasn’t improved his eyesight. I wonder what the viscountcy has done to his conversation.”
Diana smiled and laughed as Lamb continued to elaborate on the theme but without really listening. She was too busy puzzling over the reason why a man who had kissed her so passionately no longer seemed interested in pursuing the acquaintance.
Chapter 9
T he initial glow of triumph turned to ashes when Sebastian saw Diana with Lamb. They were discussing him—he could tell by the way they darted covert glances in his direction—and laughing. She was laughing at
him,
doubtless reminiscing with Blakeney’s best friend about Sebastian’s humiliation.
“For God’s sake, cheer up,” Tarquin ordered an hour later when they’d retired to his Albany rooms to conduct an inquest on the evening. “You were a success. At least a dozen ladies asked me about you.”
Sebastian stared into his glass without replying. The fifty-year-old brandy reminded him of Diana’s hair by candlelight.
“Wasn’t she there?” Tarquin asked. “There’ll be other opportunities.”
His resolve hardened as his anger rekindled to a blaze. Yes, there would. He couldn’t expect victory the first time out.
Tarquin echoed his thoughts. “Persistence, remember?”
“Persistence I can manage. But there’s one other thing I need to consult you about. Or Cain. Once I’ve completed the persistent pursuit and capturedthe lady in question, what do I do with her?”
Tarquin stared at him. “You’re not asking me for advice about a marriage proposal, are you? I’ve no experience there. Besides, how hard can it be to choke out what a woman is so anxious to hear?”
“No, I’m not asking about marriage.”
“I’ve always wondered and haven’t liked to ask. You’ve never done it, have you?”
Sebastian shook his head.
“How the hell have you stood it all these years?”
He grimaced. “A strong right hand.”
“The schoolboy’s best friend. Am I to understand you mean to put an end to this unnatural state of virtue? Don’t worry. When it comes down to it you’ll know what to do. Men have an instinct for it.”
Of that Sebastian had no doubt. His “instinct” had been lately speaking to him with great urgency.
Before Tarquin and Cain had joked about widows, it hadn’t occurred to him that bedding Diana was an option. He’d always assumed, naïvely perhaps, there was a clear divide between ladies, whom one married if one was foolish
“You are very kind.” And couldn’t think of a thing to say. Which didn’t matter since engaging her in conversation was not part of the evening’s strategy.
“Lady Gee,” he said instead. “May I accompany you to the refreshment room? Rumor has it there is food to be found there.”
Lady Georgina’s titter almost rivaled her sister’s. “Oh Lord Iverley! You are so very droll.”
Fifteen minutes later Diana tracked down James Lambton.
“Diana,” Lamb said, bowing with grace despite the burden of a glass of claret cup and a rout cake. “I haven’t had the pleasure since Mandeville. Do you see who’s here?” He jerked his head toward a part of the room where Sebastian Iverley, surrounded by a sizeable group, appeared to be the life and soul of the party.
“Yes,” she replied.
“Hard to believe the transformation, isn’t it?”
“Lamb,” Diana said as calmly as she could. “Have you spoken to anyone about our wager?”
“How can you ask? Upon my honor, I said I would not and a gentleman always keeps his word.”
“What about Blake?”
Lamb stared at her. “How could you even suggest such a thing?”
Diana shrugged, not wishing to stir up gossip by confessing that Sebastian had almost cut her dead. “I just wanted to make sure there was no way he might know about it.”
Lamb repeated his protestations. “Look at him,” he added. “Coming into the title must have turned his head. Obviously it hasn’t improved his eyesight. I wonder what the viscountcy has done to his conversation.”
Diana smiled and laughed as Lamb continued to elaborate on the theme but without really listening. She was too busy puzzling over the reason why a man who had kissed her so passionately no longer seemed interested in pursuing the acquaintance.
Chapter 9
T he initial glow of triumph turned to ashes when Sebastian saw Diana with Lamb. They were discussing him—he could tell by the way they darted covert glances in his direction—and laughing. She was laughing at
him,
doubtless reminiscing with Blakeney’s best friend about Sebastian’s humiliation.
“For God’s sake, cheer up,” Tarquin ordered an hour later when they’d retired to his Albany rooms to conduct an inquest on the evening. “You were a success. At least a dozen ladies asked me about you.”
Sebastian stared into his glass without replying. The fifty-year-old brandy reminded him of Diana’s hair by candlelight.
“Wasn’t she there?” Tarquin asked. “There’ll be other opportunities.”
His resolve hardened as his anger rekindled to a blaze. Yes, there would. He couldn’t expect victory the first time out.
Tarquin echoed his thoughts. “Persistence, remember?”
“Persistence I can manage. But there’s one other thing I need to consult you about. Or Cain. Once I’ve completed the persistent pursuit and capturedthe lady in question, what do I do with her?”
Tarquin stared at him. “You’re not asking me for advice about a marriage proposal, are you? I’ve no experience there. Besides, how hard can it be to choke out what a woman is so anxious to hear?”
“No, I’m not asking about marriage.”
“I’ve always wondered and haven’t liked to ask. You’ve never done it, have you?”
Sebastian shook his head.
“How the hell have you stood it all these years?”
He grimaced. “A strong right hand.”
“The schoolboy’s best friend. Am I to understand you mean to put an end to this unnatural state of virtue? Don’t worry. When it comes down to it you’ll know what to do. Men have an instinct for it.”
Of that Sebastian had no doubt. His “instinct” had been lately speaking to him with great urgency.
Before Tarquin and Cain had joked about widows, it hadn’t occurred to him that bedding Diana was an option. He’d always assumed, naïvely perhaps, there was a clear divide between ladies, whom one married if one was foolish
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