kept his gaze fixed on Regina’s face. “She seems far too clever to have avoided books all her life.”
Her heart fluttered. He actually thought she was “clever”?
No, of course not. By “clever,” he meant “calculating.” Marcus would never pay her a compliment.
“Oh, she’ll endure hearing a story read from time to time,” Simon said, “but Regina has little interest in things that can’t play for her, whirl her about the floor, drive her in the park, or take her shopping.”
Humiliation flooded her face with heat. Cicely laid a hand on her arm, but she shrugged it off, preparing to give her brother a sharp retort.
Marcus spoke first. “Your sister may not be the contemplative sort, but tonight has shown that she does have deeper interests. Like music, for example.”
She tensed and eyed him defiantly, daring him even to mention that horrible scene in the drawing room.
“She sings beautifully,” he went on, “and could clearly appreciate Louisa’s performance. And I’ve heard she plays the harp very well. I only regret I wasn’t able to hear her play tonight.”
She gaped at him. That was definitely a compliment. Apparently he could be a perfect gentleman when he wished. Astonishing.
Now that she considered it, why choose the opera, of all things, for them to attend? He didn’t seem the sort to enjoy opera, but she had mentioned enjoying it earlier. Could he actually be doing something to please her?
Or was this a trap? Lord, she never knew what to think. His mercurial moods would drive any reasonable woman daft. Marcus possessed several advantages—wealth, a title, a clever mind. He might attain a respectable position in society if he would only behave. So why did he persist in his boorish behavior, even in his sister’s presence?
The carriage slowed, and she glanced out the window to find that they’d arrived home. The gentlemen disembarked first, and Regina hung back so that Simon had to accompany Cicely up the stairs.
Leaving her to Marcus. With the lights from the Foxmoor town house behind him, his face was in shadow as he handed her down, but she could feel his sharp gaze on her, piercing her to her very soul. And when she took his arm, and they turned toward the stairs, her heart pounded. Even after all that had happened, he had this disturbing effect on her, as if she teetered on the edge of a cliff, and he merely waited to push her off.
Or catch her. She hadn’t decided which yet.
As they climbed the stairs, he murmured, “We can attend the opera another night if you prefer.”
“No, indeed,” she said lightly. “Then you’d accuse me of not holding up my end of our bargain.”
He shrugged. “If your brother isn’t going, then by the terms we set, you don’t have to go.”
Hearing it stated so baldly made her flinch. “So you don’t want me to go?”
“I didn’t say that.”
She hid her smile. “So you want me to go.”
His arm stiffened beneath her hand. “I didn’t say that, either. Stay home if you please. I don’t give a damn whether you go with me or not.”
“Then why did you offer to take me on a different night?” she teased. When he didn’t immediately answer, she risked a glance at him.
The gas lamps at the top of the steps illuminated his annoyed expression. “You’re a plague upon men, do you know that?”
“Why? Because I dare to expect reasonable answers from the Dragon Viscount instead of a lot of smoke and fire-breathing?”
His gaze met hers, and a reluctant admiration showed in his eyes. “Because you have a strong right arm.” He lowered his voice. “And know how to use it.”
Coloring, she jerked her gaze up to where her brother and Cicely were disappearing into the house. “I won’t hesitate to use it again if you insult me.”
They’d reached the top now, but he took her by surprise and tugged her behind the columns on the far end of the wide marble steps. By the time she realized what he was about, his mouth was
Her heart fluttered. He actually thought she was “clever”?
No, of course not. By “clever,” he meant “calculating.” Marcus would never pay her a compliment.
“Oh, she’ll endure hearing a story read from time to time,” Simon said, “but Regina has little interest in things that can’t play for her, whirl her about the floor, drive her in the park, or take her shopping.”
Humiliation flooded her face with heat. Cicely laid a hand on her arm, but she shrugged it off, preparing to give her brother a sharp retort.
Marcus spoke first. “Your sister may not be the contemplative sort, but tonight has shown that she does have deeper interests. Like music, for example.”
She tensed and eyed him defiantly, daring him even to mention that horrible scene in the drawing room.
“She sings beautifully,” he went on, “and could clearly appreciate Louisa’s performance. And I’ve heard she plays the harp very well. I only regret I wasn’t able to hear her play tonight.”
She gaped at him. That was definitely a compliment. Apparently he could be a perfect gentleman when he wished. Astonishing.
Now that she considered it, why choose the opera, of all things, for them to attend? He didn’t seem the sort to enjoy opera, but she had mentioned enjoying it earlier. Could he actually be doing something to please her?
Or was this a trap? Lord, she never knew what to think. His mercurial moods would drive any reasonable woman daft. Marcus possessed several advantages—wealth, a title, a clever mind. He might attain a respectable position in society if he would only behave. So why did he persist in his boorish behavior, even in his sister’s presence?
The carriage slowed, and she glanced out the window to find that they’d arrived home. The gentlemen disembarked first, and Regina hung back so that Simon had to accompany Cicely up the stairs.
Leaving her to Marcus. With the lights from the Foxmoor town house behind him, his face was in shadow as he handed her down, but she could feel his sharp gaze on her, piercing her to her very soul. And when she took his arm, and they turned toward the stairs, her heart pounded. Even after all that had happened, he had this disturbing effect on her, as if she teetered on the edge of a cliff, and he merely waited to push her off.
Or catch her. She hadn’t decided which yet.
As they climbed the stairs, he murmured, “We can attend the opera another night if you prefer.”
“No, indeed,” she said lightly. “Then you’d accuse me of not holding up my end of our bargain.”
He shrugged. “If your brother isn’t going, then by the terms we set, you don’t have to go.”
Hearing it stated so baldly made her flinch. “So you don’t want me to go?”
“I didn’t say that.”
She hid her smile. “So you want me to go.”
His arm stiffened beneath her hand. “I didn’t say that, either. Stay home if you please. I don’t give a damn whether you go with me or not.”
“Then why did you offer to take me on a different night?” she teased. When he didn’t immediately answer, she risked a glance at him.
The gas lamps at the top of the steps illuminated his annoyed expression. “You’re a plague upon men, do you know that?”
“Why? Because I dare to expect reasonable answers from the Dragon Viscount instead of a lot of smoke and fire-breathing?”
His gaze met hers, and a reluctant admiration showed in his eyes. “Because you have a strong right arm.” He lowered his voice. “And know how to use it.”
Coloring, she jerked her gaze up to where her brother and Cicely were disappearing into the house. “I won’t hesitate to use it again if you insult me.”
They’d reached the top now, but he took her by surprise and tugged her behind the columns on the far end of the wide marble steps. By the time she realized what he was about, his mouth was
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