“You’re an angel, Cousin.”
“Angel?” Hetty laughed, sinking into the chair vacated by Clara. “I do believe that’s the first time anyone’s called me that.”
“For good reason.” He resumed his seat and took an appreciative swallow of champagne. “And given this most uncharacteristic show of solicitude on your part,” he added, leaning back in his chair, “I can only conclude you have a deeper purpose.”
She grinned at him from beneath her yellow straw hat as she tucked a loose tendril of her chestnut hair beneath the crown. “Curiosity. Miss Deverill,” she clarified when Rex gave her an inquiring look.
“Ah,” he said, pretending to be suddenly enlightened. “But why ask me about her? You met her yourself at the opera.”
“A quick introduction before you cut her from the herd. And then the performance started.” There was a wicked, knowing gleam in Hetty’s green eyes that recalled his acute discomfort on the night in question.
“I can’t be of much help in satisfying your curiosity, Cousin, for I met Miss Deverill myself only a few days before you did. Best ask Auntie Pet, if you want to know more about her.”
“Auntie Pet is the one who sent me over here.” She paused and took a sip of champagne. “She seems to think you have a romantic interest in the girl.”
“Hope springs eternal.”
“Auntie’s terrible, I know. She’s the same way with me and my sisters and brothers—shoving potential spouses at us every chance she has, if that makes you feel any better.”
“It doesn’t. As for Miss Deverill, I can assure Auntie—and you as well, for I know perfectly well that Auntie is not the only one in my family crossing her fingers and hoping for miracles—that the girl is not the least bit attracted to me.” Even as he spoke, the damnable memory of sinking beneath Clara on that settee flashed through his mind.
“A woman who can resist you? Heavens.”
Clara’s lack of resistance seven days ago was, he feared, going to be a fundamental source of torment to him for the foreseeable future. “God, Hetty, you talk as if all the pretty girls of London are falling at my feet.”
His cousin stared at him, her eyes going ingenuously wide. “Is this one pretty? I hadn’t formed an opinion, myself, but it seems you have.”
He gave her a warning look, but of course, being Hetty, she ignored it. Sitting up a bit straighter, she turned in her chair and studied the girl who was standing on an open stretch of turf, holding a reel of kite wool and talking with the twins. “She has a lovely figure,” Hetty said after a moment and sighed. “So dainty. I’d kill for that tiny waist and those long legs.”
Rex set his jaw, valiantly resisting delicious contemplations about Clara’s figure as he watched her attempt to launch the kite. Her effort failed however, crashing the toy almost immediately into the turf and sending her and the two boys into peals of laughter.
If I had children, I’d never be bored.
“She seems quite sweet.”
He stiffened, looking at his cousin. “Are you being catty?”
His voice was quiet, but a hint of what he thought of that comment must have shown in his expression, for looking at him, even his intrepid cousin shrank back a little.
“No, Rex,” she said. “I’m not, actually. That was my impression when I met her, and it’s still my impression.”
Something in him relaxed.
“I only remark on it because...” She paused. “Sweet girls aren’t your usual cup of tea, that’s all.”
The attraction of opposites.
He hastened into speech. “Miss Deverill and I are just friends.”
One of Hetty’s dark brows lifted a fraction. “Friends? You and any girl alive... friends?”
Her skepticism about that notion made him feel oddly defensive. “Is it so hard to imagine?”
She laughed. “Frankly, yes! Granted, you seem on very friendly terms with women of a certain type, much to Aunt Petunia’s dismay. But I doubt any demirep could be described as your friend. And you’re amiable as can be to women you consider out of bounds—married women, women in love with other men, etcetera. But when it comes to young, unmarried ladies, we know you pay no attention to them at all, as a rule, which is quite right of you, you rake. So, tell me how this particular girl could possibly have become your friend.”
Because God has a wicked sense of humor.
Rex shrugged. “These things happen,” he said lightly.
