He made good view of her. “I am not convinced, but Idothink you would look equally resplendent in emerald green.” He sipped to hide a smile. “But then you would betoopowerful in your beauty, and all the gentlemen would be chased away for a different reason, intimidated by your splendor.”
“Tell me, Your Grace, did your nonsense have to be learned or were you born with a talent for it?” she quipped, taking a small sip of her own drink.
It was milder than the port she had been served at Thornhill Grange. Sweet and heady and, in truth, rather delicious, like spiced sugar turned liquid.
“Ah-ah-ah.” He wagged a finger at her. “No lashing compliments back in a man’s face—that was lesson one.”
She rolled her eyes. “You said nothing about lashing hyperbole back in a man’s face.”
“But it is no exaggeration,” he insisted. “In the park today, you were the most exquisite woman there. There was not a single eye that was not upon you. If youhadagreed to ride on Zeus’ back, the tonwould have seen you and thought a fearsome goddess had come to grace them with her presence.”
“Behave yourself,” she gasped, her cheeks so hot that she stepped away from the fireplace.
He smiled wolfishly. “I am. You are crafted from the same divine hand that formed Helen of Troy, Cleopatra, Polyxena. You would be any painter’s muse. A man need only look upon you, and he could create the greatest symphonies in all the world. You?—”
“Stop it! I beg of you!” She squeezed her eyes shut, willing him to cease.
“I cannot. This is an exercise in complimentary bombardment,” he replied, humor lacing his voice. “You must be wholly prepared for the clumsy poetry of suitors, and this ought to get you accustomed.”
She shook her head, resisting the urge to laugh. “It is unbearable.”
“Nonsense, Miss Maxwell—my adoration foryouis unbearable,” he continued. “My heart will break if you do not dance the nextset with me. I shall beat upon my chest, crying my devotion in the streets! Say that you will dance with me, Miss Maxwell. I must have your company. I must have that honor, or I shall throw myself at your feet.”
She clamped her lips together, fighting to be serious. “Are there any ladies who actually like hearing such things? I would rather hear a man ask me my age, parentage, and residence than have him say such insincere things.”
“Be kinder,” Duncan instructed. “That is the exercise.”
She took a breath. “But how am I to be kinder when a man is threatening to embarrass me?”
“That is up to you.”
Taking another sip of her port to relax herself, she raced through the lessons she had learned at Thornhill Grange. When that offered little aid, she filtered through the encounters of the past seven years, finding instances where she wished she had behaved more generously.
“Adoration and affection should never be unbearable,” she began hesitantly. “I am sorry to say that I cannot dance with you, as I do not think it would be of benefit to either of us. Yet, I hope you might find a lady with as much passion as you possess. And I hope thatshewill ease your heart and dance with you. Forgive me, I think I see my friend over there.”
It was not what Duncan had asked her to do, but it was the only response she could think of for such a barrage of desperation. After all, she could not afford to waste time in her situation. Rejecting gentlemen swiftly but kindly was just as important, in her mind, as finding an appropriate suitor.
The sound of slow clapping cracked her eye open.
“Admirably handled,” Duncan told her. “You allowed him his dignity, though he likely did not deserve to keep it, but you did not entertain a match that would go nowhere. Very good.”
She exhaled, realizing that she had been holding her breath. “I meant to thank you, actually.”
“Oh?”
She perched on the edge of the nearby settee. “I thought you were toying with me for your own amusement, but you have something of a talent for this.” She smiled awkwardly. “I encountered a gentleman today and, using your lessons, I gained confirmation that he might like to see me again. Not just that, but I kept him talking, and he asked me questions long after he could have departed.”
A funny look passed across Duncan’s face, his brow furrowing, a muscle flexing in his jaw, squinting as if he had just looked up at the noonday sun. It disappeared as quickly as it had appeared, though Valeria was certain she had seen it.
“Excellent,” he said briskly. “I am pleased to hear it. Who was the gentleman?”
“Roger Grove, the Viscount of Campbell,” Valeria replied uncertainly, confused as to why he had seemed so perplexed.
Duncan nodded slowly. “A mild-mannered fellow. Pleasant. Well-educated. Not too tall or too short. Has a rather lovely manor in the country, with an ample fortune.” He shrugged. “You could do worse.”
“Oh, I did not mean that I was considering him,” she blurted out, though she could not explain why. “I have no fondness for him beyond friendship, and even that is exaggerating.”
Tapping the side of his glass with his forefinger, Duncan circled the room. “But if you are in a rush to wed, he would be a fine choice.”
