She gave a low growl. “Are you always this vexing, or is it a seasonal affliction?”
He let out a laugh loud enough to turn heads.
“I enjoy your bite, Lady Evelyn,” he said. “But do reserve it for private company when we are inside. No gentleman wants a lady who bites his head off upon introduction.”
Her blood boiled. First, he continued to insist on calling her Lady Evelyn instead of ‘Your Grace'; then he criticized her behavior. He, a duke, deserved her best manners, but she had no desire to offer them. Not to him.
They walked down the sidewalk, past the waiting carriages. Curious eyes followed them.
“They all think we’re cutting in line,” she muttered.
“We are,” he said simply. “That’s what happens when others are too lazy to exit their carriages. Now, here we are.”
They climbed the stairs and Nathaniel presented their vouchers. Evelyn’s skin crawled. She had no fond memories of Almack’s. She had been brought here as soon as she was of age—sometimes under her father’s watchful eye, sometimes chaperoned by a maid. She had been pushed to dance, and dance, and dance. To converse until her voice went hoarse. And all for what? To be married off to a seventy-two-year-old dragon…
“I thought all of this was behind me,” she said.
“It can be—once you find yourself another husband,” he replied cheerfully. “Now let’s see who we can introduce you to.”
They were still walking arm in arm, which felt rather peculiar indoors. Such displays were unusual.
“Look at her,” a voice whispered nearby. “Husband not even cold two months and she’s flaunting herself.”
Evelyn turned her head, but saw only a flutter of feathered fans hiding assorted faces. She glared and looked ahead, but the whispers continued. As they passed the orchestra pit, someone muttered ‘fortune hunter,’ another commented on the ‘elderly duke’ and how she had ‘traded up.’
“I do not wish to be here,” she whispered to Nathaniel. “Everyone is gossiping about me.”
He leaned down, his warm breath brushing her cheek. “That is precisely why we are here. So you can find yourself another husband and settle in a more favorable situation.”
“Why don’t you help me, then?” she snapped. “All you need to do is ask Lady Appleton to move to her Highland relations, and I could have the house.”
He looked at her and shook his head. “One evening. That is all I ask.”
She sighed. “Very well. Then will you at least dance with me?”
“It’s not me you’re here to dance with,” he replied.
Of course, he wouldn’t. He would do nothing to make this tolerable. Her usual anger flared, but there was something else, too. Disappointment. Why didn’t he want to dance with her? Julian wouldn’t object. Besides, would it not show off her dancing skills?
She forced herself to stop thinking. Chin lifted, she announced, “I am thirsty. I’m going to find some of that dreadful lemonade they serve here.”
Without waiting for his answer, she strode off.
Why did it bother her so much that he didn’t want to dance with her? It shouldn’t. So why did it? And why had she enjoyed his company of late, even if he made her utterly mad?
She reached the refreshment table and took one of the filled glasses of pale lemonade, already bracing for the bland taste. Almack’s was not known for its refreshments.
She sipped—and grimaced.
“Dreadful, isn’t it?” a voice said.
She looked up. A tall, blonde gentleman had joined her. He withdrew a silver flask from his coat and smiled. “May I make it more palatable?”
Before she could respond, he poured a splash of liquor into her glass, then did the same with his own.
“Try it. Much better—I guarantee it.”
She hesitated, then sipped. It would have been impolite not to do so. The flavor hit her at once. Her brows rose, but then she relaxed.
