“Well, I don’t know what he seems, really,” he said, and looked away, as if trying to avoid the conversation he’d started. “Hollis, darling, you’ve had another glass? Mind you have a care—the absinthe will bedevil you.”
Hollis giggled as if he’d meant that to be amusing.
“Oh, look, they are setting up to play Chairs,” the duchess said. “You should play, Hollis!”
“Me?” Hollis laughed. “I’d rather—”
“What are you all doing here?” another man said, pushing into their circle.
“Beck, have you met Mr. Brendan? He’s Weslorian.” To Marek she said, “The Earl of Iddesleigh.”
The man, who looked to be a few years older than Marek, had darkly golden hair. He gave Marek a once-over, and said, “How do you do. Come on then, the lot of you. We’ve another round of Chairs, and unless you want to sorely disappoint two princesses, one of whom had this bothersome idea, you will take your places.”
Hollis looked at Marek. He was horrified by the thought—there wasn’t enough drink in him for such buffoonery.
“You’re Weslorian,” the earl said. “Come on, then.”
Damn it, but Hollis pushed her glass at the earl and grabbed Marek’s hand as if they were children instead of adults. “It will be fun!”
“It won’t, you may trust me.”
“Are you always so serious?” She tugged Marek along behind her, and much to his horror, he couldn’t seem to stop himself from allowing it. She kept looking back at him, always smiling, her eyes sparkling, and he felt a little like a lemming, headed for the edge of the cliff.
“But I’ve never played this game,” he said when they reached the floor.
“How is that possible?” She pointed to the chairs and then said something he didn’t quite understand. In fact, he didn’t understand anything beyond that point. It was loud, and people were laughing and shouting. But he heard the dull thud of the music in his head and fell in line, walking around the line of chairs with everyone else. The chairs were lined up with every other facing the opposite direction. When the music suddenly stopped, everyone tried to take a seat. On the first go, he was lucky, and happened to be right in front of a chair. Two people were eliminated from the game when they were not able to find a seat before they were all occupied.
A footman came forward and removed a chair. Everyone stood, and when the music began, around they went again. On the second round, Marek beat a gentleman by a nose to a seat. The gentleman was sent out.
Round and round they went, the noise deafening in Marek’s good ear and the laughter thrumming in his chest. That was something entirely new adding to the mix—it had been many years since he’d laughed so freely, many years since he’d felt the concussion of it in his chest. It made him feel good. It made him feel like a human.
Marek was bloody well laughing.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The gathering to celebrate the Christmas tree at the home of Lord Iddesleigh still holds all of Mayfair in thrall. It has been reported by several, including this writer, that a future duke and a future queen engaged in a game of Chairs that took such a competitive turn the future duke inadvertently knocked the future queen from the last empty seat. She vowed revenge but was spirited away to her palatial abode shortly before she could exact it, and he was summarily banished to his house nearby.
King Maksim has recently been spotted in the park of St. James, walking alone with a trail of guards behind him, looking deep in thought. Is he thinking he has given too much away? Several in the British delegation believe he has. Coal is very important for the development of Weslorian commerce, but he has allowed it to slip through his fingers, according to those with firsthand knowledge.
—Honeycutt’s Gazette of Fashion and Domesticity for Ladies
THEGREENPUNCHhad altered Hollis’s agility, and she couldn’t seem to take the turn at the end of the line of chairs very nimbly. She went out in the fourth round, but not before Mr. Harmon, who had claimed the chair she sought, very loudly and graciously invited her to sit on his lap. She politely declined with a very deep curtsy, and to the applause of everyone, she twirled out of the game. She stood back, short of breath from her laughter, her back against a doorframe, watching Marek as the game progressed.
He was quicker than she was and found a seat each time. He was enjoying himself, and the effect was quite charming. He was so very handsome when he smiled, and the sound of his laugh, a deep rich timbre, seemed to awaken every nerve in her. She was still feeling the euphoria of finding him in this crowd after she had convinced herself he wasn’t coming. But here he was, playing Chairs, of all things.
His smile was devastating—it creased his cheeks and sparked in his eyes and her blood rushed so very hot. She found that rather interesting, as he was a different sort of man from any she’d ever known, with the exception of Donovan. He was not terribly refined and urbane, like Beck or the princes. There was something very masculine about Marek, even playing a silly game at a Christmas party.
The peacock went out in the next round, and she sashayed away, clearly miffed that the young Baron Crownhead didn’t gallantly give her the seat.
Marek was the next to go out. He pushed through the crowd to where she stood, still grinning.
She straightened and smiled when he reached her. “I’mshocked, Mr. Brendan,” she said, trying to sound serious.
“Why?” He touched a lock of her hair on her shoulder.
“Because you played the game!” She leaned forward. “Andyou enjoyed it. Don’t deny it—you were laughing.”
Marek braced one hand above her head against the doorframe. “Of course I enjoyed it. Who wouldn’t enjoy such nonsense? I’m not an animal, madam. How shall I explain it?” He paused, squinting a little, as if thinking. “That game—‘it is like a barber’s chair that fits all buttocks. The pin-buttock, the quatch-buttock—’”
