“I think you’ve had quite enough wine.”
“Not nearly enough, if you’re going to a ball to see a girl about a horse. A horse.” He chortled. “Of course you are. Nothing to do with a bright-eyed girl who just happened to set you on your ear the other night.”
“She did not set me on my ear,” Hart lied. He hadn’t been able to get her out of his mind.
“No? I could feel the undercurrent between you. Positively crackling, it was.”
“You are imagining things,” Hart said coldly. “There was no undercurrent. I am only interested in her horse.” He folded the note, addressed and sealed it.
“Yes, yes,” Sinc said in a soothing tone. “Of course, herhorseis the attraction.” He paused a moment, then added, “So why not simply make her an offer? To buy the horse, I mean. Not make her anyotherkind of offer.”
Sinc had definitely drunk too much, Hart decided. “I did make her an offer for the animal. She refused.”
“Told you she would.”
“It was an opening gambit. She’ll sell. That stallion is far too strong for a lady.”
Sinc pulled a doubtful face. “You didn’t think it too strong for her the other day when you thought she was a youth.”
Hart stood abruptly. “It’s time we left.”
Sinc drained his glass and set it on the side table. “I always knew it took wild horses to drag you to a society ball, but this is a new one on me. Going to a ball to buy a horseindeed. Most of us just toddle down to Tattersall’s and make a bid...”
***
George stepped out into the garden for a little fresh air. It was a warm night and Lady Peplowe’s ball was “a frightful squeeze” which meant it was a tremendous success. Why people didn’t just say that was beyond her.
It wasn’t just fresh air she was seeking, though. She’d spotted Lord Towsett weaving his way toward her with that look on his face—again. Would the man never listen?
She’d immediately headed toward the conservatory—it had been locked but she knew where the key was—resolving to have it out with him once and for all. She had a plan.
She’d refused him three times so far, and from the determined expression on his face tonight, he was planning to make it four. She already knew his long-winded declaration speech by heart—it didn’t vary much. Of all the charming young ladies in the ton this season, she was, according to Lord Towsett, the fortunate one who met all his requirements.
Requirements indeed!
Pudgy, pompous and supremely smug, Lord Towsett expected her to be overwhelmingly flattered by his offer. He’d blinked when she refused him the first time—quite pleasantly and politely—then laughed and said he understood what she really meant, and what a naughty puss she was to keep him dangling. He knew what ladies were like, he’d said, saying one thing and meaning another.
“No, I mean it,” George had insisted. “Thank you for your offer, Lord Towsett, but I decline.”
The second time he’d proposed to her, she had been less pleasant and more firm. “I won’t marry you, Lord Towsett, not now, not tomorrow, nor any time in the future. I said no last time, and I meant no.”
In answer to which he’d chuckled knowingly and called her a naughty puss again. It was infuriating.
The third time he’d proposed, she’d been curt, there wasno other word for it. “Lord Towsett, stop pestering me! I have no interest in marrying you and I never will. So just go away and leave me alone.”
But the man was as stubborn as a pig. Once more he’d shaken his head in an infuriatingly understanding manner and told her he would never give up hope.
“Give it up,” she’d told him. “There is no hope. I will never change my mind. Find some other girl to annoy.”
And here he was again. And here she was, slipping into the conservatory to lurk amid the ferns and the palms.
It was all Emm’s fault, of course. The last time Lord Towsett had proposed, she’d told Emm in a fit of temper that if he had the gall to propose to her again, she would have no alternative but to punch him on his very prominent nose.
Of course Emm had been horrified, and before George left for the ball this evening, she’d had to promise that she would neither hit nor slap nor smack nor kick Lord Towsett, nor tip wine or ratafia or hot tea or cream trifle with jelly and custard over him. Or in any way make a public scene.
Unfair tactics. She knew George never broke a promise.
“Just avoid him,” Emm had finished airily. Never having had to deal with the man and his impenetrable ego.
