George was surprised. Aunt Agatha had done that? Really?
The duke continued, “And it seems she was right, if that little exchange was any indication. Tell me, what did she say to you? I only heard your response—which was brilliant, by the way.”
“It doesn’t matter.” She could fight her own battles.
He regarded her narrowly for a moment, then shrugged. “May I fetch you a drink?”
“Yes, please.” As soon as the duke left, George pulled one of her gloves off and examined the marks Mrs. Threadgood’s nails had left. A series of red crescent indentations marked the back of her hand. She rubbed it. The wretched woman had claws.
The duke returned with a footman bearing a tray with a variety of drinks. “Did that woman do that to you? Let me see.”
He reached for her hand, but George pulled it away. “No, it’s nothing.” She pulled her long satin evening glove backon and selected a glass of lemonade from the footman’s tray. They stood, sipping their drinks, observing the people at the party.
“Are you enjoying yourself?” the duke asked after a minute.
She gave him an incredulous look, then snorted. “Oh, yes, I couldn’t think of a more delightful way to spend an evening.”
He grimaced. “Like that, eh? So Lady Salter was correct.”
George shrugged. “She occasionally is.”
“Was that woman—La Threadgood—typical?”
“About average. The consensus seems to be that I have entrapped you into marriage. Some resent it; others are congratulating me on my ‘cleverness.’”
She directed an accusing look at him and seemed to expect him to say something.
“I see.” Hart could see she was angry, but there was nothing he could say to her that would mitigate the gossip. “I thought you didn’t care what society thinks.”
It was the wrong thing to say. She turned her head sharply. “Why would you think that?”
“In the conservatory that time—with Mrs. Threadgood and her friends—you said as much.”
“Oh, them—they only thought I was odd. I don’t care about that kind of thing. A lot of people think I’m odd.” She made a careless gesture. “I suppose I am.”
“Then how is this any different?”
“Because this time they’re calling me dishonest, saying I’ve been deceitful and devious and hypocritical and immoral. It’s insulting.”
He didn’t say anything, so she added, “Don’t you see? They’re accusing me of entrapping you, of catching myself a rich duke by devious means. Accusingme.”
“I see.”
She rolled her eyes.
He frowned. “But you know you haven’t done any of those things, so what does it matter?”
She eyed him with exasperation. “It must be so nice to exist on your rarefied mountaintop, looking down at therest of the world from your superior position, untouched by what people say about you.”
“People talk about me all the time,” he said coolly. “I have learned to ignore it.”
She bared her teeth at him. “Well, I’m still learning. And I don’t really mind if people talk about true things about me—it’s the lies that make me angry.”
He could see that. She was in an invidious position—and his actions had put her there. So it was up to him to do something about it. “There is no point trying to argue against ill-natured gossip—the harder you oppose it, the more it will confirm in people’s minds that it must be true.”
She sighed. “I know. I just have to be patient and hope the gossips move on to some other scandal. But I hate waiting! I just want to hit people.”
His gray eyes glinted. “I would not advise it.”
