an unfamiliar way.
She’d known him first. She’d known him longer and probably better than anyone on earth. But all he’d done was tease her like some bratty younger sister. For Lady Julia, a stranger , he behaved like a perfect gentleman. No, worse than a perfect gentleman. A perfect gentleman with a marked interest in a young lady.
Madame Fortunato took her place and began to sing, and it was all Amelia could do to stay put in her seat. Especially not with the spectacle of Natty and Lady Julia constantly drawing her attention across the room. He had an arm draped casually across the back of her chair and would lean in now and then to whisper something to her, his hand almost touching her bare shoulder. His hands were so large. Would those fingertips feel smooth or rough? What did his voice sound like now when he whispered?
She was furious with him for being such a shameless flirt, and furious with herself for wishing she was the one he was flirting with.
Even worse than Madame Fortunato, and the spectacle of Natty and Lady Julia, was Mr. Cheadle. He was every bit as odious as Victoria and Grace had claimed, attempting to engage her in conversation every time there was even a momentary break in the music. Considering they’d just met and she’d said scarcely six words to him, his attentions were woefully transparent. He must be penniless.
When Madame Fortunato took a break, Amelia did, too, scrambling out of her seat and practically falling across the laps of the other guests as she made her way out of her row. Genevieve would kill her for such deplorable manners, but she didn’t care.
No one had made their way out to the terrace yet, since everyone was trying to impress either Madame Fortunato or each other with their pithy observations about the performance. It was cool and quiet after the stuffy ballroom behind her. As long as Cheadle didn’t find her out here, she’d be safe. Plucking a late-blooming rose from one of the bushes edging the terrace, she pulled it apart, tossing its withering petals into the darkness beyond.
What on earth was Natty doing with Lady Julia? And why did she get this courtly version of him dancing attendance on her? Of course, Lady Julia was lovely, the ideal well-bred young lady and the daughter of an earl. She had sat through the concert with her hands folded in her lap and her attention fixed on the soprano. Julia Harrow didn’t fidget or count the minutes until she was free. Apparently the adult Natty appreciated well-behaved young ladies.
It was none of her business. He had nothing to do with her world and what he did with himself—and with whom—was none of her concern. So what if one glimpse of him tonight had made her stomach erupt in butterflies and her face flush? It was of no account.
Despite knowing the sort of marriage she was destined for, she’d resisted making a choice for so long because she’d hoped in time she might encounter a suitable man who sparked some kind of fire in her. But not once, in all her forays into Society, had she met a man who raised more than mild curiosity. She’d read about flaming passions and heated kisses in the lurid, forbidden novels she had traded with Vic and Grace, but her blood had never been stirred by a flesh-and-blood male. She’d begun to think those passions were the invention of novelists and no man could ever make her feel that way. And now one had, and he was hopelessly out of her reach. It was wretched , wanting something she couldn’t have.
“What’s the verdict? Does Cheadle love you madly or not?”
She didn’t trust herself to look at Natty, knowing her insides would plunge in an unwelcome, delicious way. When he came near her, it was as if her whole body stretched luxuriously and unfurled. Terribly unhelpful, when she was determined to send him packing and behave.
“I’m sure the answer will always be ‘not,’ regardless of the state of the petals and irrespective of whatever he might proclaim.
She’d known him first. She’d known him longer and probably better than anyone on earth. But all he’d done was tease her like some bratty younger sister. For Lady Julia, a stranger , he behaved like a perfect gentleman. No, worse than a perfect gentleman. A perfect gentleman with a marked interest in a young lady.
Madame Fortunato took her place and began to sing, and it was all Amelia could do to stay put in her seat. Especially not with the spectacle of Natty and Lady Julia constantly drawing her attention across the room. He had an arm draped casually across the back of her chair and would lean in now and then to whisper something to her, his hand almost touching her bare shoulder. His hands were so large. Would those fingertips feel smooth or rough? What did his voice sound like now when he whispered?
She was furious with him for being such a shameless flirt, and furious with herself for wishing she was the one he was flirting with.
Even worse than Madame Fortunato, and the spectacle of Natty and Lady Julia, was Mr. Cheadle. He was every bit as odious as Victoria and Grace had claimed, attempting to engage her in conversation every time there was even a momentary break in the music. Considering they’d just met and she’d said scarcely six words to him, his attentions were woefully transparent. He must be penniless.
When Madame Fortunato took a break, Amelia did, too, scrambling out of her seat and practically falling across the laps of the other guests as she made her way out of her row. Genevieve would kill her for such deplorable manners, but she didn’t care.
No one had made their way out to the terrace yet, since everyone was trying to impress either Madame Fortunato or each other with their pithy observations about the performance. It was cool and quiet after the stuffy ballroom behind her. As long as Cheadle didn’t find her out here, she’d be safe. Plucking a late-blooming rose from one of the bushes edging the terrace, she pulled it apart, tossing its withering petals into the darkness beyond.
What on earth was Natty doing with Lady Julia? And why did she get this courtly version of him dancing attendance on her? Of course, Lady Julia was lovely, the ideal well-bred young lady and the daughter of an earl. She had sat through the concert with her hands folded in her lap and her attention fixed on the soprano. Julia Harrow didn’t fidget or count the minutes until she was free. Apparently the adult Natty appreciated well-behaved young ladies.
It was none of her business. He had nothing to do with her world and what he did with himself—and with whom—was none of her concern. So what if one glimpse of him tonight had made her stomach erupt in butterflies and her face flush? It was of no account.
Despite knowing the sort of marriage she was destined for, she’d resisted making a choice for so long because she’d hoped in time she might encounter a suitable man who sparked some kind of fire in her. But not once, in all her forays into Society, had she met a man who raised more than mild curiosity. She’d read about flaming passions and heated kisses in the lurid, forbidden novels she had traded with Vic and Grace, but her blood had never been stirred by a flesh-and-blood male. She’d begun to think those passions were the invention of novelists and no man could ever make her feel that way. And now one had, and he was hopelessly out of her reach. It was wretched , wanting something she couldn’t have.
“What’s the verdict? Does Cheadle love you madly or not?”
She didn’t trust herself to look at Natty, knowing her insides would plunge in an unwelcome, delicious way. When he came near her, it was as if her whole body stretched luxuriously and unfurled. Terribly unhelpful, when she was determined to send him packing and behave.
“I’m sure the answer will always be ‘not,’ regardless of the state of the petals and irrespective of whatever he might proclaim.
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