chair. Jeremy bent over the chessboard and lowered his voice. “Toby was first introduced to Miss Hathaway at a dinner party at Felix’s house. She was every bit as lovely and charming as you see her now. She made trifling conversation at dinner and played the pianoforte afterward, quite capably. Toby took no notice.” He moved a knight into play.
“And the second time?”
“The second time we were all in company, we met at a ball. On that occasion, Miss Sophia had a bevy of admirers surrounding her before the first set. Toby was instantly enthralled. For weeks afterward, he spoke of nothing but Miss Sophia Hathaway. He was quite insufferable.”
Lucy looked nonplussed. “So you’re telling me Henry should host a ball?”
ball?”
He sighed. “I’m telling you to stop flinging yourself at Toby’s feet. A man doesn’t want to stoop to love. He wants to reach higher, stand taller. He desires something more than a woman. He wants an angel. A dream.”
“A goddess?”
“If you will.”
Her voice grew wistful. “Toby always called me a goddess. His Diana. Goddess of the hunt.”
“She was the goddess of chastity, too,” he scoffed. “But no matter.
You’re beginning to comprehend the principle. The allure of the unattainable. You’d be foolish to keep flashing your … your charms at Toby so brazenly. Men want what it seems they can’t have.”
And God help him, he was a man. He wanted what he could not have. That must be the reason Jeremy felt himself growing stiff at the mere mention of Lucy’s charms . Lucy was unattainable, he reminded himself for what must have been the nineteenth time that day. And whatever strange allure she held, it logically proceeded from that fact. Not from her enticing, womanly curves, or her golden, petal-soft skin. Not from the obvious challenge of her flinty spirit or the veiled invitation in her smoky voice. And most definitely not from her lips—those lush, bowed, dusky red lips that Jeremy now knew to be formed for something wholly apart from stinging retorts. Sweet, sensual kisses that stirred a man’s blood and tasted of wild, ripe fruit. Forbidden fruit.
It was all too true. Men want what it seems they can’t have .
Lucy leveled her green gaze at him. “Jealous.”
He groaned inwardly. Not that word again. He was not
— not —jealous. He began piecing together an objection, but she spoke first.
“I comprehend you perfectly. I need to make Toby jealous.”
He stared at her. Not comprehending.
“You said yourself that he never looked twice at Sophia until she showed up with a throng of suitors. That’s what I need. A suitor. A throng of them would be preferable, but I suppose one will have to do.” She wound the braid around her finger and began toying with it again. “Too bad the vicar’s son is off to Oxford. He’s positively mad for me.”
She stared at the carpet, brow furrowed. Then she raised her head and locked gazes with him. “It will have to be you.”
“Me?”
“I know, I know. It sounds ridiculous, but there’s no one else. It’s nothing so terrible. Just pretend to court me for a while. Until Toby realizes he loves me.”
“I could court you forever, and that plan would never work.”
Lucy sank back in her chair and folded her arms. She exhaled forcefully. “I suppose you’re right.” She regarded him with an expression that struck Jeremy as uncomfortably close to disdain.
“No one would ever believe it.”
Jeremy couldn’t decide which facet of this disturbingly familiar conversation should perturb him more. To begin with, there was the repeated insistence that, heedless of his own feelings or principles, he must perforce strike up a counterfeit courtship with Lucy. Then there was the fact that he once again came in second to the vicar’s spotty son in his desirability for this appointment. Most galling of all, however, seemed the general skepticism of his ability to convincingly woo even a country-bred
“And the second time?”
“The second time we were all in company, we met at a ball. On that occasion, Miss Sophia had a bevy of admirers surrounding her before the first set. Toby was instantly enthralled. For weeks afterward, he spoke of nothing but Miss Sophia Hathaway. He was quite insufferable.”
Lucy looked nonplussed. “So you’re telling me Henry should host a ball?”
ball?”
He sighed. “I’m telling you to stop flinging yourself at Toby’s feet. A man doesn’t want to stoop to love. He wants to reach higher, stand taller. He desires something more than a woman. He wants an angel. A dream.”
“A goddess?”
“If you will.”
Her voice grew wistful. “Toby always called me a goddess. His Diana. Goddess of the hunt.”
“She was the goddess of chastity, too,” he scoffed. “But no matter.
You’re beginning to comprehend the principle. The allure of the unattainable. You’d be foolish to keep flashing your … your charms at Toby so brazenly. Men want what it seems they can’t have.”
And God help him, he was a man. He wanted what he could not have. That must be the reason Jeremy felt himself growing stiff at the mere mention of Lucy’s charms . Lucy was unattainable, he reminded himself for what must have been the nineteenth time that day. And whatever strange allure she held, it logically proceeded from that fact. Not from her enticing, womanly curves, or her golden, petal-soft skin. Not from the obvious challenge of her flinty spirit or the veiled invitation in her smoky voice. And most definitely not from her lips—those lush, bowed, dusky red lips that Jeremy now knew to be formed for something wholly apart from stinging retorts. Sweet, sensual kisses that stirred a man’s blood and tasted of wild, ripe fruit. Forbidden fruit.
It was all too true. Men want what it seems they can’t have .
Lucy leveled her green gaze at him. “Jealous.”
He groaned inwardly. Not that word again. He was not
— not —jealous. He began piecing together an objection, but she spoke first.
“I comprehend you perfectly. I need to make Toby jealous.”
He stared at her. Not comprehending.
“You said yourself that he never looked twice at Sophia until she showed up with a throng of suitors. That’s what I need. A suitor. A throng of them would be preferable, but I suppose one will have to do.” She wound the braid around her finger and began toying with it again. “Too bad the vicar’s son is off to Oxford. He’s positively mad for me.”
She stared at the carpet, brow furrowed. Then she raised her head and locked gazes with him. “It will have to be you.”
“Me?”
“I know, I know. It sounds ridiculous, but there’s no one else. It’s nothing so terrible. Just pretend to court me for a while. Until Toby realizes he loves me.”
“I could court you forever, and that plan would never work.”
Lucy sank back in her chair and folded her arms. She exhaled forcefully. “I suppose you’re right.” She regarded him with an expression that struck Jeremy as uncomfortably close to disdain.
“No one would ever believe it.”
Jeremy couldn’t decide which facet of this disturbingly familiar conversation should perturb him more. To begin with, there was the repeated insistence that, heedless of his own feelings or principles, he must perforce strike up a counterfeit courtship with Lucy. Then there was the fact that he once again came in second to the vicar’s spotty son in his desirability for this appointment. Most galling of all, however, seemed the general skepticism of his ability to convincingly woo even a country-bred
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