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Authors: Anna Lee Huber
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still wearing that smile. “You can’t tell me you found your
existence so dull.”
I closed my eyes, deciding it would be easier to hide the irritation and ever-present
fear such questioning caused me. “I never said my life had been dull, only uninteresting.
They’re not the same thing.”
“True. But I still find it difficult to believe that spending any amount of time as
an anatomist’s assistant could be uninteresting. You must have seen some quite appalling
things.” His voice was pitched low and sympathetic, like a barrister commiserating
with a victim on the witness stand. He was not overtly sly, and I realized it might
not even be evident to anyone else, but it vibrated through me like a wrong chord
struck by a pianist. He was good, very good. I wondered if he used the same tone on
the women he wished to coax into his bed.
“Do you know what I find interesting?” I blinked open my eyes, angry he was trying
to wheedle me like the witless society ladies. “How all of the ladies find you so
charming. I’m afraid I do not see it.”
His eyes twinkled with amusement. “You noticed the women find me charming?”
“How could I not?” I scoffed. “They twitter like magpies whenever you so much as bow
over their hands. It rather puts me off my appetite.”
“So you didn’t twitter when I bowed over your hand?” The question was phrased as a
jest, but I could see the disbelief in his eyes. The arrogant man simply couldn’t
believe that a female could be unaffected by him.
I lifted my eyebrows. “You never bowed over my hand, Mr. Gage.”
A puzzled look entered his eyes. “Of course I have,” he protested, even as doubt softened
his voice and insistence.
I started to shake my head, but then remembered my injury. “I’m afraid I’ve never
had the pleasure,” I drawled sarcastically. “But I assure you that if I had, I never
would have twittered.”
My words succeeded in wiping the smile from his face, replacing it with a look of
curious contemplation. “I suppose you’re
not
the type of female who would twitter.”
I smiled tightly, surprised by how it hurt to be reminded yet again of how different
I was from others. It was an absurd reaction considering the fact that I had been
the one to point out I would never twitter in the first place, nor did I actually
want to be like all the vapid ladies populating polite society, but it hollowed me
out inside all the same. “No,” I finally replied before making an attempt to lighten
the conversation. “How exactly
does
one twitter?”
Gage smiled.
“Well?” I asked, reluctantly curious now that I contemplated it. How did other women
manage it without sounding deranged to their gentlemen admirers? I had never been
very successful at the art of flirtation. I knew my sister was quite capable, having
listened to her and Philip verbally banter with one another daily for over a year.
My brother Trevor also seemed competent in that arena, if the number of young ladies
in London angling for a marriage proposal from him were any indication. I, on the
other hand, seemed to be missing that mysterious skill. Sir Anthony had never flirted
with me, nor had any of his assistants. Perhaps it was an acquired talent, one that
Mr. Gage had practiced dutifully, like learning a musical instrument, until he became
a master. It would explain why so many people, men and women alike, seemed to admire
him for it.
“Is a twitter simply a nervous laugh? Or does it require some kind of manipulation
of the tongue and throat, like a cat’s purr?”
Gage’s smile widened. “Perhaps you should give it a try?”
I considered his suggestion. “Perhaps. But not now.”
He seemed on the verge of laughing. I tilted my head against the cushions in puzzlement,
wondering what I had said to amuse him so. He shook his head, refusing to explain,
and cleared his throat.
“So,” he declared, shifting in
existence so dull.”
I closed my eyes, deciding it would be easier to hide the irritation and ever-present
fear such questioning caused me. “I never said my life had been dull, only uninteresting.
They’re not the same thing.”
“True. But I still find it difficult to believe that spending any amount of time as
an anatomist’s assistant could be uninteresting. You must have seen some quite appalling
things.” His voice was pitched low and sympathetic, like a barrister commiserating
with a victim on the witness stand. He was not overtly sly, and I realized it might
not even be evident to anyone else, but it vibrated through me like a wrong chord
struck by a pianist. He was good, very good. I wondered if he used the same tone on
the women he wished to coax into his bed.
“Do you know what I find interesting?” I blinked open my eyes, angry he was trying
to wheedle me like the witless society ladies. “How all of the ladies find you so
charming. I’m afraid I do not see it.”
His eyes twinkled with amusement. “You noticed the women find me charming?”
“How could I not?” I scoffed. “They twitter like magpies whenever you so much as bow
over their hands. It rather puts me off my appetite.”
“So you didn’t twitter when I bowed over your hand?” The question was phrased as a
jest, but I could see the disbelief in his eyes. The arrogant man simply couldn’t
believe that a female could be unaffected by him.
I lifted my eyebrows. “You never bowed over my hand, Mr. Gage.”
A puzzled look entered his eyes. “Of course I have,” he protested, even as doubt softened
his voice and insistence.
I started to shake my head, but then remembered my injury. “I’m afraid I’ve never
had the pleasure,” I drawled sarcastically. “But I assure you that if I had, I never
would have twittered.”
My words succeeded in wiping the smile from his face, replacing it with a look of
curious contemplation. “I suppose you’re
not
the type of female who would twitter.”
I smiled tightly, surprised by how it hurt to be reminded yet again of how different
I was from others. It was an absurd reaction considering the fact that I had been
the one to point out I would never twitter in the first place, nor did I actually
want to be like all the vapid ladies populating polite society, but it hollowed me
out inside all the same. “No,” I finally replied before making an attempt to lighten
the conversation. “How exactly
does
one twitter?”
Gage smiled.
“Well?” I asked, reluctantly curious now that I contemplated it. How did other women
manage it without sounding deranged to their gentlemen admirers? I had never been
very successful at the art of flirtation. I knew my sister was quite capable, having
listened to her and Philip verbally banter with one another daily for over a year.
My brother Trevor also seemed competent in that arena, if the number of young ladies
in London angling for a marriage proposal from him were any indication. I, on the
other hand, seemed to be missing that mysterious skill. Sir Anthony had never flirted
with me, nor had any of his assistants. Perhaps it was an acquired talent, one that
Mr. Gage had practiced dutifully, like learning a musical instrument, until he became
a master. It would explain why so many people, men and women alike, seemed to admire
him for it.
“Is a twitter simply a nervous laugh? Or does it require some kind of manipulation
of the tongue and throat, like a cat’s purr?”
Gage’s smile widened. “Perhaps you should give it a try?”
I considered his suggestion. “Perhaps. But not now.”
He seemed on the verge of laughing. I tilted my head against the cushions in puzzlement,
wondering what I had said to amuse him so. He shook his head, refusing to explain,
and cleared his throat.
“So,” he declared, shifting in
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