Read Online The Courtesan's Wager by Claudia Dain - Free Book Online
Authors: Claudia Dain
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concerned. Unfortunately, he was a man. “We had an arrangement for dinner, which will be met, but before we go in I thought that, in the way of pleasant conversation, one which I hope will build the appetite, you could answer a few questions.”
“Questions? Regarding what?”
“Why, regarding yourself,” Sophia said pleasantly, but there was something twinkling in the depths of her dark eyes that was not at all pleasant. Calbourne crossed his legs and lowered his chin, a pose that had sent more than one person skittering from the room. In this instance, no one skittered. Most inconvenient. “As you may be aware,” Sophia continued, “Lady Amelia Caversham is in the market for a husband.” At this statement of fact, Lady Amelia blushed and blinked rapidly. It was not at all becoming on her.
“Is she? How very wise of her,” Calbourne said, which was a most polite thing to say, after all. Far worse could have been said, but he was not in the habit of taunting young women, though he supposed he could develop the habit if it were necessary. Looking again at Amelia, blushing and blinking, he did not think he needed to develop the habit. At least, not at present.
“Isn’t it?” Sophia agreed.
Calbourne studied the women arrayed before him. There were four, yet Sophia was the only one engaging him. What was the significance of that? He knew Sophia well enough to know that everything had significance, whether one saw it immediately or not.
“And in the spirit of that wisdom and indeed, Lady Amelia’s unusual and exemplary boldness in pursuing her goals, matrimony in this instance, I have agreed to aid her in acquiring the proper husband.”
A truly alarming statement in any situation. That Sophia Dalby had mouthed the words made it almost dangerous.
“The proper husband?” Calbourne repeated, for what could that phrase possibly mean? And how on earth did it apply to him?
“But of course, your grace,” Sophia answered calmly. Calmly? When he could feel a bead of sweat moistening his left temple? “Proper. A woman would be a fool indeed not to seek a proper husband. Lady Amelia, like any well-brought-up woman, has her list of requirements and you, your grace, I am most pleased to tell you, fit them almost exactly. At least, what we know of you.”
The single bead of sweat had turned into a cluster. He was not even remotely amused. Calbourne could not remember the last time he had not been amused. He was, he realized with a slight shock, in a distinctly uncomfortable situation.
“I beg your pardon, Lady Dalby,” he said in growing annoyance, “ what you know of me ? What precisely is that supposed to mean?” And as Sophia was opening her mouth to answer him, he added in true irritation, “And what do you mean, her list of requirements ? A list of requirements? As they pertain to me?”
“Why, naturally, Calbourne,” Sophia said with a smile of pure malice. At least it looked like malice to him. In any other circumstance he might have thought her smile delightful and charming. But not now, and perhaps never again. “You must know that you are entirely eligible and that Lady Amelia, not to be distracted by a less than winning smile or a poorly cut coat as so many of today’s young women are, has marked you as prime husband material. Surely, you should be as flattered as she is to be commended.”
What the devil? Was his smile now being found fault with? He had a wonderful smile, truly one of his best features. His mother had remarked upon it often, or as often as she saw him. And there was nothing at all wrong with the cut of his coat. He engaged the finest tailor in Town. Still, he adjusted the sleeve with a rough tug. Perhaps the sleeve was a bit short. Damned tailor, was he turning him into a laughingstock? It was one thing to smile at other people’s foibles, that was truly amusing, but to be found laughable was not at all tolerable. He was a duke, after all. No one should find it necessary,
“Questions? Regarding what?”
“Why, regarding yourself,” Sophia said pleasantly, but there was something twinkling in the depths of her dark eyes that was not at all pleasant. Calbourne crossed his legs and lowered his chin, a pose that had sent more than one person skittering from the room. In this instance, no one skittered. Most inconvenient. “As you may be aware,” Sophia continued, “Lady Amelia Caversham is in the market for a husband.” At this statement of fact, Lady Amelia blushed and blinked rapidly. It was not at all becoming on her.
“Is she? How very wise of her,” Calbourne said, which was a most polite thing to say, after all. Far worse could have been said, but he was not in the habit of taunting young women, though he supposed he could develop the habit if it were necessary. Looking again at Amelia, blushing and blinking, he did not think he needed to develop the habit. At least, not at present.
“Isn’t it?” Sophia agreed.
Calbourne studied the women arrayed before him. There were four, yet Sophia was the only one engaging him. What was the significance of that? He knew Sophia well enough to know that everything had significance, whether one saw it immediately or not.
“And in the spirit of that wisdom and indeed, Lady Amelia’s unusual and exemplary boldness in pursuing her goals, matrimony in this instance, I have agreed to aid her in acquiring the proper husband.”
A truly alarming statement in any situation. That Sophia Dalby had mouthed the words made it almost dangerous.
“The proper husband?” Calbourne repeated, for what could that phrase possibly mean? And how on earth did it apply to him?
“But of course, your grace,” Sophia answered calmly. Calmly? When he could feel a bead of sweat moistening his left temple? “Proper. A woman would be a fool indeed not to seek a proper husband. Lady Amelia, like any well-brought-up woman, has her list of requirements and you, your grace, I am most pleased to tell you, fit them almost exactly. At least, what we know of you.”
The single bead of sweat had turned into a cluster. He was not even remotely amused. Calbourne could not remember the last time he had not been amused. He was, he realized with a slight shock, in a distinctly uncomfortable situation.
“I beg your pardon, Lady Dalby,” he said in growing annoyance, “ what you know of me ? What precisely is that supposed to mean?” And as Sophia was opening her mouth to answer him, he added in true irritation, “And what do you mean, her list of requirements ? A list of requirements? As they pertain to me?”
“Why, naturally, Calbourne,” Sophia said with a smile of pure malice. At least it looked like malice to him. In any other circumstance he might have thought her smile delightful and charming. But not now, and perhaps never again. “You must know that you are entirely eligible and that Lady Amelia, not to be distracted by a less than winning smile or a poorly cut coat as so many of today’s young women are, has marked you as prime husband material. Surely, you should be as flattered as she is to be commended.”
What the devil? Was his smile now being found fault with? He had a wonderful smile, truly one of his best features. His mother had remarked upon it often, or as often as she saw him. And there was nothing at all wrong with the cut of his coat. He engaged the finest tailor in Town. Still, he adjusted the sleeve with a rough tug. Perhaps the sleeve was a bit short. Damned tailor, was he turning him into a laughingstock? It was one thing to smile at other people’s foibles, that was truly amusing, but to be found laughable was not at all tolerable. He was a duke, after all. No one should find it necessary,
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