Part 2 (1/2)
Except that I'm an attractive-enough-for-ordinary-purposes virgin who just happens to be worth forty thousand pounds per annum danced on her tongue. Remembering her mother crouched at the keyhole, Olivia bit back the words.
”It's wicked to wager,” she said primly and wished she hadn't. For heaven's sake, I sound like a Puritan, at war with every conceivable pleasure.
His smile was more potent than a pilfered jigger of whisky. ”Gambling is the least of my sins, I a.s.sure you.”
She added a dollop of cream to her tea, set down the creamer, and stirred furiously. His frank admission shocked her to her toes. And sent a strange little thrill coursing through her belly. To be wicked and willing to admit it. Now, that was an accomplishment. She burned to ask about his greater failings, but her eavesdropping mother would want her to stick to the main topic of conversation.
”What sort of things would the duke like to know about me?”
”To be honest, I'm not sure,” Lord Rhys said. ”It's hard to say what such lofty persons might find of interest. You see, like you, I am technically a commoner. The 'Lord' affixed to my name is merely a courtesy. My older brother will inherit my father's marquisate, and I'm left to make my way in the world however I may.”
His openness was surprisingly refres.h.i.+ng. ”Such as serving as the duke's proxy.”
”Exactly.”
”Have you always been part of the Royal Court?” She knew the Prince Regent liked to surround himself with pretty women, but she doubted he'd suffer such a remarkable male specimen in his entourage.
”Lord, no. That's for much more exalted folk than I.”
Just when Olivia thought he couldn't be more appealing, a devastating dimple appeared on his left cheek. But even more than his charming appearance, she liked his self-deprecating directness. A commoner, he'd said.
Just like her.
”Let me hazard a guess then,” she said, surprised to find she'd relaxed enough to enjoy this interview. ”As a second son, your options are somewhat limited. You don't seem the sort to go for the church.”
”One lump, if you please,” he said, though she'd quite forgotten about the tea. ”Why do you say that?”
Olivia wished she'd stuffed her handkerchief into her mouth before she allowed such a foolish thing to spill out. She couldn't very well admit he'd lead his female paris.h.i.+oners into sinful thoughts during each Sunday sermon simply by virtue of his handsome face and deep, whisky-tinged voice.
”You don't seem the scholarly sort,” she said, grasping at any reason but the real one as she dropped a brown lump into his teacup using her mother's elegantly filigreed tongs.
”Surprisingly enough, I did graduate top of my cla.s.s, but you're right about me and the Church,” he admitted. ”I have no calling to become a country parson. When all else fails, too many gentlemen in my situation turn to that living without the requisite pa.s.sion for it, and I would not be one of them.”
Just hearing him say the word ”pa.s.sion” brought a rush of heat to her cheeks. She added two more lumps of sugar before she remembered he'd only asked for one.
”A man of action, then,” she guessed, handing the cup and saucer to him and hoping he wouldn't notice the additional sweetness. She wasn't usually so addlepated. What on earth was wrong with her? ”You've borne arms for the sake of our king, I'll wager.”
A shadow seemed to pa.s.s behind his eyes, but it was gone so quickly Olivia decided she'd imagined it. He leaned forward, elbows balanced on his knees. ”I thought you said it was wicked to gamble.”
Olivia knotted her fingers together. ”A figure of speech. I didn't mean anything by it. There is no true wager unless stakes are agreed upon.”
”An important distinction.” He nodded. ”I'll bear that in mind. But you're right. I was a captain in His Majesty's forces but have since resigned my commission.”
”Now that we have settled matters with the French, I suppose there was little to keep you thus engaged,” she said, liking him even better for his military service. ”And now you meet prospective brides for royal dukes for a living.”
”For the moment, though it should please you to know that I am not being compensated for my service. I...volunteered,” he said. ”I don't wish to shock you, Miss Symon, but I believe honesty is the best foundation for a friends.h.i.+p. Given your abhorrence for gambling, you may despise me for this, but I must admit that I usually do support myself by being lucky at cards.”
Her mother would have had to whip out her smelling salts at such an admission, but Olivia was more struck by his suggestion that they might become friends.
Was it possible that a man and woman could form such an unusual bond? She'd never heard of the like. Men befriended men at their clubs. Women exchanged social visits in their homes. The s.e.xes rarely interacted except for courts.h.i.+p, and then once the wedding took place, it was an extraordinary marriage that could also count itself friendly. Even her mother and father addressed each other as Mr. or Mrs. Symon instead of by their Christian names.
”I've heard plenty of cautionary tales about people who've squandered their living at cards, but never of anyone who kept body and soul together with it,” she said, anxious to keep this unusual conversation going. ”Surely gambling isn't your sole occupation?”
”Not at all. I also drink and carouse and engage in any number of questionable pursuits,” he said with a crooked grin. Then he took a sip of his over-sweetened tea and the grin became a grimace. ”I am, in fact, an incurable rake. A dedicated libertine. You may ask anyone.”
”Since you've been so forthright, there's no need for me to ask, is there?” She ought to have been scandalized, but instead, she was intrigued by his confession. ”It's one thing to be wicked. Another to be unabashedly so. I shall consider myself duly warned of you, sir.”
”Good. You should be.” Something flashed in the depths of his dark eyes that she couldn't decipher, then it dissolved when another winning smile made the corners of his eyes crinkle. ”Now it's my turn to guess about you.”
”Very well, though I warn you there's nothing in my life remotely as interesting as being an incurable rake and dedicated libertine.”
As soon as the words were out, she clamped a hand over her mouth. They were unladylike in the extreme. She expected to hear a dull thump on the other side of the door at any moment. If her mother truly was listening at the keyhole, she'd undoubtedly faint dead away.
Lord Rhys merely laughed. ”You've made my task too easy. I perceive that you, Miss Symon, are a woman of strong opinions and do not hesitate to express them.”
”Guilty as charged.” She buried her nose in her teacup.
”You also have a consuming interest in something that takes you outdoors, even on bl.u.s.tery January days.”
”How could you know that?”
”A charming smattering of freckles on your cheeks,” he said. ”Plus, there's a smudge of dirt on your right sleeve near the elbow. Potting soil?”
”Yes.” She set down her teacup and rubbed vigorously at the offending smudge. So he had looked at more of her than her face, though she hadn't caught him at it.
”An excellent gardener then,” he said, leaning back and c.o.c.king his head at her quizzically. ”But I sense your interest runs even deeper than most.”
Did this man have a way to tap into her private thoughts? ”Again, you are correct. I love green growing things, but I also study them. I'm fascinated by the way they flourish and by the mult.i.tudinous variety of them.”
”What are your favorite types?”
”Orchids,” she said quickly.
”Aren't they parasitic? You don't strike me as the type who'd champion an organism that survives by taking from others.”
”While it's true some orchids thrive anch.o.r.ed to the bark of trees, most merely cling to their host without taking nourishment from it. Rather like a sparrow alighting on a twig, actually,” she said. ”There are a few species that are parasitic, but they grow below ground. And I've read that they smell like something rotten. Not at all the type I'd choose to cultivate.”
His mouth twitched, and the smile she'd found so engaging no longer reached his eyes. ”Very wise of you not to cultivate types who prey on others.”
Olivia had heard that conversations at court were often laced with double meaning, but she couldn't imagine what cryptic message he might be trying to send with this one.
”Nevertheless, I find raising orchids most agreeable,” she said, taking up her cup and saucer again. It was a very small s.h.i.+eld, but she sheltered behind the fine Limoges. Until she figured this man out, it seemed safer.
”I'd imagine so, all that pollinating and germinating and whatnot. And I find it most agreeable that a young lady such as yourself isn't put off by such close acquaintance with reproduction.” A hint of sin returned to his smile. ”Is it true that orchids take their name from the Greek word for a certain part of male anatomy?”
Olivia choked on her surprise.