Page 34 of A Translation of Desire
He looked far too handsome in his evening attire. His blond hair was impeccable, and his large frame perfectly fit his tailored-for-him suit. What was this blasted thing between them? She knew what it was, even if she tried to deny it. She wanted him, andwantmight not be the right word;crave,need, andhungerall seemed far more fitting.
“Ready?” Lisbeth said.
She tore her gaze away from Sinclair, desperately trying to expel her unwelcome thoughts. “Yes.”
They made their way into the dining room, and Lisbeth and Rose were seated across from Sinclair and the young lady who stared at him adoringly. Rose wanted to gag at the woman’s hero worship. The Marquess of Derry stood and gave a speech about friends and family that seemed shockingly sincere coming from a peer. After that, the table filled with almost forty people broke into several different discussions.
She missed the simplicity of tavern or café food. Her gaze darted down to the other end of the table, where Diana happily sat with her betrothed Sebastian Devons. Frowning, Rose at least wished she were sitting somewhere else—closer to herfriends. A lady Rose didn’t know, studied her intently. The woman’s lips pressed together, and judgment flared in her eyes. “Miss Calvert, are you enjoying your Season?”
She was older and swathed in jewels. Lisbeth smiled at her. “Lady Baston, Miss Calvert is more my guest than pursuing a Season.”
Lady Baston tilted her nose up higher. “That makes more sense.”
The table descended into shocked silence at her obnoxious response. Rose couldn’t think of a time when she had been insulted in such a passive-aggressive way. She wished somehow she could be transported back to the desert instead of dealing with the rude woman. Before she could respond, Sinclair said, “I’ve tried my best to get on Miss Calvert’s dance card, but it always seems full whenever we’re at the same ball.”
Her eyes flew to the duke, knowing he was defending her. She didn’t need that, but appreciation flared in her. The woman beside Sinclair demurred, “Mother, she is deciphering ancient text for the Historical Society for Female Curators.”
The harpy was Sinclair’s lady’s mother. Rose lifted a brow in his direction. His face turned stony at her silent point. The older woman darted a glance at Lisbeth and Diana. “I almost forgot about that little club.”
The entire table remained focused on their conversation, but neither Lisbeth nor Diana said anything. Rose frowned at the woman. “My lady, the club is no small feat. The plan is to be as informative and successful as any existing establishments.”
Lady Baston scoffed. Trying to be polite, Lisbeth said, “We all have our passions.”
The grumpy lady scowled. “Yes, but not all passions challenge the very structure of society.”
Rose snorted. “Yes, surely one antiquities club will ruin London.”
The young woman next to Sinclair, trying to ease the tension, said, “Mother, I’m certain they aren’t competing with the men’s only London Society of Antiquaries.”
Shocking everyone, Diana, from the other end of the table, said, “And if we were?”
Several people gasped. Rose sat up straighter, ready for a debate with the lady. However, it didn’t happen because Sinclair said, “There is nothing wrong with clubs competing with each other, regardless of whether women or men run them.”
And just like that, everyone nodded because, as much as Rose hated it, Sinclair was the duke. No one argued with him. The table broke back into several conversations. Her gaze darted to Sinclair, engaged in a lively discussion with Lady Baston’s daughter. Rose took a sip of wine, discreetly watching them. Her name was Lady Viviene, and she was perfect for Sinclair—the duke who had just defended the Historical Society of Female Curators. A club she was very much starting to feel part of.
*
Later that evening,Augustus rolled his shoulders as he made his way down the wide hallway of the first floor of Derry Hall. He’d retrieved a book from the main library, hoping it would help him sleep. Restlessness thrummed through him. The words would do nothing.
He reached the elegant staircase leading to the guest wing of the Hall, but the patter of feet jerked his gaze in the direction of a hallway off the kitchen. His brows drew together. Who was up at such a late hour? It was likely a servant, but he still walked towards the source of the sound. He spotted a flash of brownish-red hair before the kitchen door swung shut.
A frown flitted across his face. Was it Rose? What was she doing up so late? He went down the hallway and opened thedoor to find the lady whistling while she looked through the cabinets. His gaze swept over her slender frame. The wrap and nightdress covered her entirely but seemed to emphasize her curves, sending a jolt of awareness through Augustus.
Annoyed with his reaction, he scowled. “Don’t you know it is inappropriate to wander about in someone else’s home in your nightclothes?”
She spun around, startled, but sighed and rolled her eyes at him. “Well, thank goodness you’re here, Augustus, to remind me of all the rules of polite society.”
Turning back, she rummaged more before holding up a jar triumphantly. She placed the jar on the kitchen table beside a cloth covering something. He folded his arms over his chest and didn’t miss how her eyes lingered on his front. He, himself, was only dressed in a shirt, pants, and shoes. “I’m pointing it out to help you.”
Her mouth twitched up, and she scooped jam out of the jar with a knife. Rose swiped a little of the sweet spread off the utensil with a finger. She brought it to her mouth, sucking on it, and Augustus’s body hummed.
“This is delectable,” she gushed.
“You should be asleep.”
Rose pointed at the chair across from her. “Sit. You must have some of this.”
He should leave. That was the smart choice. Rose lifted a brow. “Unless you’re nervous about being around me after our kiss.”
