Page 23 of The Study of Seduction
“I do.” She slid him a teasing look. “Fortunately, Milton’s poem was quoted in one.”
“That’s cheating. It’s like using a tune from an opera for a nursery rhyme.”
The ladies laughed outright, and he actually smiled. Perhaps that was the key—to draw his fire so he might sharpen his wit onher. “And what, pray tell, is your problem with gothic novels, anyway?”
“That they exist,” he said bluntly.
Miss Trevor went into gales of laughter. Clarissa didn’t find it so amusing, especially since the other women undoubtedly read them, too. “That isnotan answer.”
“You expect a serious answer to a frivolous question?” he said.
“Why is it any more frivolous to enjoy a good tale of adventure in a book than to watch a similar tale on the stage?” Clarissa asked.
“The last time I checked, there were no governesses wandering around castles in plays.”
“No, but there are ghosts inMacbeth.AndHamlet.”
“She’s got you there, Lord Blakeborough,” Miss Trevor put in.
He ignored her. “It’s Shakespeare,” he told Clarissa. “Surely you aren’t going to compare the likes ofThe Monkto Shakespeare.”
Since she hatedThe Monk, that wasn’t possible. Feeling cornered, she crossed her arms over her chest. “When was the last time you even went to a play?” Takethat, Mr. Oh-So-Sure-of-Your-Opinions.
“I go occasionally,” he said, a tad defensively.
“Igo regularly, so I should hope that my opinion on the subject has more weight.”
“It certainly has more weight withyou,” he said. “Though I’m not sure how much weight it has with anyone else.”
The ladies tittered again and formed themselves into a group about him, as if to protect him from her. The irony of it didn’t escape her. Good Lord, she’d created a monster.
She was about to give him quite the set-down when Lady Maribella’s mother stepped into the room to announce that tea and cakes were being served in the garden.
At once the ladies headed that way, but when Miss Trevor tried to tug Edwin with her, he murmured some excuse and hung back to accompany Clarissa. With a glare, she hurried past him.
That didn’t work. Curse his long strides. He kept pace with her easily. “I swear I have no idea what just happened,” he murmured.
“I do,” she said crossly. “You gathered a group of sycophants to applaud your every word.”
“I was only doing what you advised.”
A pox on him. “I know.”
“But I didn’t expect it to actually work.”
She sighed. “People enjoy criticism of anything or anyone but themselves. As long as you aim your barbs away from your subject, you’ll impress the ladies.”
“But not you.”
“You aimed your barbs atme, so, no. But it doesn’t matter. You’re not trying to impress me.”
They were the last to leave the building, so he stopped her before she could go out into the garden. “And if I were? What must a man do to impress you?”
The direct question made her suspicious. It wasn’t like him to speak of her as if she might be a woman who interested him romantically. “Rather like you and your automatons, I’m not about to tell you and risk your mockery.”
A sudden remorse flickered in his eyes. “I shouldn’t have mocked your reading tastes in front of the other women.”
The unexpected apology did something funny to her insides. “Why not?” she said, hating the hint of breathlessness in her voice. “You mock my reading tastes all the time.”
