Page 37 of Nothing But a Rakehell
Because honestly, it was better to laugh than to cry.
Keswick sank down into a chair.
“What in the name of every patroness of Almack’s are you doing?” she hissed at him. “Next you’ll be passing out tepid lemonade and extolling the virtues of my family tree.”
“I’m trying to prove my point!”
“I rather think you are proving mine, instead. You will cease this matchmaking at once,” she ordered ferociously. “You are making me look ridiculous.”
“It’s not you, it’s them!” He slumped back in his chair and narrowed his eyes at her. “Isn’t it? Perhaps you should open your countenance a bit? Speak up a bit more? Show them who you really are? I know they will be entranced.”
She glared. “I tried that route already. It was a spectacular failure.”
“Truly? With who?”
Sighing, she closed her eyes and shook her head.
“Oh.” He sank back into his chair. “You cannot count me. I’m not like all of these other fellows.”
Exactly. Wasn’t that why she liked him? But she could never say so, not now.
He sighed. “Have you ever played with a ball made of Indian rubber?”
Frowning at the change of subject, she shook her head.
“They are marvelous. Full of spring and bounce. You toss it as hard as you can and it flies so high—high above your head. That used to be me. I could take a hit, a loss, and bounce right back. But no longer. I’ve grown hard and brittle.” He shrugged. “No bounce left.”
Her heart twisted as she realized it was pain as much as people that vaunted charm protected him against. She felt a wave of protectiveness—
“No.” His tone was pointed and urgent. “Whatever it is that has your eyes widening like a doe’s—forget it. I don’t need anything,” he said, suddenly harsh. “Not from you or anyone else.”
She opened her mouth to argue—but Hope returned at that moment and took the seat next to Keswick.
“Well, that might have actually worked in Sir Blackwell’s favor,” she said briskly. “Now, what are we discussing over here?”
“We were deciphering how it could be that so many of the gentlemen here could be such nodcocks,” Keswick said easily.
“I may have inadvertently invited a number of nodcocks,” Hope told him, “but I am happy not to count you among their number.”
Miss Ruddock called for the room’s attention and introduced her friend and her choice of music. Everyone stilled to listen, but Glory heard not a note. Keswick’s sharp tone still rang in her ears.
When Miss Parscate had finished, Keswick leaned in and said to Hope, “You certainly made no mistakes in inviting the young ladies. They are all of the highest caliber.”
Glory was still smarting. “If rumor is to be believed, they are certainly a different caliber than you pursue in Town.”
He regarded her steadily. “Fortunately, I know you are too sensible to lend credence to rumor.”
“I am sensible enough to recognize what I see with my own eyes.” She let her gaze wander over to the corner of the room, where Lady Tresham stood listening to a group of ladies—and watching their group avidly.
“Oh, but you cannot chastise him for that,” Hope interjected. “Going in pursuit and being pursued are two very different matters.”
The truth of that struck her hard and Glory paled. “You are right,” she whispered. She stared at Keswick and he gave as good as he got, returning her measure with unblinking blue eyes. And she flushed, suddenly and horribly aware that from his perspective,shemight be seen as pursuing him. “I’m sorry,” she blurted out.
He shot her a twist of a grin. “There’s nothing to be sorry about. Don’t waste a moment on regret.” And now his smile definitely reached his eyes. “I certainly do not.”
In desperation, Glory turned her attention to where the next young lady was making preparations at the pianoforte, but she felt the charged weight of his gaze upon her. It felt considerably heavier than the butterfly touch of those opening kisses.
“So much talent,” Keswick mused. He leaned toward Hope. “I admit, though, that I long to see Lady Glory’s theatrical piece. If you asked her, do you think she would change her mind and perform it for us?”
