Page 9 of The Notorious Dashing Viscount
Clayton felt the urge to put his hands over his ears.
“I wish they’d stop with that wretched screeching,” he complained. “All I can hear is endless chatter and those cursed violins.”
Lucas took a sip of his wine, and eyed Clayton unsympathetically. “What did you expect? It’s a ball, after all.”
“Humph.”
“Pray, allow me a moment to express my thoughts to you. You really must reconsider this wager.”
Clayton’s jaw tightened. “Do give over, Lucas.”
“No, I’m serious. That fool Simon should be ignored at the best of times, and a wager like this – well, I shall appeal to your vanity. What are you going to do if this young lady falls madly in love with you?”
He sniffed. “The Ice Queen? She will not.”
“She may well do. Your success depends on her treating you favourably. You could destroy your own reputation, to say nothing of hers. This is not a gentleman’s wager, Clayton. You know, I know it, and…”
“Indeed, most agreeable, most agreeable, but I have acquiesced now, have I not?” Clayton drained his glass of champagne. It was, he had to admit, exceedingly fine vintage.
Lucas gave an exasperated sigh. “Do you think of no one but yourself, Clayton?”
He grinned. “Certainly not. Who, pray tell, could hold greater significance to me than my own self?”
“You’re a fool.”
“At least I like myself.”
Lucas flushed and opened his mouth to argue. Before he could speak, however, a familiar figure, skeleton-like in black satin, materialized at Clayton’s side.
“I thought you weren’t going to come,” Simon said breezily. “I thought you’d taken to the countryside or something.”
Clayton wished he hadn’t drunk all of his champagne. That way, he might have had something to dash in the man’s face.
“Go away, Simon.”
“I do hope you aren’t reconsidering our wager,” Simon remarked, yawning. “I’d hate to have to pass the word around that the famous Lord Henley is nothing more than a craven fool.”
Clayton grinned at him, displaying an array of white teeth in a way he knew to be unsettling. He knew it was unsettling because he’d practised it in the mirror.
“Fear not, Simon. I haven’t forgotten, and nor am I reconsidering.”
Lucas bit back a curse. Clayton ignored him.
Simon narrowed his eyes. “Then why aren’t you talking to her? Our delightful Ice Queen is here tonight.”
“The difference between me and you, despite the obvious,” Clayton remarked, setting down his glass and straightening his cravat, “is that I don’t allow others to hurry me along. I do things in my own time. If you’ll excuse me, both of you, I need someair.”
Leaving a dissatisfied Simon and a stony-faced Lucas behind, Clayton slipped off into the crowd. Lucas’ comments had twinged his conscience a little, a state of being which Clayton tried to avoid as best he could. Still, there was nothing for it. A wager was a wager. Perhaps he ought not have agreed to it, but the fact was that he had.
Lady Isolde Belford, the infamous Ice Queen, had better look out.
*********
Viola’s mother, a middle-aged widow with a haggard face and dwindling funds – which probably explained her eagerness to marry off her daughter – had descended upon them, whisking Viola away to dance with somebody. Isolde had taken a few turns about the room, trying to look cool and collected as Elizabeth Bennet might have done, but really it wasn’t working.
Eventually, she gave in and sought out her parents.
Not your parents.
