Page 11 of Sir Hugo Seeks a Wife
“She’s come into the shop a few times.She likes—”
“Sugared violets.I know.Tell me about her.”
“Haven’t you met her?”
“Several times.We’ve danced together.”
Lucky Lady Petronella.Athene would wager that waltzing around a room with Sir Hugo was heaven.“Then why ask me what she’s like?”
He shrugged.“A second opinion never hurts.”
In Athene’s experience, when someone fell victim to a romantic obsession, a second opinion didn’t get a look-in.Wiser counsel certainly wouldn’t have dissuaded her girlhood self from her disastrous decisions.But something told her that Sir Hugo wasn’t quite as delirious about Lady Petronella as some of the lady’s other suitors.
Or was that just wishful thinking?
Even if he wasn’t head over heels with the society beauty, he wasn’t about to court Aphrodite de Smith.“I couldn’t possibly say,” she said, deciding – at last – on discretion.
“Of course you could.Tell me about her.”
“She’s…” Indulged.Vain.Childish.Capricious.“…pretty.”
The lily-livered response elicited a snort of contempt.“Yes, she is.But a Yorkshireman needs a wife with character.”
Then why the devil are you pursuing a woman with less substance than the sugared violets she gobbles by the boxful?
Athene wanted to give Sir Hugo a good shake and tell him to wake up to himself.As if her puny strength would prevail against his substantial form.
Before she could speak, he went on.“You have character.”
Without doubt.Too much of it, according to most people who knew her.Certainly according to George Foster, who had seduced an innocent and discovered that he’d taken on a flint-hearted termagant.“Yes, but we’re not talking about me.”
“Aren’t we?For example, I know you don’t like sugared violets.But there must be something in Madame Lebeau’s shop that takes your fancy.”
“I can’t afford Sylvie’s creations.Five shillings for a verse don’t extend to extravagances like expensive bonbons.”
“I gave you a guinea.”
“Yes, you did.For one of my lesser works, too.”
“Imagine what I’ll pay if you extend yourself to the limits of your talents.”
“Imagine,” she said drily.“You may have to mortgage those Yorkshire acres to meet my bill.”
That made him laugh.“God forbid.So what bonbon would you choose?I’m sure you’ve tasted most of the wares, even if the ones not fit for sale.”
It was true.She had.And Sylvie often asked her opinion on new recipes.“There’s a lemon drop that I like.”
“I can see you choosing something with a bit of tartness.You wouldn’t go for anything as sickly as those sugared violets.”His expression indicated his contempt for his lady love’s preferences in confectionery.
That wasn’t precisely a compliment, despite it feeling like one.Athene told herself that it meant nothing, although the idea of Sir Hugo noticing her to the point of guessing her preferences touched her closed heart.Her London life was a lonely one.Apart from Sylvie, she had no friends.In fact, apart from Sylvie, nobody would mourn her if she disappeared off the face of the earth tomorrow.It was how she wanted it, but something deep in her soul blossomed to know that Sir Hugo had spared her a thought.
How utterly pathetic.She’d be kissing his feet next.
This interview proved unexpected – and extended.She cast the brawny baronet a disapproving glance.“We seem to have moved away from the purpose of your call.You want a poem to accompany some bonbons for Lady Petronella, and we’ve decided on a verse in praise of her complexion.I can arrange to finish that, you can order your bonbons from Sylvie, and we can send everything from here.There’s no need to delay you any further.”
He cast her a knowing look.“You want to get rid of me.”
She did, largely because he was more tempting that Sylvie’s lemon drops.For ten long years, the memory of her unfortunate experiences had kept her safe.But Sir Hugo’s company made her recall the pleasures that she’d enjoyed before everything went sour.Kisses.A lover’s touch.Conspiratorial smiles.She and her devilish paramour united against the world.
