Page 16 of Sir Hugo Seeks a Wife
Amusement quirked his lips.“You might change your mind about that when you know me better.”
He waited for her to put him in his place and tell him that she had no intention of furthering their acquaintance.After all, she’d refused his invitation to dinner.But she surprised him.“You saved me from Lord Alfred.It would be ungracious to take a potshot at you.”
Hugo smiled.Partly at her wry humor which he liked.More because she opened the door to further meetings.He pocketed his gun and clicked his tongue to the horses.“That’s reassuring.It would be a pity to bring such a promising friendship to a premature end.”
“I’m sure I’ll write many more verses to help you win Lady Petronella,” she said with a hint of warning.
He restrained a smile and kept his gaze fixed between the horses’ ears.“Who?”
Chapter 5
Violets are blue.
Hugo’s a cad.
What can I do?
His touch makes me mad.
Athene told herself that she should object to the way Sir Hugo Brinsmead took over her life.Or at least the part of it that this cold night covered.No man had ordered her around since she’d abandoned George and his destructive appetites and childish tantrums.She’d sworn then that nobody would ever treat her with such lack of respect again.Well, at least not without her trying to stand up for herself first.Yet somehow here she was, cuddled up to the baronet in his stylish curricle, and without a peep of complaint.
She took some comfort from knowing that hardly anybody would see her.At this hour, traffic was light.Most of the ton were attending the theater or enjoying extravagant dinners.In a couple of hours, there would be a flurry of activity when carriages transported the gentry to society events and young bucks set out for the evening’s revelry.
Athene would like to say that she was sitting as stiff as a poker, but she was without doubt snuggling.Part of that was because there was not a lot of carriage and there was a lot of Sir Hugo.Height.Muscle.Force of personality.With their thick winter coats, the narrow seat left no room for maintaining one’s distance.Part of it was because the night was cold and becoming colder, so she couldn’t resist basking in all that delicious male heat.A male heat tinged with alluring scents of clean skin and healthy man.
But mostly she cuddled up to a man who meant to seduce her because she couldn’t help herself.She’d wanted him from the first.Despite not having wanted a man since she was a giddy girl.When he’d lunged out of the darkness to save her from the odious Lord Alfred, she’d wanted to swoon like a brainless heroine in a silly play.
Now he mocked her when she reminded him of the lady he courted.Athene told herself to put this presumptuous fellow in his place, but her voice emerged breathless with excitement instead of vinegar-sharp with disapproval.“You’ve given up the idea of marrying Lady Petronella?”
“No.”
“Oh.”How she wished that didn’t emerge as a disappointed squeak.
“Because I never had any intention of marrying the chit.Lady Petronella Fitchett is no proper match for a good, honest Yorkshireman.”
That made Athene gape at him in astonishment.This part of London was lit at night to save the nation’s blue bloods from robbery and murder.So she could see Sir Hugo’s diligent concentration on his driving.The dimple in his cheek hinted at a hidden smile, though.Just when had she noticed that?Before now.That was certain.“But you ordered two poems.”
“I did.”He handled the ribbons beautifully.His large, deft hands controlled the horses with the lightest touch.Athene couldn’t help imagining those skillful hands on her skin.
“I don’t understand.”
“And you such a clever woman, too.”
Most of the men she knew despised brainy women.A compliment on her intelligence therefore pleased her far too much.“I’m not feeling very clever right now.”
In fact, she felt dizzy and distracted and reckless.Which terrified her.The last time she’d felt anything like this was when she’d been mad for George Foster.That madness had turned her life into a nightmare whose consequences still played out.
“Then I’ll explain.”Sir Hugo still didn’t look at her.“I came to you because my friend Ivor Bilson told me that was what a man aspiring to fashion does.Courting the ruling beauty is part of the game, like finding a good tailor or joining a club.Lady Petronella is pretty and I wish her well, but she’s not the woman for me.”
“You bought sugared violets for her.And Sylvie’s bonbons cost a fortune.”
“They do.”The exaggerated emphasis made her laugh.“My staff have enjoyed some sinfully expensive sweets these last few days.Rather them than me.”
He used the same light touch with her that he used on the horses.And, blast him, it made her want to cooperate.Not likely.Although kindness had such extraordinary power.She’d seen so little of it, aside from her friendship with Sylvie.Because Sir Hugo treated her with consideration and respect, she wanted to curl up in a corner and weep.It was pathetic.“But you came twice.”
At last, he cast her a glance.Even in the uncertain light, the heat of that look licked like a tongue of flame.She started to shake.Not because of the winter chill.“I came not for the poetry but for the poet.”
“I’m the poet.”She knew she sounded like an idiot, not the clever woman Sir Hugo called her.
