Page 50 of The Grand Mistletoe Assembly
“Buck’s not the center of gossip. The subject of the paintings is … Lord Chapman’s mistress, Mrs. Alicia Lott, not my sister,his wife.” Matthews spared a telling glance Nathaniel’s way before greeting Bryony as they finally reached her position at the edge of the ballroom.
“How’s my favorite sister faring this eve?”
“I’m your only sister, dear brother.” The ringlets framing her face shook with a jerk of her chin, though a teasing smile hovered on Bryony’s lips. Sweet, kissable lips. Acutely aware of his thoughts spiraling into indecent territory—would their pretty pink deepen to cherry red from his mouth?—Nathaniel directed his attention elsewhere, spying a messy altercation between a young lady and a male servant.
Decorated in food remains, the poor woman resembled the carrots strewn at her feet, the orange of her dress fitting rather nicely with the ruined vegetables. Yes, this was a much better distraction than ogling Matthews’s sister.
“I was just telling Davies about the items you put up for auction. Have you perused the bidding since your arrival?”
A melancholic shadow darkened Bryony’s eyes, deepening the brown to the color of roasted chestnuts. “No, I haven’t, and I don’t intend to. The funds raised—however crass it may sound—don’t matter to me. The paintings’ departure from my life isn’t hinged on any monetary value. I just want them gone.”
“I understand.” Matthews patted his sister’s shoulder.
Nathaniel must have missed more than Bryony’s mourning period if Matthews was speaking so calmly about the late Lord Chapman’s infidelity. If Nathaniel had known … Well, even now, his fists clenched in anger, itching for a chance to beat some sense into the idiot lord.
Matthews stepped forward. “I’m going to complete my social duty before checking on the items for auction. If no one’s bid on yours yet, then I will, and they’ll be transported directly to the garbage heap. You won’t have to deal with them again. Davies, would you stay with Bryony while I’m gone?”
“I hardly require chaperonage.”
“Nevertheless, you shouldn’t be alone in your emotional state. Davies?”
Nathaniel nodded, observing the stubbornness in his friend’s stance—he wouldn’t leave them be until they agreed to his edict. Not that it was a hardship being bound to Bryony’s side, but it did require a certain amount of willpower to keep his desire in check … along with curbing the temptation in his fingers to trace the column of her neck so deliciously on display to him.
“It’s been ages since we’ve spoken, Lady Chapman,” he said, uncomfortable with the silence left between them after Matthews’s departure. “Aside from the loss of your husband, which appears to be not much of a loss at all considering tonight’s drama, how have you been? Widowhood treating you kindly?”
A flush imbued her cheeks with a red glow as she huffed in annoyance. “We’re at a holiday ball where I’m auctioning off the paintings my dead husband commissioned for his mistress. Does it sound like I’ve been treated kindly thus far?”
The Bryony he’d known prior to her marriage had been polite and a tad stiff in his presence—a genteel lady careful with her manners. This show of frustration intrigued him. But he couldn’t afford to be intrigued.
Buxom with rich auburn tresses, Bryony’s attractions were never in doubt, but the barrier of her innocence and propriety had kept Nathaniel at bay. As did her familial relationship with his best friend. However, a luscious widow with experience of the world, who scored him with her sharp tongue … Well, he wasn’t quite certain his loyalty to Matthews was enough to chain his desires.
And what sort of fair-weather friend did that make him?
“At the moment, no,” he admitted. “But once you’re relieved of the paintings, the night may take a turn for the better.” A terrible idea entered his mind. A terrible yet wonderful idea. “In fact, I know exactly what you need. A place we can go where you’ll be able to act as you please with no social recourse. Where you can exercise your widow’s freedom without reprisal. If you dare …”
He must be absolutely mad to suggest such a thing. Especially as her escort.
Bryony’s head tilted as she studied his carefully composed expression. Her gloved arms crossed beneath her chest, hoisting the generous mounds of her breasts higher. “Are you proposing we leave the ball together? To go where?”
“This isn’t the only holiday event occurring tonight. There’s another less …restrictedparty being hosted by a friend of mine at Berkshire House.” Only a ten-minute walk away.
Logic warred with his instincts. Nathaniel knew he shouldn’t press, knew he should tell Bryony to forget he’d mentioned anything. He should find other acquaintances to act as a buffer between the two of them. But something in his gut goaded him into continuing, and Nathaniel never ignored his gut. It had saved his and his men’s lives countless times at sea.
“We could stroll down the street, and if you don’t find the party to your liking, we’ll return here to Pearler House with no one the wiser.”
“Including my brother.”
“Precisely.”
She nibbled her bottom lip. Jovial music began playing, and couples gathered for another dance. Nathaniel prepared himself for her refusal and almost suggested they join the men and women on the dance floor instead.
But then her hands bunched in her skirt, her slippers shuffling backward through the doorway behind them. “Excuse me for a moment.” And like a shot from one of his ship’s cannons, she abandoned him in the ballroom to fly down the hall.
He was a damned imbecile. What did he expect from a lady of class? He prayed she didn’t cry to her brother over his inappropriate advance.
Nathaniel tugged at the bottom of his jacket in frustration and darted out of the ballroom as well, searching for respite. And a drink. Perhaps something to calm the nagging sense of disappointment pricking his skin. Pricking his heart.
CHAPTER 3
