Page 57 of Oddity of the Ton
“Very well,” she said. “I’d say, ‘Lady Arabella, what an unusual cologne you’re wearing—most distinctive. I’m quite overcome.’”
“And to Mr. Moss?”
“I might ask him how he’s able to hold a conversation with Lord Francis—and maintain his composure.”
“Why Lord Francis?”
Eleanor lowered her voice. “Mr. Moss is indulging in liaisons with Lady Francis.”
He glanced about the ballroom, then shook his head. “You must be mistaken. They’re at opposite ends of the room.”
“And have been all evening,” she said. “Diagonallyopposite ends of the room.”
“Does that make a difference?”
“Of course,” she replied. “A diagonal is longer than a straight edge. Therefore, by placing themselves at diagonally opposite ends, they maximize the distance between them. Now—why would a couple maintain the maximum distance apart for most of an evening?”
“Coincidence?”
“Perhaps if it happened occasionally, but I noticed it at Lady Fairchild’s party—and again at the Westburys’ ball, where…”
Her voice trailed away at the memory ofthatparticular evening.
“They’ve never danced,” she continued, “and they’re never sat close to each other at the dinner table. I’ve only noticed two interactions between them all Season.”
“Which are?”
“At Lady Fairchild’s ball, they arrived at the same time, exchanged a glance, then moved rapidly away from each other—as if they were afraid of being seen in close proximity.”
“And at the Westburys’ ball?”
“Lady Francis paused to wipe a speck of dust from Mr. Moss’s sleeve as she was walking past him.”
“What’s so unusual about that?” he asked. “Certain fabrics are notorious for attracting fluff. My valet is always brushing my jackets.”
“Your valet, yes, but would you expect a guest at a ball—amarried lady—to perform such a personal service?”
“What’s so personal about brushing a man’s jacket?”
“Think about it, Your Grace,” Eleanor said, emboldened by her conviction. “Why should a woman care about a man’s jacket? Most ladies might remark on a man’s appearance, or utter some witticism at his valet’s expense. But what woman would do something about it—and in such an absent-minded manner that implies a degree of familiarity? Can you think of an act more intimate?”
“As a matter of fact, I can, Miss Howard—a very intimate act indeed.”
Eleanor’s cheeks warmed at the low growl in his tone.
“You can hardly expect them to engage in—in…”
“Intimateacts?” he asked, a slow smile curling his lips.
“Not in the middle of a dance floor.”
“No—I find a hallway infinitely preferable for such an act, where all manner of delicacies can be savored.”
Eleanor swallowed, overcome with shame at the indecipherable urge deep within her body at the notion ofintimacy. Once again she was reminded of how much more…sophisticatedhe was, and how he would, most likely, laugh at the prospect of finding her even remotely attractive.
“Yes, Miss Howard. I believe you’re right,” he said.
Sweet heaven!Had she spoken aloud?
