Page 60 of Oddity of the Ton
“Then I shall rise before dawn, each and every day, until I’ve dealt with them all.”
He released Sawbridge, who clasped his throat.
“I believe you have something to say to my fiancée.”
“I apologize unreservedly, Miss Howard, for any offense caused,” Sawbridge said. Then he clicked his heels together and bowed his head before retreating.
Whitcombe lifted Eleanor’s hand to his lips. “I also apologize on Sawbridge’s behalf,” he said. “And I should apologize on behalf of every creature who’s looked at you and seen an oddity, as opposed to the truth.”
“And whatisthe truth?” she asked.
A smile danced in his eyes, and their dark expression softened into tenderness.
“The truth, I’m beginning to realize, is that of all the company here tonight, I find yours the most agreeable.”
She turned away, but he cupped her chin, and a thrill rippled through her body at his touch.
“No, Eleanor,” he said, and her stomach flip-flopped at the way he curled his tongue round her name. “Don’t look away from me in disbelief. I will never be untruthful where you’re concerned.”
The finest woman in the room…
That was what he’d said to Sawbridge not a minute before. Which meant…
No, you fool! He’ll never love you back—the sooner you accept that, the better.
No matter how deeply she ached to be loved by him, or how vehemently he championed her—she needed to heed the voice of reason. When they parted ways at the end of the Season, he’d forget her within a sennight.
Chapter Eighteen
Miss Howard seemedto transform before Monty’s eyes—and it was all Sawbridge’s fault. Beneath her uncongenial exterior lived a vibrant personality and a sharp mind, which had flourished during the dance, and again as they conversed afterward. But she retreated back into her shell after Sawbridge’s talk of tossing up skirts. At first, Monty had thought her embarrassed at talk that was best indulged in the company of men—or harlots. But then he realized that the poor girl had no notion of Sawbridge’s meaning.
Sawbridge was right in that she lacked understanding. But it wasn’t due to slowness of the mind. In fact, it was her intelligence that hampered her—she interpreted what others said in a literal, logical fashion, and responded likewise.
A voice rose above the chatter in the ballroom—a footman declaring the arrival of more guests.
“Lord and Lady Marlow!”
A smile illuminated Miss Howard’s eyes.
“Lavinia!”
“You know the Marlows?” Monty asked.
She nodded. “Lavinia—I mean, Lady Marlow—is my friend.”
“We must call them over.” He caught sight of Marlow’s blond head among the crowd and raised his arm. “Marlow—over here!”
The crowd parted to reveal Marlow and his wife. Lady Marlow was pretty enough, but she always seemed a little outof place in Society. Which perhaps explained why she and Miss Howard were friends—misfits in a world that valued conformity and despised anyone who differed.
As they approached, Lady Marlow’s eyes sparkled with delight as her gaze settled on Miss Howard. But, as she glanced at Monty, their expression hardened. She stared at him—too boldly, even for the wife of an earl apparent, to stare at a duke. Then she raked her gaze over his body, but with cold detachment rather than the heated desire he was used to—as if she were sizing him up.
Devil’s toes!A stare like that was enough to castrate a man at fifty paces.
And yet Marlow—the witless fool—stared at his wife with slavish devotion.
“Your Grace.” Lady Marlow dipped into the slightest of curtseys. Then she turned to Miss Howard and a smile transformed her features, like the sun bursting through a thundercloud. “Eleanor, I’m so glad you’re here.” She took Miss Howard’s hands. “Have you been enjoying yourself?” She glanced at Monty. “I know how much you dislike balls when the company is not to your taste.”
Marlow drew in a sharp breath at his wife’s thinly veiled insult. Miss Howard colored but said nothing.
