Page 83 of Doxy for the Ton
Mimi let out a snort. “What do men care for a woman’s face when there are dowries and titles to be had?”
“You speak from experience?” Sir Beverley asked.
“Naturally,” Mimi said, gritting her teeth at the leer in his eyes.
“Ah, there’s nothing so alluring as an attractive widow with experience,” he said. “I’m beginning to regret not beating young Drayton here to the prize and securing the next dance with you.”
“I think you’ll find that the hungry suitors hereabouts still prefer a debutante to a widow,” Mimi said, “at least when it comes to marriage prospects. After all, a debutante possesses one invaluable quality that a widow does not.”
“Which is?”
“Malleability,” Mimi said. “A debutante has been schooled—by her governesses, her mama, and her rivals—that she must obey a man in all things, that she must relinquish her freedom, her dowry, and her soul. Whereas a widow has experienced being owned by a man, and she is therefore less willing to walk into the lair, because she is aware of the beast that resides within.”
She heard a sharp intake of breath, and glanced up to see Sawbridge had joined the party. He stared at her, his eyes filled with compassion and understanding, and she felt her cheeks smarting.
How much had he heard?
Ye gods—had he heard Thorpe mention…
Lady King.
Her heart still ached from the pain of hearing that name on Thorpe’s lips. A name she had long since buried, together with her other self—the naïve creature who had died five years ago.
“You lay down a fine gauntlet, Lady Rex,” Thorpe said, glancing at his companions. “I wonder which of my friends here is brave enough to accept it. Such a battle is to be relished.”
“Not if you are defeated,” Mimi said. “And I intend to be a victor, gentlemen.”
The musicians played a brief air, and the guests once more gathered into formation. Mimi extended her hand to Mr. Drayton, and he took it.
“I wish you luck, Drayton,” Thorpe said, a smile of wry amusement on his lips. “I daresay not only will you emerge defeated, but you’ll be ground into mincemeat.”
“Ah, but what a grinding!” Sir Beverley whispered, a lascivious glint in his eyes.
Thorpe clapped him on the back. “Not one you’d survive, old chap. We gentlemen may believe ourselves to be adept at this particular game, but I suspect Lady Rex is the true proficient. Your late husband was a fortunate man, Lady Rex—as is young Drayton here.”
“Do you prefer to dance with a gauche, unsophisticated young milksop, Lady Rex?” Sir Heath said.
Mr. Drayton’s eyes widened further, and Mimi hardened her voice as she met Sir Heath’s gaze.
“Quite so,” she said. “But you may find that women who possess free will and true discernment will always prefer Mr. Drayton’s gaucheness to your particular mode of sophistication.”
Confusion clouded Sir Heath’s eyes, and Lord Thorpe let out a bark of laughter. “I’d concede defeat before she bites your balls off.”
Mimi lowered her gaze to Sir Heath’s groin. “Oh, he’s quite safe from that, I assure you, Lord Thorpe—at least while I value my own personal health. And, of course, I’d have to find them first.”
Lord Greyford, who was sipping his drink, gave an explosive cough, spraying champagne over Sir Heath.
“Exactly so, Lord Greyford,” Mimi said, before turning her attention toward Mr. Drayton. “Shall we?”
The young man took her hand and smiled, revealing little indents in his cheeks, and led her onto the dance floor. Mimi glanced toward Sawbridge, and her gut twisted at the expression in his eyes, which was one of barely suppressed fury.
The dance began, and Mimi gave an inward sigh of relief that it was another formation dance, enabling her to observe the steps of the leading couple—this time, their host and hostess—before attempting them herself. When her turn came, she was able to steer her partner through the steps.
“Are you enjoying the dance, Mr. Drayton?” Mimi asked. “Careful!” she added, as he almost collided with Lady Walton.
He took her hands and pulled her close. “I-I feel unwell,” he said, drawing in a sharp breath.
“An overindulgence of champagne?” she suggested.
