Page 4 of The Lyon and the Unicorn
That I’d rather drink a bucket of horse’s piss.
“…th-that I was anticipating a night of—of…”
“Unbridled bliss,” Simon said.
Their hostess tilted her head to one side. “Unbridled? Yes, I thought you’d said something about horses.”
She raised her hand, and a footman appeared at her side brandishing a tray of glasses.
“Do take some punch, gentlemen,” she said. “I trust you’ll enjoy it more than your usual drink of choice, Mr. McTavish, even if served from a glass, not abucket.”
“We will, your ladyship,” Simon said. “I’ve told my cousin to expect the finest fare tonight. Will there be oysters, like last time, Lady Cholmondeley?”
She wrinkled her nose. “I’m not in the habit of killing my guests, Mr. Tuffington. I only serve oysters when there’s anRin the month. Please excuse me.”
She glided across the room, gesturing for the footman to follow.
Simon grinned. “Of all the ways to ingratiate yourself with our hostess, I’ve never tried declaring my fondness for horse’s piss.”
“Why didn’t ye stop me?” Murdo said.
“I didn’t realize she was nearby. That’s the thing about women—when you want one, she expects you to follow her about and prostrate yourself at her feet to win her attention. When youdon’twant one, she’s always to be found at your side.”
“Shallyeprostrate yerself at a woman’s feet tonight?” Murdo asked, casting his gaze across the ballroom. “There’s slim pickings tonight—they look like a flock of underfed grouse. No meat on their bones—nothing for a man to hang on to, or bury his—”
“Mr. Tuffington,” a feminine voice interrupted. He glanced at the newcomer—an unremarkable-looking young woman in a gown of a shade that could only be described aspuce.
Pretty enough, but she’d snap in two in the hands of a real man.
“M-Miss Goodchild.” Simon bowed. She held out her hand and he took it, brushing his lips against her glove. “A pleasure, as always. May I introduce my cousin, Mr. McTavish, of Strathburn Castle?”
“Charmed, I’m sure.” She glanced at Murdo, then resumed her attention on his cousin.
Clearly not every woman desired a savage. Or perhaps the brittle Miss Goodchild had yet to be awakened to the pleasures of the flesh.
“We’re engaged for the first dance, Mr. Tuffington,” Miss Goodchild said. Simon stared back at her with what could only be described as slavish devotion.
Clearly, he saw something in her that Murdo did not.
Well—it wouldn’t do for every man’s taste to be the same.
“Quite so, Miss Goodchild,” Simon said. “I trust the dancing will begin soon. Your gown is delightful—you’ll be the prettiest girl on the floor tonight.”
She blushed and dipped into a curtsey, before gliding across the floor toward a group of young ladies.
“Devil’s ballocks, Simon, I’ve never heard such foppish nonsense,” Murdo said. “Have ye lost yer senses?”
“I just know what a woman wants to hear from a man.”
“No woman would hear such nonsense frommylips,” Murdo said.
“Ah, but I’m not a savage.”
“Ye’ll be ruled by yer woman if ye speak to her like that,” Murdo said. “Women exist to betaken. It’s best they know ye’re the master sooner rather than later.”
“Even before you’ve put the bit and bridle on her?”
“Aye,” Murdo said. “Yer filly must at least know that she’s placing her neck in the noose. Only then will ye get the saddle on her.”
