Her father bellowed and shouted and uttered his ridiculous poetry. He didn’t have it in him to speak with such silken mockery. To discuss unfaithfulness as if it were no more than a moment’s impulse.
Her Papa, her foolish, foolish, Papa, loved Mrs. Grope, with all her terrible headdresses, and her grandiose ambitions to go back on the stage. Papa was the opposite of her husband-to-be. Which was just what she wanted, of course.
“Your Grace,” she said, sweeping her future husband a deep curtsy.
He was so beautiful, complex and devilish, that her heart reeled slightly watching him bow. And yet…
And yet.
Chapter 27
T he windows in the small back ballroom were open to the night air. Lilacs were flowering in the gardens, somewhere in the dark, and their perfume was intoxicatingly sweet.
Caro had decorated the room with lemon trees incongruously hung with crystal pendants. Now she sat at the pianoforte. Damon hoped he was the only one who realized that the dangerous sparkle in the secretary’s eye had resulted in bawdy French tavern songs, translated into great sweeping dance measures. Damon danced with Miss Tatlock, and then with Harriet. He danced again with Harriet, because she was at his elbow and he couldn’t say no. He talked to his sister. He talked to his brother-in-law.
Meanwhile he watched for Roberta. Where the devil had Villiers taken her? If he touched her…
She walked back into the room with a little wicked smile on her lips and his heart sank to his toes. He felt like vomiting.
He decided to leave, and then realized that his shoes were nailed to the floor. Villiers followed Roberta, but veered away to talk to Jemma.
“Not even one dance?” he heard Jemma say. “Oh, come, Villiers—”
And then Villiers drew Jemma’s hands, both of them, up to his mouth and said something. About chess, no doubt, because a moment later they were tucked in front of a little table in the corner.
So much for dancing.
Roberta’s eyes were glittering a bit too fiercely.
“Cuz!” he said to her. “I gather dancing has gone by the wayside, since Jemma is involved in a game of chess.”
Roberta didn’t even glance in her fiancé’s direction. Instead she smiled at him. “Would you like to stroll with me?”
Damon tucked her hand into his and turned toward the door. “Always,” he said. And then: “Jealousy is a dish best served cold.”
She tossed her head. “I have no reason for revenge.” She stopped suddenly and looked up at him. “Were you implying something about Jemma and Villiers?”
“No!” he said, hoping it was true. “Jemma would never take your fiancé. Have more faith than that.”
“I’m sorry; that was horrid of me,” Roberta said. “I should never have thought such an ugly thing.”
Something that might have been honesty compelled him to add, “Though if Villiers wins the chess match, of course, all bets are off.”
They walked for a moment and then Roberta turned a stricken face up to his. “I’m a fool. I didn’t realize the implications of their chess game. I am not sophisticated enough for the life of the ton.”
“We Reeves are particularly degenerate. But truthfully, I do not believe that Jemma intends to dally with Villiers beyond a flirtation. For one thing, they are both far too obsessed by chess to take a true interest in each other.”
“You said something like that before.”
“Chess is a mania,” Damon said. “There are those who play with such enthusiasm that they think about it all the time, day and night. My father was one of those. He was brilliant at the game, and he devoted himself to teaching his children everything he knew. Jemma turned out to be the only one of us who found any enjoyment in the game, however.”