Chapter Twelve #2
He smirked. “Ah, a philosophical question. John Locke, I presume? All knowledge comes from experience, and our senses are how we interact with the world, in which repeated observations can indicate patterns. Descartes, however, argued that reason was more reliable than the senses.” I nearly stumbled as his lips grazed the sensitive skin of my lobe.
“I trust my senses to inform me that you enjoy being in my arms, my lady.”
He wasn’t wrong. My brain went inconveniently askew as the singular snow-and-chocolate scent of him chose that very moment to remind me of how close we were.
For most of my dances, especially the waltz, I remained the requisite twelve inches away, holding myself as stiffly as I could.
Nary a gentleman could enter my sacred dance space.
Now all I wanted to do was erase the distance between us.
Focus, Roz!
My next question was on women’s rights, though I already knew his stance on those.
No man would argue so passionately for women to attend university without supporting equality of the sexes.
I was also familiar with his capacity for compassion and empathy as well—I’d learned that just in the gentle way he’d spoken about his mother.
I cleared my throat. “How do you feel about changing antiquated laws?”
“Anything that’s for the better gets an unequivocal yes from me.
Better working conditions for the common man, proper education for children, safe harbor for women who lack opportunities.
” He paused, and I could feel his body stiffen.
“Emancipation in the English empire. We have been fighting for it in France for decades.”
“Emphatically agree,” I said.
“A person should always strive to leave the world a better place than they found it, in my humble opinion,” he added.
That warmed my heart—it was a true mark of character when someone thought of others and the wider world more than themselves.
The last thing on my list was the matter of physical compatibility.
Given the heated state of my blood and the heartbeat that pulsed thickly between my ears, attraction wasn’t something I had to worry about.
On top of that, Tarik wasn’t one step from the grave.
He was in possession of all his teeth, he had no cases of gout that I could discern, and he did not treat me like a brainless damsel.
When the waltz came to its conclusion, he escorted me off the ballroom floor toward the refreshments room. Clearly, he was thoughtful, too. I thanked him as he handed me a glass of lemonade, which I drank thirstily.
“So,” he asked with a slight smirk. “Did I pass muster?”
“We shall see, sir,” I said in a teasing voice that had those pretty eyes flashing in mock affront.
“I wager no one has ever solved that problem as quickly as I did.”
“Don’t be cocky. You’ll ruin it.”
I smiled at him, only for the amusement to be wiped off my face when I saw who was headed in our direction: Blake, along with Keston and Ela, as well as Rafi and Zia.
There was no way to avoid any of them, and I had been expecting it, but I had hoped for some more time alone with Tarik before we were bombarded…
and separated. In truth, I did not want to share him with anyone, not even my closest friends.
I did not allow myself to ponder on what that meant about me.
“Hullo, sweeting,” Blake said, reaching us first while the rest were waylaid by other guests. Tarik instantly stiffened at the informal and much-too-intimate endearment. “Who do we have here?” Blake drawled.
I scowled at him. “It’s Rosalin, as you well know, Blake, not sweeting nor darling or treasure or sweet chuck.
” I turned to Tarik, who was clearly sizing up the new arrival—the way he stood so tall and intimidating had my breath shortening.
I blinked—I’d never seen him with such a rigid jaw and oozing tension. Surely, he wasn’t jealous?
“Mr. St. Clair, may I present Lord Blake Castleton, a longtime friend.” After the emphasis on the last word, I glared balefully at Blake, who was smirking as if enjoying his little game far too much.
“My lord, may I present to you Mr. St. Clair by way of Paris. He’s the nephew of a French count and heir to a shipping magnate.
We met several months ago at a house party. Mama introduced us.”
I could feel Tarik’s curious stare, since that hadn’t been what we’d discussed.
Ansel was supposed to have introduced us, but of course, he didn’t know that Ansel wasn’t even here in London.
And the French count idea had been spontaneous.
When he had arrived earlier, I had introduced him to Mama as Ansel’s mate from Cambridge, but as anticipated, she’d been too preoccupied with the arrival of other guests to interrogate him thoroughly.
Using Ansel now would have been disastrous, especially if some unintentionally helpful soul mentioned that he was on his grand tour. With Tarik’s presence in London, everything was infinitely more complicated, and I had to navigate all the intricate lies I had constructed.
“A pleasure, Mr. St. Clair,” Blake said.
Tarik canted his head, a slight frown marring his mouth as he studied my friend.
Did he recognize him? Blake and Ansel had both attended Cambridge, while Keston and Rafi had enrolled at Oxford, though like most of his ilk, Blake had barely deigned to attend any of his classes.
I knew that for a fact because he loved boasting about it.
Agitated, I opened my mouth, preparing to redirect the conversation, but Tarik seemed to relax. “Likewise, my lord,” he said.
Blake’s eyes shifted to me, narrowing, and then back to my companion. “A house party you say. Which one?”
“One you clearly weren’t invited to,” I retorted, earning myself another brow-raising glance from Tarik.
Blake was the closest thing I had to a male best friend, but to anyone else, especially during ton events, he seemed to behave like a suitor, which I encouraged.
That was his role, of course, designed to chase off fortune hunters, old decrepit peers, prepubescent heirs, and the like.
Usually, I enjoyed our intrigues, since I had no interest in getting married.
But now I wanted to kick him in the shins.
However, I didn’t have time to do that, as the others arrived, their faces inquisitive, unused to seeing me with a handsome young man our age.
Despite loudly bemoaning my solitary existence and pretending to be enamored at every turn, I rarely showed favor to anyone at these social events.
I performed the introductions again. Tarik seemed much more at ease with the other two gentlemen than he’d been with Blake.
“So,” Ela said softly, sidling up to me and drawing me to Zia, a few feet away from where the boys were already in conversation. “Here you are on the arm of the most gorgeous boy I’ve ever seen, well besides Keston, of course. Wherever have you been hiding him?”
Zia grinned, her eyes lighting with mischief. “Yes, Rosalin, where have you been keeping that fine specimen?”
I felt my cheeks burn at her singsong, teasing words. “I haven’t been hiding him. He’s been at university in Cambridge, dozens of miles away, and he’s here now to make social connections for a business venture. Stop inventing melodrama that doesn’t exist, for heaven’s sake.”
“Oh, wait a moment! Is he why you’ve been running back to Newmarket every chance you get?” Ela asked slyly, and I cringed internally. I hadn’t realized anyone had been keeping track of my movements, though I supposed my absence would have been noticeable to my two closest female friends.
“I have an ongoing charity obligation,” I said.
“Must be hard work, that charity,” Zia teased, with a sidelong glance to Tarik. “Looks like it might take quite a lot of time and effort on your part. Not that I blame you. A girl could climb your charity like a tree.”
“Zia!” I couldn’t help it, I giggled. “And honestly, aren’t you engaged to Rafi? You should be only interested in climbing your own tree.”
“I have eyes,” she said, while Ela cackled.
Grinning, Ela leered at me. “Her own tree? Does that mean you admit someone else with eyes like a tropical ocean is your tree? And has there been climbing?”
Tarik’s eyes were prettier than any ocean.
Heat ignited under my skin on the heels of my thought at her much-too-obvious innuendo.
Climbing sounded a lot like kissing, but I wasn’t going to go down that path, not when the idea of it made me much too breathless.
Tarik wasn’t my anything, and yet, I relished how that sounded, like I had some sort of claim to him.
“I’m not a gardener, Ela,” I said primly. “There’s no climbing either.”
“Would you like there to be climbing?” Zia pressed.
I shook my head, certain that my face was the color of beetroot. “You two are incorrigible. Tarik is a friend, nothing more.”
I knew my mistake the moment the two syllables of his given name left my mouth.
Both their eyebrows hiked to their hairlines, and I wanted to kick myself.
“Tarik, is it?” Ela commented, exchanging a wicked look with Zia.
“Sounds like someone has been doing a little gardening after all, don’t you think, Zia? ”
“Who’s been gardening?” Blake interjected, gazing down from his height into our tiny huddle. “Rosalin doesn’t like to get her hands dirty.”
I glared at him while the girls erupted into giggles. “Go away, Blake. The boys are over there.”
“But girls are so much more fun,” he said in a dramatic whine. “Besides there’s always juicy gossip. Don’t be mean.”
“God, you’re such a child,” I said, happy to redirect the conversation.
The look in both the girls’ eyes told me the conversation was far from over, but everyone in our circle knew that Blake had the loosest lips this side of the channel and usually was the one who knew most gossip.
I couldn’t risk having him getting ahold of any information about Tarik.
Though from his speculative glances over to where Tarik was obviously talking about his social club plans to Keston and Rafi, who both appeared rapt, I might already be too late.
Ela leaned in. “You do look well, Rosalin. It’s nice to see you…so lighthearted?”
“You do seem happier than usual,” Zia remarked. “Is your father still planning to marry you off this season, or did you somehow find a way to get out of it?”
“Does said happiness have to do with a certain guest of yours?” Ela interjected.
I could sense Blake’s immediate interest, so I shook my head emphatically.
“Of course not. He’s an acquaintance, and besides, Papa would hardly approve of someone without a noble title.
You know how he is, protective to a fault, and wants to make sure I’m taken care of and not swallowed up by a fortune-hunting opportunist.”
“It’s not always about bloodlines,” Zia said. “I’m engaged to a mere mister.”
As dukes’ daughters, Zia and I were closest in status in our friend group. I let out a small snort. “For now. Rafi is heir to his uncle’s viscountcy, and even if he wasn’t, he’s as rich as Midas.”
There was no argument to that. Rafi Nasser had been the catch of the century, but he’d only ever had eyes for Zia, his best friend’s little sister.
It didn’t hurt that he was handsome, obscenely rich, and heir to a title.
Alas, Tarik was not in the running for either of the last two, unless he made his fortune himself, which I had no doubt he would one day.
He was too brilliant not to. But I doubted the probability of success would be good enough for my father.
“Excuse me, Lady Zenobia?” a feminine voice interrupted.
Zia’s eyes widened in recognition at the pretty Indian brunette. “Oh, hullo, Lady Petal. How are you?”
Lady Petal Joshi was one of the girls who’d attended Zia’s finishing school before her own parents had caused a scene about controversial reading material and removed her from the school.
The book had been Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus, which I’d read the second it had been published.
In my opinion, it was hardly polemic, but the gothic novel had ruffled a few feathers because it was about murder.
Little did anyone know that a woman—gasp—had written it.
Though that was a secret, according to Zia.
Lady Petal giggled and blushed. “Well, thank you. I overheard you talking about the new gentleman with Lord Ridley and Mr. Nasser earlier, and Lady Rosalin saying that he’s an acquaintance and not a suitor, so I was wondering if I could possibly have an introduction?”
As her request sank in, I didn’t want to explore the bitterness that shot into my throat like poisonous acid.
I was having a hard time keeping my reaction off my face or refraining from giving this troublesome, obnoxious busybody a piece of my mind.
How dare she stick her nose in where she didn’t belong?
Tarik was my tree.
But Blake’s shrewd gaze was fixed on me, that vexing smirk hovering over his mouth, as if he was slyly waiting for my reply and daring me to refute my earlier words.
I shrugged as if I didn’t have a care in the world.
“Of course, Lady Petal,” I told her in the pleasantest voice I could manage. “I’m sure he’d be delighted.”
But never had any words tasted more like ash in my mouth.