Chapter 8 #2
Theo sighed at length, though he could hardly conceal his smile. “Very well. He went on about your – how shall I put this – your bosom being the talk of the town. Said he nearly choked on his wine when you passed by, as if your… endowments might just announce themselves before you did. ”
Hetty’s cheeks flushed crimson. “Good heavens! What a cad! And what else did he say?”
Theo’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper.
“Oh, he had no shortage of imagination. He described you strutting about as if you were queen of Babylon herself. Chin high, and – how did he put it? – ‘nipples out like the whole city was watching.’ And, if that wasn’t enough, he fancied every gentleman present was picturing your legs in the air. ”
Hetty’s eyes widened in horror as her entire face flushed. “Oh.”
Theo bit down on his lower lip to stop from laughing.
“And what, precisely, would legs in the air signify?”
At that, Theo’s laughter broke free.
“That is most unfair!” Hetty exclaimed, swatting at him.
His laughter softened as he caught the hurt flicker across her face. “Forgive me, I should not mock your innocence. Though it is rather endearing.” He settled back with a more sober air. “But would you rather I had suffered that scoundrel to continue his vile prattle unchecked?”
“No,” she said after a beat. “But perhaps next time you might consider employing your words, rather than your fists. Truly, Theo – a punch? Really? It made you appear passionate and emotional, as though you’d flown into a rage over me.” She paused. “How dreadfully feminine of you.”
He looked up sharply.
“Yes, dear Theo…they say women are ruled by our tempers. At least when I scandalise Society, I do so with a little finesse. You, on th e other hand, appear to have mistaken the ballroom for a boxing ring.”
His jaw ticked. “The man insulted you.”
“Oh, I am now aware. But now the ton is equally aware that Lord Langley will strike a man down in defence of my honour, as though it were his sacred charge. How dreadfully romantic. One might almost believe you truly care for me.”
“I do care for you, Hetty – you must know that.”
She faltered. “Yes, well… not in the manner the ton would like to believe. I thought we had an understanding.”
“I agreed to help ruin your prospects, not to sit idly by whilst some over-titled wretch dragged your name through the mud.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but he held up a hand. “If that’s muddied your little scheme, Hetty, so be it. Let them think as they will.”
“They believe you are in love with me.”
“Would that be such a tragedy?”
Hetty blinked.
“Do you not suppose,” he continued, “that they might have reached the same conclusion had we been discovered in the midst of a passionate kiss?”
“We were not going to kiss, Theo.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Well, I had certainly intended to kiss you, Hetty Tolliver.”
“You most certainly did not. ”
“I thought it might serve the plan,” he said. “A thoroughly rakish display… shocking proximity, disgraceful intimacy, ruinous af fection. All highly effective, I imagine. The ton does adore a well-executed scandal.”
“I do not know how I have endured you all these years. You are, without a doubt, the most aggravating man alive.”
“Unquestionably,” he said without hesitation. “And yet, I find myself rather inclined to act upon the impulse regardless.”
“The impulse – ?”
“To kiss you.”
The two sat suddenly much closer than either had perhaps realised until that very moment.
“To kiss me?” Hetty breathed. “And why, pray, would you wish to do such a thing?”
“I confess I’m not altogether certain.”
In truth, it was a thoroughly unreasonable impulse that had possessed him; a reckless fancy, indeed, but one that defied all attempts at restraint.
Reason fled before the prospect of pressing his lips to hers.
Their eyes locked, and before either could fully think better of it, Theo’s hand crept up, boldly tilting her chin towards him.
Hetty’s lashes fluttered closed, lips parting in invitation or mischief, though which one he dared not guess.
It was sheer madness, and yet he found himself utterly and deliciously undone.
He leant in, drawn by the intoxicating nearness and the warmth of her breath against his lips, until the moment teetered on the very precipice of ruin… when, naturally, the door burst open with the subtlety of a cannon shot, sending both of them scrambling back to proper distance.
“Oh, Hetty, I found the sample silks and Mama said – ” came Nell’s chipper voice, before she halted mid-stride, clutching a bundle of gaudy fabric and blinking owlishly at the tableau before her.
Hot on her heels came Lady Tolliver herself. “What on earth is going on in here? Eleanor, I told you to – ”
She, too, froze. Her eyed widened to tea-saucer proportions.
Georgie stumbled in behind them, nearly dropping the bolt of fabric in her arms. “Is Lord Langley kissing her?!”
Theo rose and stepped away from the chaise at once, adjusting his coat with the air of a gentleman who had been inspecting the upholstery and nothing more, which of course made matters infinitely worse.
Hetty sat very still as colour began flooding her cheeks. “We were not kissing. We were engaged in conversation.”
“In that position?” said Georgie, grinning from ear to ear. “My dear Hetty, if this is your idea of strategic discussion, it is no wonder you are so well favoured in drawing rooms. Parliament could take notes.”
Hetty levelled a murderous glare upon her sister.
“There was nearly a kiss,” Nell volunteered, entirely unhelpfully. “I saw it with my own eyes. Their lips were very near indeed.”
“Only a little near,” Theo said mildly.
“Well,” said Lady Tolliver, who had taken to patting down her skirts and smiling vaguely at the wallpaper, “if there was not a proposal of marriage before, there most certainly is now.”
Hetty sprang to her feet. “Mama! ”
“I shall have the banns read by Thursday,” Lady Tolliver declared. “Oh, how dare you do this to me in the middle of silk samples!”
“There will be no banns,” said Hetty. “There will be no wedding.”
“There will be if I must drag you to the altar myself,” Lady Tolliver replied, already glancing around the room as though considering whether the curtain ties might suffice for binding.
“I shall send word to Cook for something celebratory. The good biscuits. And I believe there remains a bottle of champagne from your uncle’s wedding. This most certainly warrants a toast.”
Theo cleared his throat. “Lady Tolliver, I assure you – ”
“Oh, do not be absurd, my lord,” Lady Tolliver interrupted, patting his arm affectionately. “The most difficult part is done. All that remains is ordering the flowers and selecting a hymn.”
Hetty made a strangled noise and buried her face in her hands.
Georgie collapsed onto a chaise, laughing outright. “Oh, do let’s embroider this moment on a sampler. ‘We were not kissing; we were merely standing very closely and breathing each other’s air in a most conversational fashion.”
Theo, struck by the dawning horror of a man undone by his own poor judgement, wondered precisely how one extricated oneself from an engagement one had not offered – to a childhood friend he had only momentarily considered kissing, and only out of impulse.
An impulse born, no doubt, of prolonged proximity, ill-advised familiarity, and the most unfortunate fact that Hetty Tolliver had, for reasons unknown to man or Providence, chosen that exact moment to look maddeningly kissable .
Not that Theo was attracted to her – certainly not. Heaven forbid. They had climbed trees together, for pity’s sake. One could hardly go about marrying a girl with whom one had once stolen apples and leapt from the hayloft. It would be madness… absolute madness.
He was clung to the hope that Hetty might summon some devious and brilliant strategy to undo the merry havoc her mother had so gleefully set in motion.
Her face, however, remained buried in her gloved hands – a most unpromising sign, for it had always been Hetty who possessed the lion’s share of cunning.
She had always been the architect of their mischief and mayhem, while he had contentedly followed her lead.
Yes, if anyone could extricate them from matrimonial entanglement before it reached the altar, it was Hetty Tolliver – but at present she was pink-cheeked and quite possibly praying for the ground to open and swallow them both whole.
Which, he suspected with growing dread, meant that the prospect of marriage might be far more real than either of them would dare to admit.
At that moment, Lottie strode in, pulling off her gloves and tossing them unceremoniously at a footstool. She glanced around the room, taking in Theo’s stricken expression, Hetty’s buried face, Nell’s gleeful commentary, and Georgie’s sighing delight – and then said calmly, “Who kissed whom?”
“No one kissed anyone,” Hetty snapped, emerging at last from behind her gloves and glaring murderously at all present.
“It was only very near,” Nell supplied.
Lady Tolliver, who had resumed directing invisible orchestras with her fan, clapped her hands again. “Charlotte, dearest, be a love and fetch my embroidery case from the parlour. I shall need to begin monogramming handkerchiefs at once. A union such as this demands personal touches.”
“There is no union,” said Theo, unable to prevent it escaping aloud.
Lady Tolliver gave him a fond smile, as though he were a lamb bleating against inevitability. “Nonsense, Lord Langley. It is far too late for modesty.”
Theo looked to Hetty, and to his great relief, her expression has shifted. Calculation was dawning in those clever hazel eyes. She inhaled, poised to speak, when the door opened once more.