Chapter Two #3
Harriet stationed herself against a column.
Nearby was a rather sizable group of men—although, Harriet thought to herself, any more than one man felt like a sizable group to her—only a few of whom she recognized.
She settled in to shamelessly eavesdrop and took a few sips of Philippa’s champagne; listening to men, after all, was usually quite boring.
They were horrible sources of gossip, preferring to prattle on about horseflesh, land, and their deuced clubs.
But occasionally someone used a word Harriet hadn’t heard before; men were allowed so many more words.
“She isn’t your type at all, I’m afraid,” Lord Wexler, a handsome young buck, proclaimed.
“And what is my type, Wex? Pray tell,” rejoined Lord Trenton, a man Philippa had warned Caroline away from at their last ball.
“Well, for one thing, she’s not like your usual dirty puzzles. She’s quite the tease, in fact.”
A what?
Another man, one Harriet didn’t know, chimed in then. “’Tis true. No one’s seen that monosyllable. Her sister is very protective too; doesn’t let her out of her sight.”
“You, Trenton, will not be the first to ride that quim.”
Harriet inched closer, her mind racing as she tried to keep up with their words. Alas, the men had moved on to talking about this mystery woman riding something. Harriet was quite confused about the jump to horsemanship.
Dirty puzzle? Is that what he had called the woman?
Monosyllable? Quim? She briefly considered smashing her reputation on the cold, hard, terrazzo floor, marching up to Lord Wexler—to whom she had never been introduced—and demanding he repeat himself and explain every word he’d just said.
Groups of men were allowed such fun, vulgar phrases, phrases that were so difficult to find again, certainly not in the books Father kept in his library.
Harriet’s hand again itched for a pencil or quill. Surely somewhere in this house—
The library! Yes, of course. The library.
Even a couple such as the Dunleys had one, Harriet supposed.
A house without a library? No one was that tasteless.
The search for Mr. Dawkins could wait; in fact, when she met him, she would share her new words.
Dirty puzzle. Monosyllable. Quim. Harriet tossed back the rest of Philippa’s abandoned champagne in what would have been deemed an unladylike manner if anyone had noticed her enough to find her manner unladylike; then she set off across the ballroom once more, this time in search of something much more interesting than a man.
“I’m eager to hear what you believe you can offer me,” Lady Ellerton teased as they met up mid-dance, only to be separated again.
Alexander bided his time, happy to let her wait; women seemed to like it when you moved very, very slowly.
Patience was the simplest part of seduction, although not always the easiest.
The dance ended. They applauded politely and then, when Philippa turned her gorgeous eyes up to him, Alexander finally responded.
“While I am happy to discuss such matters on the dance floor, it would be far easier and far more pleasurable for me to demonstrate. Meet me in the library in ten minutes.”
“I’m afraid I have a dance with Lord Crowley next.
I simply can’t miss it; he’s promised to take me to see John Julius Angerstein’s private art collection later this week.
” Alexander had a strong suspicion that she’d agreed to nothing of the sort with the man, that this was some tactic intended to heighten his interest in her.
What she didn’t understand was that he was already interested and had no desire to compete for her time.
He spied Lord Crowley a short distance away.
“Follow me,” he instructed. Philippa obeyed, which did not surprise him at all. Women like her grew tired of the milksops and namby-pambies who trailed them and tended to appreciate a more direct gentleman.
“Lord Crowley,” he said, upon approaching the man. “If you were to receive a banknote from me for two hundred and fifty pounds, would that be sufficient to keep your appointment at Angerstein’s with this lovely lady, even should she cry off your dance?”
Lord Crowley looked around, shocked at being addressed by Alexander, who did not, as a rule, mention money in front of women. He nodded and let out a stunned “That would be … all right.”
Alexander inclined his head, both to thank the man and to take his leave. A few feet away, he turned back to Lady Ellerton, who seemed to be trying not to appear as impressed as she was. “The library, then?”
“The library,” Philippa said, a little breathlessly. He tried not to watch her ample chest rise and fall, but there was something about the cut of that dress. The modiste who had made it was quite wicked. To make a dress in white, so common a color, and then cut it so? Devilish indeed.
“Ten minutes,” he reminded her. If the land negotiations took as long as he thought they might, he’d find out how effective his advances were in about fourteen minutes.