Part 6 (1/2)

”And why would she not?”

”It is . . . um . . .”

She ground her teeth. ”Yes?”

”It is my understanding that you were invited here at the express wish of Lord Leopold. When I saw the two of you talking earlier, it did make me wonder whether you and he might have-how should I put this?-an arrangement?”

Air rushed from her lungs. ”I beg your pardon?”

”Yes, from what I understand, he approached one of Holland's closest cronies and specifically requested your inclusion in the festivities here,” he continued. ”The person who told me said the information wasn't supposed to go any further, but since it applies to you directly, I didn't see the harm.” A row of small lines creased Hetford's brow. ”You don't mind that I mentioned it, do you?”

She sent him a warm smile, one that caused him to blink several times in a row. ”Of course not. I am glad that you did.” Underneath the table, her fingers curled into a fist, her nails biting into her skin.

So Lord Leopold had made arrangements, had he? Why, that impudent, arrogant scoundrel. How dare he manipulate her in such a brazen manner? The gall of exposing her to ridicule and speculation when Lord knew she'd had more than enough of that to last her a lifetime.

Long practice was the only reason she managed to keep her features calm, a serene smile on her lips despite the fact that her dinner was turning to acid in her stomach. Quietly, she laid down her fork and let the footman remove her plate.

As for Lord Leopold, she refused to cast so much as a single glance his way. If only she had it all to do over, she would have thrown tonight's gla.s.s of champagne in his face when she'd had the chance, after all.

Or maybe poured it over his overinflated head!

Of course everything made sense now about the invitation. She'd wondered at Lord and Lady Holland's sudden wish to include her in one of their gatherings. If only she'd put more thought into their possible motivations.

Or rather Lord Leopold's motivations.

Did he think she wouldn't find out? Or did he just not care? Surely he must have considered how word would spread. Or was that his plan? Did he imagine that if everyone thought she was his mistress, she would unbend in her opposition to him and agree to the arrangement in truth?

Well, he was in for a rude awakening on that score. See if she spoke a civil word to him for the rest of the party.

Even so, a frigid rebuff on her part didn't seem adequate enough recompense. She'd refused him numerous times already and he'd brushed it off like a duck feathering aside raindrops. No, she would need to do something more. Exact some appropriate measure of revenge. One he would not soon forget.

But what?

Hetford s.h.i.+fted in his seat, angling his body ever so slightly closer. ”So . . . um . . . are you and Lord Leopold . . . that is . . . are you friends?”

Lovers, she knew he meant.

”No,” she said in a frosty voice. ”We most definitely are not.”

”Ah.” A small silence fell. ”Then perhaps you and I might take time to further our own acquaintance.”

Her fingernails dug into her palms again. She summoned another pleasant smile. ”We could, but aren't you married, Mr. Hetford?”

”Well, yes, but that need not deter us.”

Now she wished she could pour wine over his head. Loathsome man.

”True, but what if your wife were to hear rumors?” she asked.

”She's at our country estate with the children. It's unlikely she'd hear anything.”

Thalia paused as if she were considering his suggestion. ”Then again, word does travel, even when one doesn't wish it to. Terrible shame if she were to receive a letter from some anonymous individual, telling her how you've really been spending your autumn here in the city.”

He scowled.

”Then too there is your father-in-law. Did he not play an active and influential part in helping you win your seat in the House of Commons? Close, aren't they, your wife and her father?”

He flinched, then scrubbed a finger against the side of his cheek. ”Yes, very close.”

”Then I doubt he would like hearing rumors about you and me.” She sighed and shook her head. ”No, I think it best if we say no more on this subject. Or any of the others we've been discussing tonight for that matter. Agreed?”

His eyes narrowed, his skin mottled with an odd mix of red and white. After a moment, he gave a jerky nod.

She smiled. ”Good. Ah, look now, I believe they are about to serve the cheese and sweet.”

But Hetford wore a sour expression that made her doubt he was in the mood to partake of either. Deliberately, he turned his attention toward his dining partner on the other side.

Without thinking, she glanced up and into the vivid green and gold of Lord Leopold's eyes. Her pulse beat out a traitorous tattoo that warned her to look away. Instead, she met his boldness with boldness of her own, lifting a brow in sudden confrontation.

His lips curved. Slowly he raised his gla.s.s and took a drink. She did the same, an idea forming in her mind as the cool liquid pa.s.sed over her tongue and down her throat.

The action allowed her to break away, her lashes sweeping down to conceal her expression. And in that instant, she knew exactly what she was going to do.

Leo watched Thalia from where he sat on the opposite side of the dining table. She'd surprised him when she'd met his gaze and held it. For a moment, there had been a definite measure of sensual challenge in her eyes before she had looked away, much to his disappointment.

By Christ, what a beauty she is, he thought.

Leaning back in his chair, he once again admired the pale creaminess of her skin and the l.u.s.trous sheen of her updrawn hair, which lay as dark as a raven's wing against her head. Her mouth was lush, as ripe and sweet as cherries. He'd been craving a taste of her ever since he'd sat down for the meal. What he wouldn't give to get her alone.

One of the footmen laid the next course in front of him.

Across the table, another servant did the same for Thalia. Fruit and cheese were arranged on her plate. He didn't bother looking to confirm that he had received the same.

A new vintage of wine was poured. He raised the drink to his lips.

Thalia picked up her fork and sank the tines into a grape. She lifted the fruit to her mouth. Rather than eat it, though, she ran the grape slowly along her bottom lip, back and forth, then back and forth again.

Arousal pulsed through him, blood warming in his veins.

Her eyes met his again-hers a warm, sultry brown that reminded him of the sleekest, softest mink.

Her tongue slid out and swirled around the grape, then she began sucking on it, moving it between her lips.

He turned instantly hard, feeling as if her tongue were swirling around his shaft instead of the fruit. Beneath the table, he fisted his hand against one taut thigh.