“He extended the invitation this morning before you came down for breakfast. They are hosting a tea for ladies.”
“At a gentleman’s club?”
“It’s a charity event, I believe.”
She had to get inside that club. Last night she’d stayed up past midnight writing a chapter set inside an art gallery. She’d usedPatrick Fellowes as a model for Lord Fortescue. The writing had flowed more easily than anything she’d previously attempted. She had now reached eighty pages and she was beginning to feel as though she might finish the book. The scene she’d written last night was worlds better than anything she’d written before. She didn’t need Mr. Norwood to tell her that it was good. She knew it in her heart.
The next chapter was Lord Fortescue and Sir Archer Falconer conversing in their gentleman’s club. This was her opportunity to visit such a club, and she was prepared to bend the truth in pursuit of her goal.
Lady Glynis buttered her toast liberally. “I have heard that the club hosts a charity ball every year at Rydell House.”
“I think this might be related to that event. A planning meeting, most likely.”
“Did he give the names of the other ladies in attendance?”
“No.”
“Well, if he requested your presence I suppose we must attend. It could be a useful test of your manners and comportment.”
“I’ll be the very portrait of propriety.”
Lady Glynis sniffed. “I highly doubt that, but if you do well today, I may consent to take you with me to Mrs. Frinch’s musical luncheon, featuring performances on the pianoforte from all of this Season’s leading debutantes.”
Not if she could help it. That sounded tedious and not at all like a scene in her book. “I should love that,” she said insincerely.
“Had enough?” Dalton asked.
Dex raised his bruised fists, ignoring the stabbing pain in his gut. “Just getting started.”
“Getting thrashed, more like.”
“I’ll best you this round.”
“Not likely,” Dalton scoffed.
Boxing with his friend helped break up the hard core of rage within him.
He was angry with himself for bringing his company into danger. Angry at the men who controlled the governments who were so happy and eager to sacrifice other peoples’ sons, other lives, but never their own, sitting so safely in their ivory towers. Angry at his former self for being so cocksure and unfeeling.
Seething, roiling fury festered inside him and this was one of the only ways he could release it safely. This and riding his horse or driving his carriage at breakneck speed.
Though today was different. It wasn’t anger he sought to exorcise, it was something even more dangerous, something made up of contagious laughter, flashing green eyes, and damnable impertinence.
His wild uppercut missed its mark, and Dalton moved in for a clinch. Dex shook him off with an effort and they squared off again.
“Your mind is elsewhere.”
“I thought I heard my ward’s voice.”
“I saw the way you looked at her last night. It wasn’t very guardianly.”
“More boxing, less talking.”
Dalton obliged with a barrage of blows and Dex raised his fists to protect his face. When he attempted to counter with a right hook, he missed the mark and lurched to his knees, off-balance and unable to shake the thoughts of Analise. Damn it. He was her guardian. He’d promised to protect her, to find a worthy partner for her.
He rose, head down, fists raised. “Again,” he said, spitting blood onto the sawdust.
Aliveried porter met Ana and Lady Glynis at the door. He stood stiffly, blocking their entrance. “May I help you find the location you seek, ladies? For this is not it.”