“Anotherorgy?” he gasped. “I submit that I have never been in a single one.”
“Then I submit that she vastly overestimated your virility.” She folded her arms across her annoying plump bosom and carefully looked anywhere but at his chest. “Why does my aunt want to dissuade me from you?”
“Isabelle and I have a long history.”
“Yes, she told me she taught you everything you know.” And promised to teach it to Gwen as well, assuming Gwen managed to get her dowry from her brother and invested it in the woman’s canals.
“She taught me a great deal,” he said with a wink. “And only some of it would be worthwhile at an orgy.”
Gwen never knew how to respond when someone winked. She knew that it added meaning, but she never understood what. So she did what she always did. She looked away and pretended not to see. Normally that wouldn’t bother her, but she truly wanted to understand what Lord Sayres meant by his wink.
Meanwhile, he must have seen her discomfort. “Lady Gwen?” he asked with a soft tone. And then he touched her arm which naturally caused her to jerk away. She hadn’t seen his touch coming and that always startled her. “My apologies. I’ve upset you.”
“Please,” she said as she schooled her features. “I prefer plain speaking.”
He nodded, his expression grave. “Isabelle enjoys telling people what they may and may not do. I accepted her tutelage for many years, but now our partnership has ended. She dislikes my quest for independence.”
That didn’t make sense. Slavery was outlawed in Britain, and Lord Sayres did not seem like someone who could be controlled. “You’re a man. How can she tell you what to do?”
He didn’t answer, but she could read the expression on his face well enough. He wore that male attitude of resigned arrogance. One that said he couldn’t begin to fathom a woman’s illogic. Unfortunately, it did not illuminate the situation. It might be that Aunt Isabelle was being ridiculously pig-headed in her hatred of him. She certainly enjoyed ordering Gwen around. Or it could be that he had offended her in some serious fashion and—in his blind male way—he could not comprehend his error.
Gwen did not feel she could ferret out the truth this moment. Which meant she would use her own judgment to evaluate Lord Sayres. So far, his actions had been completely acceptable if one discounted the nakedness of his costume. Which, to be honest, she enjoyed.
She began walking again. “If you could bring me a few of the flowers—potted if you please—then I shall begin experiments on the best way to transport them.”
“I will send for them, but that is just the beginning of my plan.”
So he did have a plan. Good. “What is the rest?”
“The only way to make the flower popular is to make a lady who wears it popular.”
She supposed that was one path, but surely there were others. “Why go to the work of making a person popular? Surely you have friends who have already accomplished the task. You should make them adopt the flower.”
He shook his head. “I don’t think they can do enough. Not to make the kind of stir I need. I want my daffodil to become the choice for every debutante in London for years to come.”
“An excellent goal, my lord, but rather ambitious, don’t you think?”
He continued as if she had not spoken. “In order to make my flower popular, I have to make the woman who wears them a sensation.”
“I am not persuaded that is the best path.”
“It is,” he said emphatically. “Especially if we link her with the flowers. Everyone will mimic her.” He touched her arm. It was just the most passing touch, but she had been unprepared and flinched again. “We will claim that the daffodils have special magic in them.”
She pulled her arm back, feeling the heat where his body had touched her, and she rubbed her hand over it. What was she feeling? Why did it tingle? “Magic is illogical,” she stated firmly.
“But very marketable.”
She understood his meaning. Just because she would never believe in magic transformations didn’t mean others felt the same. Indeed, if he could find the right woman to do it, then he would indeed make his flower the most wanted bloom in all of England.
“You truly think that is the best approach?”
“I do.”
As this was his area of expertise, she had to defer to him, though she found it all very strange. “You need to find the woman and apprise her of your plans immediately. She must agree.”
“Absolutely,” he said, his expression grave. “Do you agree?”
He was looking at her so pointedly that she shied backwards a step. She was not used to such direct attention from gentlemen, especially one wearing a waistcoat with no shirt beneath. “What?”