And of a sudden…Fleurdid.
She understood Hart’s rage had nothing to do with her. The joy she found getting under his skin vanished—and not because it was so easy to do so. All of his fury funneled back to Megan and Culross and the shame they had brought to his name.
She saw through the very big cave-man-like strong show he put on to the hurt, ashamed boy that existed under all boys and cavemen-like men.
Fleur softened her delivery by first deliberately stroking his ego. “Hart, you are a sensible man. You know your anger is misplaced. That I did nothing—”
“Nothing?” He chose viciousness. “You batted your pretty eyelashes and flirted outrageously.” Hart scraped a derisive stare over her. “You behaved like a bloody tart Byron couldn’t refuse. Just as you’re doing nowwith me…”
And that’s what she got for feeling badly for the dunderhead. “You flatter yourself, Your Grace.”
A footman entered the drawing room and bowed for the countess, giving the signal for dinner.
Catching that signal, Fleur and Hartwell joined the rest of the guests as they fetched their name cards.
She waited until she and the duke were alone.
While they searched the more than a dozen placards that still remained, Fleur spoke from the corner of her mouth. “You, Hartwell, are no Byron.”
She may as well have stolen his favorite toy soldier for the dull flush that crept out from under his meticulously folded, white silk cravat.
Fleur finished her salvo. “Byron, with his charm, dashing looks, and poetic brilliance compels a lady. Only with your inflated sense of self-worth could you possibly believe I would waste my wiles on you.”
She snatched her card. “Buck up,” she said. “Perhaps you’ll land Arran as a partner, and you can shamehimall you want over his disloyalty.”
She had to hand him credit. He didn’t bat an eye.
Fleurfinallyglanced at her seating details.Dash it!
Then she found Hart’s card—and his partners. Wicked mirth filled her.
They reached for the ivory and gold folded velum at the same time. Fleur beat him to it.
“Here you are, Hartwell,” she said, with a serene smile. “I trust you will have a most enjoyable evening with your tablemates.”
With a curtsy, she left a rightfully dubious Hartwell standing in her wake.
Chapter 7
“This is the age of oddities let loose.”
Don Juan
~Lord Byron
Hart had permitted Tremaine’s friendship with the McQuoids through the years.
The more time Tremaine spent with the McQuoids, the less he spent with his father or reflecting on the Duke of Hartwell’s disdain.
Hart, even in his deepest thoughts, found himself justifying his brother’s tie to an unacceptable family. Tremaine was bastard-born. The McQuoids were what they were, yet still had noble blood—sapskull though the Earl of Abington might be, he was, nevertheless, an earl. Lady Catherine, the countess, brought far nobler heritage, which increased Abington’s standing—and diminished hers somewhat. Still, the Countess of Abington alone provided enough reason for Tremaine’s connection to the family.
Hart had been wrong, though he only came to realize it tonight.
Even when he had been engaged to the now Lady Culross, he had avoided McQuoid functions like the plague. He had always made his excuses. Urgent, unavoidable business in the House of Lords. A critical situation at one of his estates demanded his attention.
The closest he had come was the wedding breakfast between Tremaine and his wife, Lady Linnie. That morning, Hart and Kilmartin had been in good spirits. How could they not have been? He and Tremaine had thwarted an alliance between the Archdales and McQuoids. They had also diverted the hard-to-come-by timber from Culross to rebuild Tremaine’s ship.Captain Arran McQuoid, the betrayer of his brother, had seethed through the affair.
Tremaine was to slake his lust for his wife, then return to sea.