Her evolving expression during those twenty seconds in the ballroom haunted him. Stunned, blushing innocence to carnal yearning to a sort of... fury. How dare he make her want him?
He understood every one of those things all too well.
It was so cripplingly, distractingly erotic that he lost quickly and badly in chess to Delacorte, who fixed him with a disbelieving, rather baleful, almost wounded stare.
Hugh did the only honorable thing and removed himself to another chair and pretended to be fascinated by the coverlet unfurling from Mrs. Hardy’s needles. Dot took his place in front of a beleaguered Delacorte.
Mrs. Durand was also knitting. Mrs. Pariseau was trying to get up a game of Faro. Lord Bolt was in the corner, contentedly reading from a little book. Captain Hardy had gone to dinner with his friend and former subordinate, Sergeant Massey, who was in London with his wife, and St. John was holding up the fireplace, counting the minutes until he could bolt to his club.
“So when do you plan to run for office, Mr. Cassidy?” the Earl of Vaughn asked, blissfully unaware that Hugh and his daughter were locked in morose sensual torment. The earl liked to merely sit for a bit, digesting and reminiscing about the wonder of his dinner, before he decided what delightful parlor pastime to partake in for the evening. In the smoking room for the past several nights he’d thrown himself with gusto into conversations about business with the other men, more after the fashion of enjoying a novelty, or the way one would enjoy an exciting novel, likeRobinson Crusoe—he had no wish to be shipwrecked on an island, really, just as he’d no real need or desire to work. But he did like to hear about it.
“When I return to New York, sir, hopefully within the next few months. The current mayor’s term is up at the end of the year.”
“Think you’ll win?”
This Hugh could answer readily. “Yes. I know personally nearly every member of my prospective constituency—mainly because I’ve done work for most of them from the time I was a child. They’ve experienced firsthand my work ethic and commitment to the well-being and prosperity of the town. I know their needs, their families, their hopes for the future. And they know me as an adult who unfailingly keeps his word and knows how to turn these dreams into realities.”
“Well, my heavens! Listen to you! Spoken like a politician,” the earl said, sounding pleased. “You have my vote.” He raised his voice a little. “Tell Mr. Cassidy whatyoudid last year, St. John.”
“I bought a horse,” St. John said easily.
“With my money, to boot,” his father expounded mockingly, as if praising a child for a well-done lesson.
“Indeed,” St. John replied. “I ruminated about it for a good day or two, too.” His lazy little smile was entirely self-mocking, but not self-loathing.
Hugh had been prepared to thoroughly dislike St. John, but he couldn’t, quite. The difficult people were those who made others uncomfortable by trying to be something they fundamentally were not.
“You’ll need a wife if you go into politics in America, Mr. Cassidy.” The countess smiled at him cheekily.
“Oh, of a certainty,” Hugh said gravely.
In his peripheral vision, he saw Lillias lift her head slowly.
In fact, all the women were on alert now, such was the interest in Mr. Cassidy’s romantic life, as he’d been an object of speculation and hope since he’d arrived.
“And she’ll have to be able to shoot anything from the porch,” Hugh continued thoughtfully. “Because of all the rabid pumas and grumpy Indians, of course. As well as look elegant in silk and velvet. Also, she’ll need to know how to skin rabbits. And charm foreign dignitaries during balls and dinners. Fell a tree with an ax. That sort of thing.”
It was probably unfair to set out to deliberately disconcert the aristocrats. But once he started he couldn’t seem to stop. His mood revealed itself to him as bristly and a little untenable, and he was a bit too tired to attempt to rein it in completely. His usual control was swaying like a rope bridge in a stiff breeze.
They eyed him uncertainly.
Except Bolt and Delacorte, who were thoroughly amused.
“Well, Mr. Cassidy. I hope for your sake that those kinds of women abound in America,” said the countess. Which was actually a very kind thing to say.
“I was jesting,” he said gently. “Forgive me. My wife will be treated like a queen. Or rather, since we don’t have those in the United States, a goddess. We’ll have a full complement of servants and a beautiful house on beautiful land. But if she should like to shoot dinner, I won’t stop her.”
Lillias still didn’t turn to look at him. Her own mood, it appeared, was quite determinedly bristly.
“Oh! Just a week or so ago Lord Bolt read aloud a sonnet that mentioned something about goddesses,” Mrs. Pariseau said suddenly. “Perhaps he’d like to share it again? It’s lovely, and he reads so well.”
“Oh, I believe you’re thinking of Sonnet 130, Mrs. Pariseau.” Lord Bolt—who knew it by heart—began:
My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips’ red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;