She turned away from him and tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear.
Hugh began to wonder what sound she would make if he traced her ear with his tongue.
“Naked!” Lady Claire muttered, just to say it before it was forbidden.
The countess’s brow furrowed. “Perhaps Mrs. Hardy and Mrs. Durand ought to introduce another jar for words like that that are just a hair too...”
“Foolhardy? Potent? Dangerous?” Hugh suggested, relentlessly.
“Thank you, Mr. Cassidy. I see youdohave a grasp of the situation,” the countess said.
“I’m afraid ‘grasp’ might be another of those words requiring review, Lady Vaughn. One can grasp so many things... in so many ways.”
Lillias’s gaze flared hot and stunned. Flickered.
Dropped.
He’d conclusively won that round.
“Oh, dear,” the countess said sadly. “You may be right.”
“Lady Vaughn...” Delilah ventured. “The presence of more than one jar might make our guests feel a trifle inhibited from spirited conversation, though spirited conversation may encompass disagreements about words. Perhaps monitoring ourselves is the best solution for now?”
“Perhaps we ought to compile a list of words that may prove to be controversial?” the countess countered weakly, desperately but valiantly sensing she was losing this battle that she possibly should never have undertaken, and feeling about for a way to be gracious.
“Words besides ‘naked,’ you mean?” Hugh said gravely.
The countess closed her eyes.
And when no one said anything else, a little relieved, awkward silence ensued. Cautiously, knitting needles were taken up and began to move again.
“I nominate ‘moist,’” Delacorte said brightly. He’d clearly been giving it some quality thought. “Because when you think about it—”
Delilah and Angelique had already risen as one, and in a swift, graceful, coordinated blur of garnet and gold silk, traversed the room, and settled in at the piano. The rest of Delacorte’s sentence was lost in a jaunty little duet.
“Well, that’s rather lovely, isn’t it?” The countess exhaled. “Music.”
“Music has charms that soothe a savage breast,” Mrs. Pariseau agreed happily.
The countess sighed.
Hugh found himself on his feet. He was, he realized, about to bolt, though there wasn’t a place he could go to evade his mood.
His room would be as fine a place as any. But he’d need to walk past Lillias on his way out. And suddenly he understood Odysseus’s mast-lashing precautions.
But he’d meant it when he’d said his powers were greater, and just to prove it, he slowed his pace when he was abreast of her table.
“Howdoyou suppose beasts become savage, Mr. Cassidy?” she said softly, her brows furrowed in mock innocence.
Her struggle to hold his gaze was apparent in the bright pink spots on her cheeks, but she managed.
“By wanting what they shouldn’t,” he said grimly.
Chapter Eight
Heat collected and hovered over him like an extra blanket in his room that night.
He was awake. He resented it.