A Fool Again: A Novella by James Eloisa

Author:James, Eloisa [James, Eloisa]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Avon
Published: 2011-04-05T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter 6

Bartholomew Fair

Genevieve dressed for her afternoon appointment with Tobias Darby full of misgivings. Why on earth was she allowing him to escort her? He was clearly just as wild as he ever was. Honesty compelled her to admit that she had a strange susceptibility to his charms, even given that he wasn’t nearly as handsome as Felton, and he had none of Felton’s cultured charm. Felton merely had to look at her with a glimmer of approval and Genevieve felt as if he’d given her all her Christmas presents rolled into one smile. Whereas Tobias never looked at her with approval, only with lust. He’d been out of place in the village when they’d been growing up, and now he was desperately out of place in London: too large, too fast-moving, too lustful. Really, it was exhausting even being around him. A woman had to be constantly on her guard, or he would have her flat on her back in the public gardens.

Well, that wasn’t going to happen again, Genevieve told herself. She was not that type of woman. No, she was Lucius Felton’s intended wife. He had asked for her hand in a placid, urbane fashion of which she utterly approved. So why was she wasting her time with Tobias Darby?p>

Precisely at two o’clock Genevieve traipsed down the stairs, wearing a walking dress of pale, pale blue muslin, trimmed with white lace. It was as demure as it was docile, especially with a matching cloak in blue sarsenet. She carried a lace parasol that came to a sharp point (excellent for warding off men with lascivious intentions). From the tips of her blue slippers to the ribbons plaited into her hair, there was nothing about her that would inspire a man’s lust.

So there was no explanation for the slow burn that danced in Tobias’s eyes. That darkening shade of blue made her feel uneasy and happy, all at once. He’s a blackguard, Genevieve reminded herself. The man is so lascivious that he even ogles ladies whose necklines approach their ears.

“I trust this will be a quite brief outing,” she said, walking down the front steps toward his carriage with her parasol opened and pointed in his direction in case he intended to lunge at her. “I must return to dress for the opera. Felton and I are seeing The White Elephant, the Earl Godwin’s latest composition.”

“The composer is an earl, or is Earl his first name?” To-bias inquired.

Genevieve allowed the footman to hand her into the carriage as if she were a fragile piece of china. She was not the sort of woman who clambered in by herself. “He is titled,” she said languidly, taking out her fan. “The earl is quite famous for his operas.”

“Things must have changed in England since I left the country,” he said, folding himself into the opposite seat. “I don’t recall any peers dabbling in music.”

Why did he have to be so large? “Where are we going?” she asked, ladling a generous dollop of boredom into her voice.

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