Devil May Care by Andrea Pickens

Author:Andrea Pickens
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: ePublishing Works!
Published: 2015-04-10T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11

"I am not a complete ninnyhammer," said Harriet, still watching the sensuous sway of Camille's hips as she and Amirault strolled through the crowd and disappeared into the card room. "Of course I realize the Comte has ulterior motives for trying to seduce his way into my good graces." The real question was whether Jack understood the import of his own warning.

"Seduce—hmmph! Had he leaned in any closer to your bodice, his nose would have been in your cleavage," he muttered gruffly. "What were you discussing?"

"The fabric and cut of my gown. Amirault, for all his faults, is very au courant about the latest fashions."

Another grunt.

"And," continued Harriet, "we discussed the hairstyles. He was of the opinion that the new fringe of ringlets frames my face rather nicely."

Jack looked a little nonplussed. "I..." His eyes narrowed. "I noticed that you had cut your hair. But..."

"But what?" she inquired, hoping to keep a note of disappointment from creeping into her voice. It was silly to expect a compliment from Jack. His tongue was made of razored steel, not sun-kissed honey.

"But I thought you wouldn't want me to waste time making a fuss about it." Jack shuffled his feet, as if the parquet beneath his shoes had suddenly turned to red-hot coals. "Dash it all, Harry. You've always been different than other girls. You don't need all that silly simpering over the color of a ribbon or the flutter of a flounce. You're practical and sensible—"

"In other words, very brick-like," she murmured.

"I can talk to you." He essayed a note of humor. "I can't talk to a brick. Or rather, I can, but it won't answer back with your intelligence or insight."

She heaved an inward sigh, deciding she was fighting a losing battle. In his eyes, no matter how many layers of fancy silks and frothy lace she donned, she would always be a hum-drum sort of building block, useful but hardly something that sparked any deeper passion.

Intelligence and insight were not the first compliments a lady might long to hear at a fancy ball, but they would have to do.

Jack cleared his throat with a cough. "Er, speaking of intelligence and insight, did you bring your notes?"

"Yes," replied Harriet. "Much to the dismay of my maid, who thought this large reticule ruined the lines of my gown."

With naught but a wordless grunt in response, Jack retreated a step deeper into the shelter of the potted palms, taking the sheets of papers she had slipped into his hands.

She was only vaguely aware that the music was starting up for a new set of dances when a soft hail drew her attention away from Jack's pensive profile.

"Excuse me, Miss Farnum, but might I ask you to dance?"

Oh, surely Addison, the Adonis of Mayfair, wasn't asking her to step out with him. He was not only notoriously good-looking, but also notoriously choosy in whom he deigned to lead out on the dance floor.

Harriet drew in her breath to answer—

"Go away, Addison," snapped Jack.

"My apologies, Leete.

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