Total pages in book: 147
Estimated words: 142801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
“Of course I don’t,” he answers like a good boyfriend would.
“We’re pretty good at this,” I say as we walk away. I find my thoughts to have mellowed a little. Blame the dress, the champagne, or the other side of Oliver I see when he’s with his friends.
“It’s not hard.” His fingers tighten on mine. “I like you. A lot.”
“I guess I must be drunk, then.”
“Because you don’t like me?”
I sigh, because I know what’s coming next. There are parts of me you like. And he’d be right, but I can’t afford to think of them. “You’re like Jekyll and Hyde.”
His smile seems out of place, considering what I’ve just said. “Can we talk about this later? The man we’re here to meet is just ahead.”
Oh, hell.
I just know this is not going to end well.
Chapter 32
OLIVER
“Argh! No! Deubel!” I feel Eve stiffen beside me as Armand Mortimer, Earl of Bellsand, throws up his hands in a show of mock horror as we cross paths. “The devil will have his due! He bloody well finds you everywhere!”
Eve relaxes instantly, pressing her hand to her mouth to stifle a giggle as the men at a nearby table break out in loud guffaws.
“The devil is off duty this evening, gentlemen. If you’ll excuse us.” I make to pass the table when Mortimer’s gestures turn conciliatory.
“Now, don’t be so hasty,” he says. “Introduce me to this lovely creature, Deubel.”
There’s no fool like an old fool. It’s not my presence that reminds Mortimer of his manners.
“My lord, this is Eve Fairfax. Eve, this is the Earl of Bellsand.”
“None of that,” he says gruffly, preening like an aging peacock as he slides his thumb into the embroidered silk cummerbund straining around his portly girth. “It’s Mandy, and I’m delighted to meet you, Eve.”
“Likewise, my—Mandy.”
While Eve might have much to say about the evening later, my conscience is clear as far as Mandy is concerned. I didn’t mention he’s an earl because I didn’t want her ferreting out the name of his estate. I know she has a distrust of wealth. Of wealthy men. She would’ve prejudged, possibly even concluding she didn’t like him before this moment. Which would’ve been a shame, because I was telling the truth when I said I thought they’d get on.
As Mandy invites us to join him and his companions—the table of elderly chortling buffoons—Eve and I exchange a glance.
Mine: Be good.
Hers: What have you gotten me into?
Introductions are made, and more champagne is served before Mandy turns his attention to Eve.
“Have you visited the exhibition yet?” he asks, directing the question Eve’s way.
“No, we were just on our way.” Eve slides a loving glance my way, and my chest fills with warmth before I remember. It’s all pretend, right down to the ring she’s wearing. “I am looking forward to it. I love history and fashion, of course.”
History. That’s something I didn’t know. I slot away the insight for examination later.
“What woman doesn’t love elegance and jewels!” Mortimer chortles. “I myself am here as a patron. Our family have loaned a number of outfits to the exhibition.”
“Oh?” Eve turns her attention to the older man, though she doesn’t let go of my hand.
“Yes, a number of eighteenth-century pieces. Keep an eye out for the butter-colored mantua. It will make you glad to live in this century.”
“I’m not even sure what a mantua is,” she admits, much to his delight. He spends the next few minutes explaining with the zeal of a seamstress that it’s a sort of overdress and that this particular one is almost three meters wide at the hip.
“It would only be worn here, you see, at the palace. During that period, the seventeen hundreds, you didn’t need an appointment to meet the king. You needed to put your best foot forward, so to speak. Turn up in your best threads.”
“A bit like tonight?” Eve answers with a smile, as the old fool fiddles with his cummerbund again.
“Precisely. But then, you’d put on your best outfit to impress the guards, or else you weren’t allowed to pass on to the King’s Staircase. Have you seen it yet? The staircase?”
Eve shakes her head.
“It’s very famous. The walls were painted by William Kent. I daresay you’ll enjoy looking, but then imagine trying to pass through a crush of people in a three-meter-wide dress!”
The pair gets on so well, I feel almost surplus to requirements. It’s not a complaint so much as an observation, as Eve commits to her role beautifully, smiling my way and laughing into my shoulder. I might not be a large part of the conversation, but I fool myself I’m at the center of her thoughts. Every smile she slides my way makes me want to pull her onto my knee to kiss her; every touch she bestows makes me wish this was real.