“I don’t think of him.”
She gave a wry smile from behind the lip of her glass. “You’re being cheeky,” she accused.
Affronted, he lifted his chin. “I’ve never been cheeky in my life.”
A soft sound of amusement escaped her. “That, I do believe of you. But, pray tell me, what is your impression of him?”
He hadn’t meant to amuse her. In fact, it irked him that he had. “Why do you ask my opinion? I’m not the one contemplating marriage.”
“I ask because you read people, I think. Like I read books. You predict their motivations. Like with Bainbridge, for example, you knew what a scallywag he was before he admitted it himself.”
Her praise did serve as a slight balm to his foul temper. “Scallywag?” he echoed, tugging at his noose of a necktie.
“Isn’t that a delicious word?” she breathed. “I finished The Gilded Sea, but because of it I am now obsessed with buccaneers and privateers, so I’m reading about this monstrous pirate king who is often called things like scallywag, picaroon, or coxswain.”
He bit his lip, vowing to forget that last word from her lips.
“Another romantic adventure?” he posited.
“Yes, except this time, he falls for a mermaid.”
His lip curled of its own volition. “Sounds…”
“Fantastical and exciting?” she offered.
“I was going to say fragrant,” he muttered. “I’m no great lover of fish.”
She tilted her head back and laughed, a sound of mild yet unbridled mirth.
The world stood still to hear it.
“I was wondering why you barely touched your stew last night,” she teased. “Cook must be so offended.”
“Not as offended as my nose.”
“Stop, you.” She nudged him with another chuckle, indulging in more punch. “Well, there is something we have in common, as I am no great lover of fish, either. I have, however, reassessed my opinion on scallywags. I find this pirate king so very compelling. He’s all scarred and heavily tattooed and he says the most wicked things. I’m surprised they allow it in the bookshops.”
Gabriel’s mouth flooded as he considered what wicked words might put such a rapturous look upon her face. “Pirates make notoriously terrible husbands,” he reminded her.
As did smugglers, he reminded himself.
“Well, certainly, if we’re being practical. But he is a man with a creed and a big heart. Besides, he redeems himself in the end.”
He slanted a dubious look down at her. “You can’t know that; you’re not done with the book.”
“All romances end like that.”
“Why read them if you know the ending?”
She turned to look up at him, her expression both playful and profound. “Because one likes to watch the journey unfold. We all know how life ends, don’t we? But we don’t live it to hurry toward death. It’s the matter in the middle that’s the most important. Besides, I know romance might not be the most respected subject, but there are times when one needs to know that at least in one story, everything ends as it should… happily.”
Humbled by such wisdom wrapped in a package of guileless youth, Gabriel could only gape at her for a protracted moment.
“Don’t marry Kessinger.” The words spilled from his mouth before he could call them back.
“Why would you say that?” Her eyes searched his, a strange, liquid hope in their azure depths.
“He’s not… well, just look at him.” He turned to where the man had taken up a card game in the next room over. The odious man blew his nose at that unfortunate moment, then looked into the handkerchief before stowing it away.
They each winced.
“He can’t help how he looks,” she defended the man, though her fingers were pressed to her throat in a gesture of aversion. “And it’s not so bad as all that. I thought he had kind eyes, and we shared the most diverting conversation. He’s a true gentleman, they say. No vices or villainy. He’s studious and methodical and I found him indulgent and interesting.”
“Be that as it may, a woman as handsome as you should take a handsome husband.”
Her lashes swept down over cheeks tinged with peach. “You think I’m handsome?”
“Don’t be coy,” he said with a droll sniff.
“No one has ever called me coy before,” she informed him, turning back to study Kessinger. “Handsome isn’t so important to me in a husband. Not if he is good and gentle and kind.”
Good, gentle, and kind. That was all she required, and he still didn’t fit the bill. Something dark and wretched twisted in his chest. “Don’t you see it would be heartless to select him? People would speculate. They would be cruel to him, insinuate you were with him for any of the ugly reasons people marry for. Desperation. Power. Titles. Indulgences. They’d expect you to cuckold him. They’d count the months in between your wedding and an heir and speculate as to whom the child belongs.”
Aghast, she lifted a hand to her lips. “You don’t really think—”
“He would resent you, in the end.”
The shadows in her eyes became bruises as she contemplated this, then the liquid blue hardened to chips of ice as she scowled up at him. “How would you know anything about it? Someone with your attractions, your masculine allure, could never hope to empathize with poor Mr. Kessinger.”
“Now who is being cruel?” he sneered.
“What?” Her glare gave way to several confounded blinks. “How might a compliment be cruel?”
“When it is so blatantly for the sake of kindness,” he pointed out the bloody obvious. “Such as calling a portly person thin, or someone like me attractive.”
“But—”
“Miss Goode, I believe I am next on your card.” One of the wolves, a fair-haired fellow blessed with almost symmetrical perfection, sidled up to her with a gallant hand outreached in offering.
Fumbling a bit, Felicity checked the card on her wrist. “So you are, Lord Melton.” She slid her hand into his and allowed him to lead her to the floor, only frowning back at Gabriel the once.
His blood heated to a degree that could surely smelt metal. Sweat bloomed on his flesh just as a dull, cold pit
