“Tristan, I presume?” she said, a coy grin spreading across her face as she set her small clutch in her lap. “I’ve been told a great deal about you—not all of which from your sister.”
“All good, I hope,” I said, smirking as I took a sip from my wine glass.
“Hardly,” she said, raising one perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “You have a reputation for being a bit of a…”
“Playboy?” I prompted, hoping to draw some kind of reaction out of her other than that disgusted look on her face. This wasn’t off to a good start, and I didn’t like the odds of it getting any better.
“An idiot,” she corrected, her tone severe. “And if you intend on continuing any manner of liaisons with me, I will insist than such embarrassing behavior ceases at once.”
“You hardly know me,” I said, “Perhaps it would be best to leave your assumptions elsewhere while we have our first dinner together.”
“That will be for me to decide,” Denise sneered, and already I knew what had thrown me off about that expression—the look in her eyes that I’d seen in all those other photos Gwen had shown me—that was the same look that my father had on his face constantly. That overconfident, pompous sneer, looking down their noses at those they see as less fortunate than they.
She was everything that my father might have looked for in a wife, and for that reason alone I already despised her. But I knew that I would need to be civil for Gwen’s sake; I didn’t need to anger another of her clients, one who was more than willing to spend her money for what she wanted, especially if what she wanted was a man.
“Your sister says that you have a love of literature,” Denise said. “What manner of literature would that be?”
“I enjoy the classics, mostly,” I said, not at all wanting to discuss my favorite books in with such a snobbish woman. I was hoping something awful might happen to save me, like a monsoon or an earthquake.
“I see,” she said, her words clipped. “As broad and elusive as you are, apparently. You at least gets points for keeping yourself mysterious.”
“Well I’m glad that you approve,” I said, forcing a smile onto my face.
“Hardly,” she said, rolling her eyes. I didn’t think I’d ever wanted to harm another human being, but this woman would certainly have been on such a list were I that manner of person. She was infuriating on almost every level.
“And what literature do you read?” I asked, more out of politeness than any actual curiosity. To be honest I hardly cared one lick whatever book this woman shoved in front of her face.
“I greatly enjoy the works of —”
“May I take your order?” came the soft voice of a waiter who’d suddenly appeared at my side, thankfully cutting her off before she could expound on he interests. Her attitude alone had turned me off to the thought of pursuing anything that might even resemble a relationship with her. I couldn’t have asked for a better excuse not to listen to that woman for another moment, my thoughts distracted by the idea of something I could stuff in my mouth to save me from having an actual conversation with this utter brat.
“You’ll be quiet while your betters are speaking,” she demanded, her voice rising to levels that one would expect of a person whose entire family had just been cursed, “or have you been taught nothing of your place?”
The young man and I stared at her, stunned, as she continued to speak, her voice once again more civilized. How in the world could any one person be so rude? Even my father’s horrific attitude was at least curbed in public, something that apparently developed with age.
“Tristan,” she said in an obnoxiously insistent manner, ignoring the waiter and pretending as though her little outburst never happened. “I have no desire to be seen in the company of a serial fornicator who has not renounced his ways—and should this courtship continue, those ways of yours will be curbed. Am I clear?”
I blinked at her, staring for what felt like a full minute.
This woman was everything that my father prized in a member of the aristocracy—arrogant, entitled, belligerent, and worst of all, high on her own social standing. I don’t think I’d ever decided I hated anyone as quickly as I did in that moment. She was possibly the most impudent, spoiled, and self-important bitch I’d ever had the displeasure of meeting.
“Well?” she asked, eyebrows raised so high I thought they might make a run for her widow’s peak. “I expect an answer.”
I turned to the waiter, slipping a hundred-pound note from my pocket and putting it in his hand. “I would greatly appreciate the check, if you don’t mind.”