Lord Belmont blew out a short breath, then nodded. “He’s certainly an old windbag, yet harmless enough, I’m sure.”
“You actually have more reasons than he to brag, Belmont. Your sister is the superior rider.” Simon watched Mathew look down at his hands before answering.
“Yes, she has an excellent seat.”
His voice held no inflection. Simon didn’t know him that well, but he knew when a man was in the grip of some deep emotion, and Belmont was displaying all the signs of trying not to show it, especially as he had failed to meet Simon’s eyes.
“I can’t imagine she can have been easy to control growing up. She has definitely held me to task a time or two,” Simon said, deciding to prod him a bit for a response.
Mathew looked at him then, and Simon saw that mixed with the anger was sadness. His eyes were green, unlike his sister’s, yet in the face, he saw Claire. They shared high cheekbones and long lashes, and perhaps there was something around the mouth. “To my lasting regret, I did not have much to do with my sister growing up, Lord Kelkirk.”
“I believe there is quite an age gap.”
“Six years.”
The silence that stretched between them then was not uncomfortable, as Belmont was lost in his thoughts and seemingly oblivious to his surroundings.
“We are being called to our seats, Belmont,” Simon said finally, gently drawing the man back to the present.
“Of course. Please excuse me.”
What the hell had that been about? he wondered as Mathew Belmont walked away without another word. The unease he had felt since finding Claire in that lane intensified. Something was very wrong in the Belmont household. He just needed to find out what.
“Kelkirk, my daughter has often expressed her interest in your seat and hands, says they are some of the finest in London.”
Looking at Major Brantley, Simon swallowed his smile. He could take that statement in many ways, yet knew that the man was not deliberately lacing his words with innuendo. However he also knew that Brantley was looking for a husband for his daughter, and whilst Simon was not averse to the married state, he was averse to a woman who judged her men by then length of their hocks and strength of their seat.
“Well, lovely speaking with you, Major, and please give my regards to your charming daughter, but I must away, as the music is due to start.”
He found Claire, but the seats to her left and right were taken, so he sat in the one behind. “Good evening, Miss Belmont.”
She did not turn but did stiffen as he spoke. “Good evening, Lord Kelkirk.”
“I understand we are to have Mozart this evening?”
“I believe so, yes.”
“Tis most exciting, Lord Kelkirk,” said the woman to Claire’s right. “I believe Miss Fobersure is to be accompanied by Lady Lawn.”
“Well, if that is indeed the case, I should imagine we are in for a night of unequalled excitement, Miss James.”
Claire sniffed at his words.
“I was sincere in my praise, I assure you, Miss Belmont,” he whispered in her ear. She shivered as his breath touched her neck. He had no further chance to talk, as the music began. His hopes when he had decided to come tonight were that the musicians were at least proficient, but he realized as Petunia Fobersure and Lady Lawn took the stage, he had made a grave error in attending. He had come to see Claire, of course, but even that thought did not help as the torture began. Before him, Claire’s fingers crept to her ears, which made him feel marginally better.
“Tut-tut, Miss Belmont,” he said, once again leaning forward. Her scent was alluring, and he inhaled deeply. One long strawberry blonde curl rested on her shoulder, and he wanted to lift it and roll it between his fingers to test the texture. He quickly sat back as his body started to stir and his thoughts turned to those of a more carnal nature. Focusing on the stage, they soon cooled.
The music went on for what seemed like a day and a night until finally it ended, and the guests rose on a collective sigh of relief.
“We will now have dancing,” Lady Waverly said with a beaming smile, unaware all her guests had a loud ringing in their ears, and most had vowed, silently, not to attend her musical evenings ever again.
Before he could stop her, Claire had hurried away, following the other guests to where the dancing would begin. The woman was bloody elusive, he’d give her that. Pausing to secure a much needed glass of champagne, he then chatted briefly with a few friends before making his way through the crowd to the edge of the dance floor. Claire was dancing and appeared happy enough, smiling and chatting with her partner, who was all but falling into her cleavage. He’d never seen her wear anything like that. She was always dressed stylishly and elegantly, with just enough soft pink skin showing to torment him. Very rarely did she look like a bloody siren. Sensual and alluring, yes, however tonight Simon could feel his body growing tense just looking at her. He suddenly wanted to run one finger under his collar like a young whelp, as it felt tight against his throat. The color of the dress made her skin glow, and he had known she had lovely breasts but not quite how lovely. They would make any man’s fingers twitch, showcased as they were in apricot satin this evening. Simon wasn’t sure why he was angry about her dress or that other men were looking at her breasts, yet he was. So much so that when the dance stopped, he moved to intercept her. “My dance, I believe, Miss Belmont.”