“I learn what to do by watching others, like applauding at the opera when the rest of the audience starts. It’s like learning a foreign language. And I can’t follow a conversation when I’m with a crowd.”
“Is that why you didn’t speak much when you came to Mather’s box at Covent Garden?”
“One-on-one is much easier.” He spoke a fact. He could focus on what one person was saying, but trying to follow several people’s contributions to a conversation led to confusion.
As a youth he’d been punished for not answering at the table or not joining in a discussion. Sullen, his father had labeled him. Look at me when I’m talking to you, boy.
Beth’s eyes were tight. “My dear Ian, then we are birds of a feather. Mrs. Barrington had to teach me how to behave in society from the ground up, and I still don’t understand all the rules. For instance, do you know it is considered vulgar to eat ices with a spoon? One must use a fork, which seems rather ridiculous. The most difficult is to leave a few morsels of food on the plate, so as not to seem overzealous in eating. I had so many hungry days in my youth that I consider this beyond perplexing.”
Ian let her words wash over him without bothering to follow them. He liked her voice, smooth and cool, like the mountain stream he fished from in the wilds of Scotland. “You call me Ian now,” he said.
She blinked. “Do I?”
“You’ve said it five times since I arrived.”
“You see? I do consider us friends.”
Friends. He wanted so much more than that.
Beth gave him a glance from under her lashes. “Ian, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”
He waited, but she took a step back, toying with the silver ring on her left hand He knew jewels well enough to see that the ring was cheap, the one stone in it the merest chip.
Someone poor had given it to her, but she’d kept it with care. She’d returned Mather’s diamond ring without hesitation, but this one was precious to her.
“Ian, I wonder if perhaps . . .”
Ian focused his attention on her words with difficulty. He’d rather listen to her flowing voice, watch the rise and fall of her breasts, study the movement of her lips. “Since you seem to like me a little,” she said, “I wonder whether you would be interested . . . in having a liaison with me.”
The last words came out in a rush, and lan’s attention snapped to her.
“Have carnal relations, I mean,” Beth continued. “On occasion, when we mutually agree.”
Chapter Seven
Pleasure bubbled through Ian’s tension. “Carnal relations,” he repeated.“Yes,” she said, her voice shy. “If it would interest you.”
If it would interest me?
“You mean bed,” he said bluntly.
Her blush deepened, her fingers twisting the ring around and around. “Yes, that is exactly what I mean. Not like a mistress, you understand, but just two people enjoying... that side of life. We like each other well enough, and I don’t foresee that I will marry again. Mather frightened me off that, goodness knows. But perhaps we can be . . . lovers, at least while we are in Paris. I’m babbling, I know, but I can’t help myself.”
Did she know how beautiful she was? Her cheeks were flame red, her look both defiant and uncertain. He gazed into her eyes for one fleeting instant and said, “Yes.”
Beth let out a breath that turned to a shaky laugh. “Thank you for not leaving in disgust.”
Disgust? What man could be disgusted with a lady with eyes like hers, who’d just stammered out that she wanted to be his paramour?
Ian took a step back to have a full view of her. She wore a simple frock of mauve broadcloth, the overskirt pleated, the underskirt soft ruffles. A row of buttons shaped like blackberries marched up her bodice to her chin. The damn collar was too high, closing her off instead of exposing her lovely neck.
“We will start now,” he said.
She jumped. “Right now?”
“Before you have second thoughts.”
Beth pressed fingers to her mouth, as though trying to stop her smile. “Very well, what did you have in mind?” “Unbutton your frock.” He came to her and touched the button at the hollow of her throat. He wanted to take it between his teeth and see if it truly tasted of blackberries. “Down to there.”
“Only that?”
“For now.”
She gave him a surprised look but began to undo her buttons. Her pale throat came into view, the hollow damp with perspiration. It was a beautiful throat, long and slender, unmarred.
Ian slid his hands around her waist. She looked up at him, lips parted, but he didn’t kiss her. He gently pushed open the placket, then leaned down and kissed her neck. “Ian.”