Page 8 of Venus in Disguise

“What exactly are the spoils?”

Delia paused, staring at her thoughtfully. “I’ve no idea.”

Narcissa gave an unladylike snort of laughter and covered her mouth with her hands as a dowager lady turned and glared at her. “You are the most ridiculous creature,” she said fondly.

“I know,” Delia said sadly. “My poor brother is at his wits’ end. He’s so desperate to see me securely married, but all the fellows think I’m odd. Am I odd, Cissy?”

“No, of course not,” Narcissa replied stoutly, if not entirely truthfully. Delia was somewhat… eccentric. “You are delightfully original, that’s all, and the men of the ton are all such stick-in-the-muds they can’t see it. Someone will, though, you’ll see.”

Delia sighed. “I hope so, Cissy, for I’m getting terribly tired of parading my wares and finding no one is interested. I’m practically on the shelf! I mean, they seem interested at first, but then I open my mouth and they look at me like I’m deranged. It doesn’t put them off, exactly, but I don’t want to marry a man who thinks I’m deranged.”

“I should think not,” Narcissa replied. “But take heart, love. I’m having no luck either, and I’ve been a perfect ninny the entire time. They adore me, and I want to run, far, far away from each and every one of them. I can’t though, not with the duke breathing down my neck.”

“Oh, isn’t it ghastly,” Delia said with a sigh.

“Ghastly,” Narcissa agreed, so intent on her conversation with Delia that she didn’t look where she was going.

“Oof!”

Delia steadied her as Narcissa stumbled back, having run into something that felt like a brick wall. Righting herself, she looked up, and felt her stomach turn a peculiar somersault.

“I might have known,” drawled a resigned voice.

“Oops,” Delia said softly, for she had noticed what Narcissa could now see, champagne dripping from Mr Anson’s sleeve, his snowy white cuff sodden with the stuff.

“I b-beg your pardon,” Narcissa offered with a hesitant smile. “I didn’t see you there.”

The fellow snorted, as well he might. Now she looked, he was rather hard to miss.

“Forgive me, my lady. I would have worn a brighter waistcoat to make myself more noticeable, but you took such offence last time we met, I did not dare.”

Narcissa smiled. “I was horribly rude about it, wasn’t I? I am sorry, but I’m so glad to see you are well and in one piece. I have been so dreadfully worried and—” She closed her mouth with a snap, a surge of heat burning her cheeks as she realised too late she had spoken without thinking, as evidenced by the surprise in Mr Anson’s eyes. He had been dabbing at his drenched sleeve with an equally pristine handkerchief, but now he paused, regarding her with interest.

“You were worried?” he repeated sceptically. “About me?”

“The fight,” Narcissa managed, wishing she had not given herself away so thoroughly. Oh, good Lord, now he would think she had been daydreaming about him and he’d be quite impossible. If only it weren’t true. “I h-heard you were involved in a big fight.”

“A boxing match,” he corrected, regarding her with an inscrutable expression.

“Yes,” she agreed, deciding to keep her words to a minimum for safety’s sake. “That.”

“I fight regularly, Lady Narcissa, and I won. Why would you trouble yourself to worry about me?”

Narcissa wished fervently he would just drop the subject, but his blue eyes were gleaming with curiosity now and she knew he wouldn’t leave it. “Because you disappeared for two weeks, and I was afraid you were badly injured.”

He took a step closer, too close, and lowered his head to hers, murmured wickedly, “Have you been counting the days, sweet?”

“Certainly not,” she replied, glaring at him as defiantly as she could manage, though the heat warming her cheeks seemed to be spreading through her entire body. Drat the man for his egotism. Steeling herself, she wondered if perhaps she could tempt him back into exchanging the kind of teasing banter they had shared the last time they had spoken. “I only wondered if repeated blows to the head might be responsible for your rudeness, that’s all. Besides which, I wonder that such a conceited fellow dares do anything that risks spoiling his pretty face,” she added sweetly, praying he could tell she was only jesting with him.

“Cissy,” Delia whispered in awed tones.

Narcissa glanced at her friend to discover her eyes dancing with mirth at the exchange. Looking up at Mr Anson, she found to her dismay his expression was far harder to read. He might be contemplating wringing her neck, or he might be amused. It was impossible to tell.

“Well,” he said at length. “As you see, I am entirely in once piece.”

Oh, yes he is, Narcissa thought wistfully. One big, gorgeously impossible piece. To her relief, she recognised the glint in his eyes when he spoke again and knew he was not angry with her.

“However, I am pleased to note you think me pretty, and the next time I find myself bloodied and bruised, it is comforting to know I might call upon you to wipe my fevered brow.”