He reared back, appearing genuinely surprised. “Dislike me? All women love me.”
“You arrogant nodcock. I am sure the ladies fall all over themselves to garner your attention. However, I am not one of them. You are the owner of a gambling club, a rake, and a supercilious individual.”
“Ah, you forgot bastard, as well.”
That stopped her cold. She glared at him. “I am assuming you are not adding to my list of insults, but meant your parents were not married. I did not know that, nor do I care. I judge a person on how they behave, not their beginnings. However, based on your behavior, I agree to add bastard to my list of adjectives.”
Just then the carriage pulled up to the front of a small tea shop. One that Lydia had visited many times before. As she gathered her things, the driver jumped down from his perch and opened the door. Dante put his hand out to stop her from alighting and left the vehicle first. He turned and held out his hand, his eyebrows raised.
Ah, a dare. Well, she would not give into pettiness. She smiled brightly and reaching out with all the elegance and grace of her station in life, delicately placed her gloved hand in his. Warm and strong. She almost stumbled at the contact, then reminded herself there was nothing in the dastardly man’s hand with which she need concern herself.
He glowered at her and she laughed.
“Ah, Miss Sanford, how lovely to see you.” The man at the door welcomed them.
“Thank you, Henri, is my favorite table available?”
“Yes.” He looked at Dante. “This way, if you please.”
They followed the man to a table next to a window overlooking Queen’s Square. Once settled, she chatted with Henri in French while Dante gazed out the window, appearing uninterested.
“Do you mind if I order for both of us?” she asked.
Dante waved his hand. “Please do, Miss Sanford.”
She placed an order for her favorite tea blend as well as French pastries. Thank goodness despite her healthy appetite she was able to maintain her figure. Once Henri left, she cleared her throat. Dante drew his focus back to her, although she had the feeling his attention hadn’t wandered, he merely wished to appear indifferent.
“I suggest we have our tea before we begin to plan our strategy.”
Dante huffed. “Strategy? You mean what balls or other frivolous Society events we shall attend?” He shook his head.
This was not the first time Lydia worked with a man who resented her being a woman. Well, not exactly that, but more having to rely on a woman as part of the investigation. A pleasant, cheerful person by nature, she refused to allow this man’s annoyance to dim her excitement at starting a new assignment.
While attempting to plan how she was going to obtain his cooperation without having the urge to throw something at this head, she studied this man she’d been paired with.
He might have been surprised when she showed up, but she’d known before her arrival who her partner was to be, and what the assignment was. Despite his attempt to fluster her, she was well aware that he was the half-brother of the Earl of Huntington and Mr. Driscoll Rose. Although he was his father’s illegitimate son, from what she’d learned he’d been raised right along with his two brothers and given every opportunity they’d received.
Dante and his two brothers owned The Rose Room, an exclusive gambling club in London. While she had no repugnance for gambling, she did uncover that the youngest Rose brother was a bit of a rake, rogue, libertine, or whatever one wanted to call it.
His reputation as an excellent lover was known far and wide among the ladies. Even though he shied away from Society events—either through a lack of interest, or concern about his birth—he was still well-known and admired among the Beau Monde.
She had to admit from a very feminine point of view that the man was unusually handsome. Wavy brown hair, longer than current fashion, was tucked behind his ears. He possessed strong aristocratic features, and deep blue eyes that right now were still focused on Queen’s Square. His form was perfectly male, something she was sure had the ladies swooning at his feet.
Not that he affected her. Not at all.
“Ah, merci.” She leaned back as a waiter placed a teapot, two cups and saucers and a tray of sweets on the table. Once he left, she said, “How do you like your tea?”
“With brandy.”
She sighed. He was behaving like a spoiled little boy. She would not allow this.
“Mr. Rose.” Something in her voice had him turning toward her with raised brows. She could feel her face beginning to flush. “I do not care if you are annoyed. I do not care if you wish to behave like a spoiled urchin. I am a professional, and I was under the impression after my conference with Sir Phillip that you were one as well. So far you have done nothing to confirm that assurance.”
The reprehensible man had the nerve to smile at her. He dipped his head as she picked up the teapot. “You are correct, Miss Sanford. I have been behaving like an ass.” He looked up at her with an air of remorse that she didn’t believe for one moment. Probably another way to maneuver his way under a lady’s skirts.
“I assume since you are a professional that my language doesn’t disturb you?” he continued.
Oh, how she wished to hit him over the head with the teapot. She raised her chin. “I prefer good manners, Mr. Rose. To my way of thinking that means polite conversation, which does not include coarse words.”