Talk of the Ton (Free Fellows League 5)
That surprised him greatly; he looked up to see if she was jesting as he handed her the plate. “Of me?”
“Mmm. He once said that your reputation was born of what little society really knew about you, but that you were far greater than they knew.”
Darien arched a brow in surprise. “He said that of me, did he?”
She nodded, bit into the chicken. “It’s delicious!” She gave him a pleased smile that he rather suspected would entice men to move mountains. “Richard knew of your charitable works, of course. And your endowment for the boys’ school.”
It was Darien’s turn to color slightly—his endowment was not something about which he cared to speak. That sort of information invariably brought beggars and charlatans crawling out of the woodwork looking for money.
“Does that disconcert you?” she asked, smiling softly.
“A bit,” he admitted with a wry smile. “But not for the reasons I think you’d believe. It’s just that I’d rather keep that sort of effort to myself.”
“Your secret is quite safe with me,” she said lightly. “And besides, I rather enjoy hearing the other things people know about you. I’d hate to cast you in a favorable light and dash all their presumptions to pieces.”
“What other things, if I may?” he playfully demanded.
Kate shrugged and bit the top off the asparagus spear. “I can hardly be specific, you know. There are so many things said. And written. And debated.”
“Are there, indeed?”
“Mmm. The on-dits in the society pages, you know. Whether or not you were actually seen at Vauxhall Gardens with Lady Spencer on your arm, or was it, perhaps, Lady Penshurst?”
“Lady Penshurst?” Darien cried, almost choking on the roasted chicken. “Madam, I’d rather be drawn and quartered than accompany Lady Penshurst so far as the garderobe!”
“My lord!” Kate cried with a burst of laughter.
“I’m quite serious,” Darien insisted. “There was never a more disagreeable woman in all of England, you may rest assured!”
“But you do not object to Lady Spencer?” she asked coyly.
Darien lifted a brow. “No more than you object to Connery, or Anglesey, or—”
“Yes, yes, I take your meaning,” she said with a dismissive flick of her wrist. “It seems as if my reputation has taken a rather strange turn, for reasons I am happily ignorant.”
Frankly, Darien had wondered about that—oh honestly, when it came to Kate, he wondered about everything. What did she eat? When did she sleep? How did she look with her hair completely unbound and mussed? Did her sleepy morning eyes still shimmer with her spirit? What books did she read? What thoughts did she have? Who did she love?
“Do you miss him?” he suddenly blurted, and mentally kicked himself for voicing the question aloud.
To her credit, Kate did not seem either appalled or surprised. She put aside her plate and girlishly lay back on the pillows, rolling onto her belly. “I missed him terribly at first,” she said, looking out at the rain. “But I don’t think of him as often now.” She glanced at Darien from the corner of her eye. “Do you think me horrible?”
“Not in the least,” he assured her. “Time has a rather cruel way of marching on.”
“Yes, rather determinedly, I’ve noticed. I still think of Richard, I do. And I treasure the time that we had. But it seems that as of late, there is someone else occupying my thoughts.”
Darien stilled. “Is there?”
“There is,” she said, smiling again, lifting her funny walking boots above her knees.
“Not Connery, I should hope.”
She laughed lightly and rolled onto her side, propping her hand beneath her head, “It’s hardly Connery. The man is intolerable.”
Darien put his plate aside and calmly wiped his mouth with a linen napkin as he considered that. “Then might I be so bold as to inquire?”
She laughed, put her hand reassuringly on his forearm. “Can you not guess, my lord? After all, I turned the other gentlemen away.”
The gentle, lusty timbre of her voice wrapped around him, and Darien impulsively reached for her hand. But Kate startled him by catching his hand in hers, her long, delicate fingers closing tightly around his.