Page 39 of A Match Made On Duchess Square

“I do not.” Although her insides warmed and her heart began to flutter once again with ridiculous abandon. “Absolutely not.”

He eased back in his chair. “Fine, you are now ruled out. But that will not change my mind about the ladies you have chosen for me. The one who rises above you in my estimation is the one I will marry. Think of yourself as a goalpost.”

Her eyes widened. “A goalpost?”

“Yes, and the lady who runs past you shall be declared the winner.”

“And claim you as the prize?”

He nodded. “Is that not entirely the point?”

Goodness, he was irritating. And being purposely annoying.

“Speaking of points,” she said, pouring herself another glass, one she promised herself would be her last because not just the room but everything in it was spinning, “promise me you will give Miss Pointy Nose a proper chance. Her name is Lady Millicent Hanford, by the way. I do hope you have not forgotten it already. Is there anything wrong with her other than her pointed nose?”

“I have no idea. I never got beyond the problem of her nose before dismissing her from contention.”

“In addition to being beautiful,” she said, for Millicent had a lovely head of chestnut hair and hazel eyes, “she speaks three languages fluently, adores traveling, is an excellent equestrienne, and sings like a nightingale.”

“All well and good, but she will still poke my eye out if I try to kiss her while we are frolicking in bed. No man will ‘rise to the occasion,’ so to speak, if he fears losing an eyeball whilst in the throes of passion.”

She should have ordered a steaming mint tea, because it was a safer drink to imbibe…and this man was certainly driving her to drink with his nonsensical babble. Since all she had in front of her was her freshly refilled glass, she grabbed it and took a healthy sip.

Oh dear. How many had she had? Why was he not stopping her?

Why was she not stopping herself?

Grumbling, she took another hefty sip before addressing him again. “You are beyond belief.”

“Slow down, sailor,” he said as she reached for the bottle again. “I’ll be carrying you out in my arms if you polish off another glass.”

She ignored him and licked the remaining droplets in her glass. He was not the only one who could be irritating and contrary.

“Oh, James.” She caught her head in her hands as it began to spin.

Her stomach, already in a roil since this morning, was now in full revolt. Between the glass or two of wine she’d had with her supper and now the Madeira that was much more potent than she’d realized, she had overdone it.

Good grief.

She tipped her chin up in a failed attempt to maintain her dignity. Was this what overindulging felt like? She wanted to drop her head to the table and leave it there until the morning.

Did Milbury know? Could he tell?

He rose and came to her side.

“Let me tell you about the other two ladies I’ve chosen for you,” she said as he helped her out of her seat and then wrapped his arms around her.

“Gwen, I think I had better take you back to your room now. You can describe them to me another time.”

“But this is important,” she insisted.

He sighed. “Fine, tell me as I walk you to your bedchamber.”

“Tell you what? Oh, yes. The other two prospects. Miss Eleanor Newquay, she’s the niece of the Marquess of Dedham.”

“That arse,” he muttered. “And the other?”

“Miss Jane Whitsam, youngest daughter of the Duke of Laburnum.”