Page 41 of To Break the Rules

“Oh, damned with faint praise,” he said, shaking his head with a mournful expression. “That means you think me a dull dog.”

“No!” Matilda protested, laughing. “I assure you it does not. If you know anything of my background, as you apparently do, then you’ll know I’m sincere.”

He smiled at her then, holding her gaze, his eyes warm and intent as he lowered his voice.

“As am I, Miss Hunt.”

His intimate tone was full of sincerity, and she knew he would court her if she encouraged his advances. The breathless sensation only increased as panic rose in her chest.

The evening wore on and the conversation grew ever more animated as the wine flowed.

Unless you were the Marquess of Montagu.

Despite doing her level best to ignore him completely, Matilda could not help but notice he drank little and spoke less, only adding enough to the flow of chatter to ensure he wasn’t insulting his hostess. When he spoke, he was charming and urbane, but he did not turn his attention to Matilda, for which she was grateful. Except she had the disquieting sense he was paying a great deal of attention to the conversation she was having with Mr Burton.

Mr Burton proved himself to be a wonderful dining companion. He was full of amusing stories but never dominated the conversation wherever possible; he spoke only to Matilda, asking her endless questions about herself, her interests, and her hopes for the future. His attention flattered and warmed her, and she found herself enjoying his company, and hating herself for enjoying even more the fact that the marquess well knew it.

Mrs Manning had suggested that their convivial little group—or at least those at her end of the table—should visit Green Park to see the Revolving Temple of Concord. The apparently impressive, though temporary, structure had been built to celebrate the victory over Napoleon and would culminate in a huge fireworks display on the first of August. As most of the ton would escape the heat of the city in the following weeks, retreating to their country estates, Mrs Manning proposed it would be a lovely way to bring the season to a close.

“What say you, Lord Cavendish?” she asked, turning the full force of her magnetic charisma towards him.

“I am at your disposal, naturally,” he said with a charming smile, though there was no one at the table in any doubt that his attention was all for Lucia.

“It sounds a wonderful idea,” Mr Burton agreed with his easy smile, as Mrs Manning sought his opinion.

At this moment, Matilda’s hold on the conversation shattered, however.

She had just set down her fork, her left hand still resting upon the table top beside it, when Montagu’s hand brushed against hers.

Her breath caught.

She glanced down, to see his hand was curled around the stem of his wine glass, his attention focused on the conversation. Yet his little finger moved, just enough to slide against hers in a tiny caress.

It ought to have been insignificant, so brief was the contact, yet awareness rushed over her skin in a prickling wave of heat. Her flesh seemed to tighten over her bones, as though it no longer fit her, every inch oversensitive and acutely aware of his proximity. He repeated the delicate stroke and it mortified her to feel an answering tug of desire in a place that had no business being tantalised by such a man.

She was dimly conscious of his hand moving away as the table’s attention turned towards them.

“Miss Hunt?”

No. Not to them.

To her.

Matilda snapped out of the daze she’d been lost in, a scalding blush heating her cheeks.

“I-I do beg your pardon,” she stammered, turning back to Mr Burton who was giving her a curious look. “I’m afraid I was wool gathering.”

She was horribly aware of the marquess then, knowing he knew damn well he’d stolen her attention from Mr Burton—not to mention her wits—with such ease.

Mr Burton smiled. “I was just asking if you and Miss de Feria would do us—that is, myself and Lord Cavendish—the honour of accompanying us to Green Park for the fireworks.”

“I’m afraid we’ve already made such arrangements.”

Matilda jolted and turned to stare at Montagu in shock.

He’d never just—

He was regarding Mr Burton placidly, his expression belying the fact he was lying through his teeth. “I have already asked the ladies and will be escorting Miss Hunt and Miss de Feria. Unless perhaps you wish to change the arrangements?”