Chapter 14

Chapter

Fourteen

T here was little chance she was going to return to dinner. The sight of Lord Tyndall and Lady Masters, a known lover of his, was enough to turn anyone's stomach off the roasted Cygnet that her mama was to have served.

And yet, she could not hide out forever in her room. She needed to return and stomach watching Lady Masters fawn over Tyndall as if he were the only man worth having.

He was not. And the sooner the gentleman knew it, the better.

She left her room and returned downstairs, taking her seat beside Mr. Venzellons with an air of nonchalance that was only skin deep.

She could not stand watching another woman remember her night of passion with her enemy—a man who thought too much of himself.

She set her napkin on her lap and reached for her wine.

"I hope all is well, Lady Genevieve?" Mr. Venzellons asked, his kindness unparalleled. She enjoyed his company. He was personable and amusing and always made her laugh.

But something was missing—that spark that she and her friends had often spoken of—chemistry, a hunger that rumbled and grew in size whenever the one gentleman who you did admire was around.

She glanced across the table and met the eyes of Tyndall, who was watching her.

He was trying to figure her out, or at least understand why she had left the table no doubt. He would not be amused if he learned it was because the sight of Lady Masters fawning over him was enough to make her eye twitch.

Why though?

She loathed him—and had done so for years. He was a bully, and he had teased her about her hair, which she had worn down this evening if only to spite him. She had done so, believing that he would look upon her distastefully, just as he had many years before, and her choice would become all the more clear.

And yet, that had not happened.

Quite the opposite in fact. He'd looked taken aback, more enthralled than she'd ever seen him before.

Blasted man needed to work out his mind and feelings.

"All is fine, thank you. I just remembered I'd left my knitting a little too close to the fire in my room."

"Of course," Venzellons replied, clearing his throat. "Have I told you this evening that you look exceptionally beautiful tonight?" He picked up her hand and kissed her gloved fingers.

Genevieve wished the butterflies that continually fluttered in her stomach when she was around Tyndall would do the same for Venzellons, but they did not.

She tried her best to smile, to appear pleased. How disappointing her body was to her. He was so deadly handsome and rich, and he would give her an exciting and different life. And what did she do in return?

Nothing. She felt absolutely nothing at all.

She reached for her wine yet again and Venzellons placed his hand atop hers, stopping her. "Do not gorge too much on the red, Lady Genevieve. You'll be in your cups and unable to hold a proper conversation with me this evening."

She stared at him, waited for him to remove his hand, and then lifted the crystal glass, bringing it to her lips. "I'm parched. I shall drink whenever I choose, Mr. Venzellons." Why on earth was he restricting her so? He'd never been so high-handed before.

"I merely do not wish for our night to be ruined if you're foxed."

"Having a glass or two of wine during dinner will not end in me being foxed." My word, she'd never been foxed in her life and wasn't about to start dallying in the occupation during one of her mother's dinner parties.

"Would you like me to refill your glass?"

Tyndall's deep baritone carried across to her, and she looked at him. He was standing, had procured the red from a footman, and was poised to refill her glass.

"Thank you, yes." She heard Venzellons clear his throat, the tightening of his mouth clearly stating his annoyance Tyndall was supporting her instead of agreeing with him.

"Well, I never thought I'd see the day that an earl would be the footman at a dinner party," Venzellons bellowed, making everyone at the table aware of what Tyndall was doing.

"I never thought I'd see the day that a man of no rank tutored a duke's daughter on how she should behave at a dinner party—one being held by her parents, no less. But perhaps they do things differently in America than here."

"Oh, we do things differently. I can assure you, Lord Tyndall, that no wife of mine would drink in excess, whether at a dinner party of her parents or our own that we're hosting."

"How riveting your dinner parties will be, Mr. Venzellons. Do make sure I'm invited. I'd hate to miss out on all the fun."

"Gentlemen, gentlemen, do enjoy the delicious boiled fowl," her father announced, trying to halt the disagreement between the two dinner guests.

Tyndall finished pouring her glass of wine, before sitting and glaring at Mr. Venzellons.

Venzellons mimicked Tyndall, and a stand-off of sorts commenced for a few heartbeats.

Genevieve picked up her wine and took another sip, ignoring the pointed stare emanating from her left.

What on earth had come over Mr. Venzellons this evening, being the way he was? They were not married yet, and he had no right to chastise her or try to halt her from enjoying her mother's delicious claret.

Thankfully, dinner progressed well after this little outburst, and they were soon back in the withdrawing room, enjoying the fire and Lady Poyntz, who played the pianoforte.

Venzellons stood with her father. His gesturing and furrowed brow did not bode well for her papa's enjoyment of his after-dinner drinks.

"I fear your future husband is angry and right now explaining why he is so to your father. Do you think the duke will listen for long or soon bellow the sod away and ask not to be disturbed any longer?"

Genevieve cringed. "I fear from looking at Papa that Mr. Venzellons will soon learn not to displease the duke with his opinions." She turned to Tyndall, reaching up before thinking better of it and clasping his upper arm. "Thank you for pouring me my wine. It saved me from acting like a termagant, which I fear Mr. Venzellons would not approve of. Not for his wife."

"And yet I have heard that he enjoys hellcats in every other aspect of his life. Quite odd, is it not, that he would want his wife to be meek and mild."

"Odd indeed." Genevieve snapped her mouth closed. Why was she agreeing with Tyndall? It would only make him all the more opinionated toward the man she'd chosen to marry.

"I'm glad you've seen sense. I hope this means that you will not marry Mr. Venzellons should he ask."

"Why should I not marry him? Just because he cautioned me on drinking too much wine this evening does not mean he would always do so."

"And if that is what it means, what will you do then? You'll be all the way over in America. We cannot lean across the table then and save your pert ass."

"I never asked you to save my ass, Tyndall."

He narrowed his eyes, glaring at her. "I think your unwillingness to see sense maybe means that you need to be made to see sense."

"Really?" Genevieve turned her nose up in the air, her tone mocking. "And I suppose you're the gentleman to do the teaching."

"I may have to be." He paused. "Have you stopped sneaking out to events not meant for innocent, young, unmarried ladies like yourself?"

"I would not tell you that even if I had. This is my life, and I shall live it as I see fit."

"I will tell your father if you do not cease this madness."

"And I shall tell him how you kissed me, my lord." She grinned, remembering the feel of his mouth on hers, his tongue, his hands… "Do not forget that we both have secrets we wish to keep hidden."

"You drive me to distraction, Genevieve."

"You forgot to say Lady before my name, my lord. Do not forget again."