“This is the best party I’ve been to all season,” Gaynor said, searching for something to say. “You should have them more often.”
“This one cost me a fortune. I’d be ruined after two or three more.”
“Then I recommend you start going after girls who can put money into your pocket, and not the kind only looking to take it out.”
Patrick sat forward on the sofa. “What do you mean?”
“Oh, Kyre, you cannot really be that na?ve.” Gaynor leaned toward him. “Linley Talbot-Martin is using you. How else do you think they fund their precious archaeological expeditions? And the way I hear it, you aren’t the first gentleman who’s fallen victim.”
“You shouldn’t lie, Gaynor,” Patrick said. “It does terrible things for your complexion.”
Instead of being insulted, she laughed. “Look at her, practically throwing herself at poor Allard—and you know he would be all too willing to take her up on her offer.”
He scanned the crowd, looking for the familiar green and blue fabric of Linley’s dress. Sure enough, she stood near the marble fireplace giggling at something Allard Robeson said. In all his adult years, Patrick had never been a jealous man, but seeing Linley putting herself on display that like sparked something inside of him. Something unpleasant.
He knew better than to believe anything Gaynor told him, but he was not so blind that he couldn’t recognize flirting when he saw it. And at that moment, Linley was definitely flirting.
Patrick stood up and walked over to her. Placing a hand on Linley’s elbow, he asked, “Could I speak with you? It’s important.”
“Of course,” she said.
Patrick turned to Allard. “Surely you don’t mind if I borrow Miss Talbot-Martin for a moment?”
The young man blinked at him. “Miss Talbot-Martin?”
To her horror, Linley realized Allard Robeson had not the slightest clue who the Miss Talbot-Martin in question was, even though she had been talking with him for a quarter of an hour. He looked at Patrick, then at her, and then at Patrick again before something finally registered.
“Certainly, Kyre,” Allard said, his fingers clenching the glass in his hand as if it took all his willpower not to bash the man’s skull in with it. “You do as you please.”
Patrick led Linley through the drawing room and into the less-crowded foyer. Taking her hand, he pulled her up the stairs. Once on the upper floor, they ducked around the corner of a long, unlit corridor.
The upstairs had not been cleaned or repainted like the lower rooms of the house. Linley took one look at the darkened hallway and started to back away.
“Don’t worry. I just want to talk to you,” Patrick said, seeing her distress.
She still wasn’t convinced. “Aren’t there plenty of rooms downstairs where we could talk?”
“Not where I wouldn’t have to worry about someone listening in.” He took a few steps forward, causing Linley to press her back against the heavily brocaded wall.
“I just think that now isn’t really the time…or the place to be having this sort of conversation. Besides…” She swallowed. “You aren’t acting like yourself.”
He looked into her wide eyes. “How would you know how I act? The entire time I’ve known you, I’ve been nothing but your devoted lapdog. I have done everything I could to get your attention. But it seems you only have eyes for Allard Robeson.”
“That is not true!”
“No?” he asked. “I take you to dinner and you can hardly talk of anyone else. I throw this ball for you, and yet I look over and see you flirting with him.”
“Patrick, the man didn’t even know my name. How could we have been—”
“Even worse! You’ve no idea what lengths I’ve gone to just to make this night a reality,” he told her. “Then to look over and see you wasting your energy on a man who doesn’t even know—or care—what your name is…” Patrick paused and shook his head. “The sight of you together turned my stomach. And to have Gaynor in my ear whispering all sorts of vile things about you—Damnit, Linley, don’t you remember at Claridge’s when I told you I was jealous of Allard Robeson? Does that mean nothing to you? Since the moment you arrived, I’ve turned London inside-out and laid it at your feet, yet you don’t bat an eye in my direction.”
“I’m sorry Patrick. I—I’m not accustomed to flirtations. When you kissed me in the museum, I thought perhaps you liked me. But when you refused to kiss me afterward, even when I practically begged you for it, your actions led me to believe we were nothing more than friends.”
He slid his arm around her waist. “So it’s kisses that you want.”