Three Nights with a Scoundrel (Stud Club #3)

If Mr. Bellamy arrived. She slid a glance toward the empty chair at her right. His absence was upsetting her own balance, greatly. She stared at the vacant seat with angry desperation, as though Julian might materialize on the striped damask if only she willed it fiercely enough. He’d promised to come. He’d given his word.

Looking beyond his empty chair, she flashed a halfhearted smile at the three young lieutenants holding down the far end of the table. They immediately ceased casting doleful looks at their empty plates and grinned in return. So young, so hungry. If any of them were older than twenty, Lily would be astounded. When she’d been introduced to them earlier, they’d practically tumbled over one another to take her hand. Now she gave them a polite nod of greeting, and they all replied at once, speaking and laughing amongst themselves.

Hopeless.

Beneath the table, she balled her hands in frustration. This never happened to her with Julian. He was much easier to lip-read than most people, simply because he was so expressive. She didn’t catch his every word, but she could always gather his meaning. He seemed to intuit how to make it easier. He rarely forgot to face her when they conversed, never spoke too quickly or in confusing circles, repeated himself before she even had to ask.

But then, Julian did have one advantage over these men. He knew she was deaf.

She acted on the decision swiftly, before she could reconsider. Placing her hands on the table, she rose to her feet. The men looked to one another, then began to push back their own chairs and stand, in accordance with etiquette.

“No, please.” Lily motioned for them to stay seated. “I have something to say, and it will only take a moment.” She resisted the urge to put a hand to her throat, hoping those years of work with speech tutors would serve her well. “My old friends know this, but just so my new friends are equally aware … I lost my hearing several years ago, while stricken with fever. I’m deaf.”

The mood of the guests altered instantly. In the space of a moment, they’d gone from casually admiring her to examining her with keen curiosity. Rather like garden show attendees who’d moved on from a pleasing clump of pink tea roses to an exhibit of carnivorous spotwort from the Amazon. All around the table, heads tilted and jaws went slack.

She breathed in, then out. “I do read lips, but it’s difficult for me to follow conversation in a group. All I ask is, if you mean to talk to me, please face me and speak clearly. If you merely wish to talk about me, well … Now you know, you may do so with impunity.”

A ginger-haired lieutenant chuckled, then smothered the laugh with his palm. A horrified expression overtook his eyes.

“It’s all right,” she assured him as she took her seat. “Please do laugh. I meant it as a joke. There’s no need to mince around my feelings.”

The commander drew her attention with a light tap on her wrist. “But we are officers of the Royal Navy, my lady. Your protection is our duty. It would be the height of rudeness for any of our number to speak over or around you.” To his lieutenants, he said, “If any one of you wishes to speak—to anyone, for any reason—you will stand and face Lady Lily. One at a time, mind you.”

“Really, Commander,” Lily said, “that isn’t necessary.”

“Perhaps not. But it should prove amusing.” He gave her a little wink as he reached for his empty wineglass. “We shall put these new officers to the test.” He tilted his head and called around her, “Lieutenants! Who among you will take wine?”

Lily swiveled her head in time to catch the three young men exchanging frantic glances. Finally, the ginger-haired one rose to his feet, faced Lily directly, and said, “I will take wine, sir. And be glad of it.”

The second one stood. “Sir, if it please you and our esteemed hosts, I, too, will take wine.”

The youngest of the three, a pup who wore his dark hair in the ruffled style Julian had made popular, stood, grinned, and said simply, “Me!” before retaking his seat.

Lily laughed, more from nerves than amusement.

The commander touched his sleeve to hers, giving her a merry look before barking out, “Lieutenants! Red or white?”

The ginger-haired one took the lead again. “Red.” He smiled at Lily. “Naturally.”

“White,” said the second.

The third shot to his feet. “Both, if I may.”

The table and plateware shook with the officers’ laughter. At the head of the table, Lily thought she saw the duke frown.

Amelia caught her eye. Do you mind? her expression tacitly asked.

Lily shook her head in the negative. The game was a bit theatrical, she supposed, and no doubt the commander was flaunting his authority to impress. But she would choose to interpret his idea as considerate, not crass. Perhaps he meant to sacrifice his lieutenants’ pride to make her feel more comfortable, so any laughter or embarrassment in the course of the meal would be at their expense, not hers.

Once the wine had been poured, the servants began covering the table with soup tureens and domed platters.