“Tell me, sir,” Clarissa said, “isn’t that line about the ‘ambrosial odors’ from Paradise Lost?”
His gaze swung back to her. “I thought you only read gothic novels.”
“I do.” She slid him a teasing look. “Fortunately, Milton’s poem was quoted in one.”
“That’s cheating. It’s like using a tune from an opera for a nursery rhyme.”
The ladies laughed outright, and he actually smiled. Perhaps that was the key—to draw his fire so he might sharpen his wit on her. “And what, pray tell, is your problem with gothic novels, anyway?”
“That they exist,” he said bluntly.
Miss Trevor went into gales of laughter. Clarissa didn’t find it so amusing, especially since the other women undoubtedly read them, too. “That is not an answer.”
“You expect a serious answer to a frivolous question?” he said.
“Why is it any more frivolous to enjoy a good tale of adventure in a book than to watch a similar tale on the stage?” Clarissa asked.
“The last time I checked, there were no governesses wandering around castles in plays.”
“No, but there are ghosts in Macbeth. And Hamlet.”
“She’s got you there, Lord Blakeborough,” Miss Trevor put in.
He ignored her. “It’s Shakespeare,” he told Clarissa. “Surely you aren’t going to compare the likes of The Monk to Shakespeare.”
Since she hated The Monk, that wasn’t possible. Feeling cornered, she crossed her arms over her chest. “When was the last time you even went to a play?” Take that, Mr. Oh-So-Sure-of-Your-Opinions.
“I go occasionally,” he said, a tad defensively.
“I go regularly, so I should hope that my opinion on the subject has more weight.”
“It certainly has more weight with you,” he said. “Though I’m not sure how much weight it has with anyone else.”
The ladies tittered again and formed themselves into a group about him, as if to protect him from her. The irony of it didn’t escape her. Good Lord, she’d created a monster.
She was about to give him quite the set-down when Lady Maribella’s mother stepped into the room to announce that tea and cakes were being served in the garden.
At once the ladies headed that way, but when Miss Trevor tried to tug Edwin with her, he murmured some excuse and hung back to accompany Clarissa. With a glare, she hurried past him.
That didn’t work. Curse his long strides. He kept pace with her easily. “I swear I have no idea what just happened,” he murmured.
“I do,” she said crossly. “You gathered a group of sycophants to applaud your every word.”
“I was only doing what you advised.”
A pox on him. “I know.”
“But I didn’t expect it to actually work.”
She sighed. “People enjoy criticism of anything or anyone but themselves. As long as you aim your barbs away from your subject, you’ll impress the ladies.”
“But not you.”
“You aimed your barbs at me, so, no. But it doesn’t matter. You’re not trying to impress me.”
They were the last to leave the building, so he stopped her before she could go out into the garden. “And if I were? What must a man do to impress you?”
The direct question made her suspicious. It wasn’t like him to speak of her as if she might be a woman who interested him romantically. “Rather like you and your automatons, I’m not about to tell you and risk your mockery.”
A sudden remorse flickered in his eyes. “I shouldn’t have mocked your reading tastes in front of the other women.”
The unexpected apology did something funny to her insides. “Why not?” she said, hating the hint of breathlessness in her voice. “You mock my reading tastes all the time.”
“As you do mine. But when it’s done before an audience, it takes on a different tone. It’s less like a ‘merry war,’ to use Shakespeare’s term, than a personal attack. While it may have entertained them, it’s something a boorish clod would do—and I’m trying to learn not to behave like one.”
That showed more insight into personal relations than Clarissa expected. “You’re being too hard on yourself.” When his gaze warmed, she felt a strange panic. Edwin was proving far more appealing than she’d realized. Hastily, she added, “Besides, I’m used to your boorish ways.”
“Ah.” But he smiled. He wasn’t taken in. “Used to them or not, you know I must learn to alter them for the nonce. So let me make sure I understand the strategy: I can say cutting things as long as they’re directed at other than the ladies I wish to impress.”
“Exactly.”
“I shall never understand women.” Though they could see everyone milling about the garden, eating and drinking a few yards from them, inside the museum it was deserted. Somehow being on this side of the threshold gave the illusion that they were private, although all it would take was for someone to veer close to the doorway to hear them.
As if he realized that, he lowered his voice. “At least I don’t have to blather a lot of ridiculous compliments.”
“Of course you do. You need both—wit to demonstrate your intelligence, and compliments to demonstrate your amiability.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, that makes no sense.”