‘I am not jealous.’ At least, she hoped she wasn’t. It was not as if she had sought out Ben Lovell’s attention. But why did life seem so much more exciting when she had it, and so disappointing now that she knew what he really thought?
‘That is a shame.’ He rested a finger on her cheek like a Judas kiss. ‘If it is not that, then I must assume that, based on what you have heard of my past, your problem is nothing more than snobbery. In my opinion, pride is an even greater sin than envy.’
‘You are too quick to assume the worst in me, Mr Lovell. It is not conceit that keeps me from helping you. It is that...’ How could she explain without ruining her sister’s chances with another? ‘Belle is a special.’
‘And I am not,’ he finished for her, wilfully misunderstanding. ‘You think I am all right for a tussle in the dark, of course. But not good enough to marry your sister.’
‘We are not...tussling,’ she said. Not yet, at least.
‘Well, let me inform you of the truth, Miss Amelia, since you are so quick to assume you understand me. Despite what people might think, my birth was as legitimate as yours. Perhaps my pedigree would not be to your liking. But I have come far in life and mean to go further still. I will do it with or without the help of your family. At the very least...’
He reached behind her and she heard the click of a door handle that had apparently been unlocked all along. ‘I have the sense to discover facts for myself and not assume the worst, just because I was told something by another. Good evening, Miss Summoner.’
And with that, he was gone, leaving her to retrieve her fallen glove and slink off to the retiring room to regain her composure.
Chapter Eight
In the carriage on the way home, Ben stretched his feet in front of him, staring at the toes of his boots as Templeton yammered on about the evening from the seat opposite.
‘Normally, I prefer lighter fare. A sprightly tune on a decent pianoforte. Something that one can hum the next day. But tonight’s soloist wasn’t half bad.’
Ben grunted in response. When he’d finally made his way to the music room, he had been too wrapped in his own thoughts to notice the entertainment.
‘It is a shame you missed the first few songs. There was an absolute cracker with high notes that rattled the windows. It was in Italian, I think. I had no idea what she was saying. But still...’
He doubted Templeton had heard a word of what was sung, being far too preoccupied by the lovely lady at his side during the performance. From his seat in the last row, Ben had watched the pair of them, heads tipped towards each other, bobbing in time to the music.
The only saving grace of the evening was that there had been no repeat meeting with Amy Summoner. Miss Arabella had needed to depart immediately after the concert because Miss Amelia had taken ill at the beginning of the evening and stayed in the retiring room so as not to spoil her sister’s enjoyment of the music.
Ha! When he’d heard the excuse, he’d wanted to shout to the whole room that, unless being green with envy was a debilitating condition, Amy Summoner was as right as the rest of them. She was simply hiding in the retiring room, waiting for the best time to reappear and ruin her sister’s evening.
And his as well. His sole purpose in going to the event was to court the sweet and innocent Miss Belle. Instead, he’d spent the whole evening brooding over a woman who was as tempting as Circe and twice as dangerous. What had he been thinking to shut himself up in a cupboard with her? He’d have been safer climbing into the tiger cage at the royal menagerie.
‘Of course, if I had spent the evening making my own music, I doubt I’d have missed it.’ He looked up to find Templeton staring at him with a knowing smile.
‘What the devil are you talking about?’ he said, daring the man to answer.
‘You were absent from the room for several minutes after we arrived. I assumed it was because of a clandestine meeting with a member of the fair sex.’
‘Do not talk rot.’ Under his bluster, he felt the beginnings of panic. Who else had noticed his absence? What conclusions had been drawn?
Templeton took a deep breath. ‘So the lingering scent of cologne I detect means nothing?’
Ben gave him what he hoped was a quelling glare. ‘If you smell something, it is probably that bay concoction I picked up from Floris.’
Templeton gave another sniff. ‘Definitely not. And it is not the lavender scent that Miss Arabella wears. I think what I smell is called Florida Water. Imported. Light, but exotic.’
Ben deepened his glare. ‘Since when have you become an authority on ladies’ colognes?’
Templeton raised his hands in denial. ‘Not an authority, dear fellow. The scent is distinctive. Few wear it. In fact, only one woman I can think of.’