Free Rhyme and Reason by Jo Ann Ferguson Page B

Valeria’s fault, but the rhythm of the line.
    She was too aware of Lord Wentworth standing at the back of the room, his arms folded over his chest, no expression on his face. He could have been one of the statues in the garden. His assurances that he enjoyed poetry had sounded hollow. Or had she wanted them to sound that way? If she could discount him as nothing more than a gamester, it would be easier to ignore her pleasure when he sought her out.
    Silk rustled behind her, and she glanced over her shoulder as a quivering hand grasped her arm. She stared into Miriam’s red-ringed eyes.
    “Emily, I can’t stay here,” Miriam whispered. She glanced toward the front of the room where Valeria was accepting the polite applause.
    Clapping along with the others, Emily saw Mr. Simpkins was standing behind Valeria. The man never seemed willing to emerge from the shadow of Valeria’s beauty. She sighed. This evening was taking a bad turn all around.
    “Get your bonnet, Miriam, and I shall make our farewells.”
    “Thank you.”
    Wanting to urge her sister to put aside her foolish dreams, Emily knew how silly that was. She had dreams of her own. Being free of the responsibility of her family and being able to write the book on gardens was a future she might savor only in her dreams. Patting her sister’s hand, she rose as Miriam went to collect their bonnets.
    She eased along the row of chairs and started toward Valeria. When a glass was held out to her, blocking her way, she looked past it to see Lord Wentworth’s smile.
    “Drink with me to our delight at the cessation of that mewling mess of words,” he said.
    “If you do not like the poems, you need not have stayed!”
    “There is no reason to leave until my companions at the card table do.” Chuckling, he added, “Allow me to join you on your journey which seems so incredibly crucial.”
    “Crucial?”
    “You were acting as single-minded as Simpkins when he is in pursuit of Lady Fanning. Your gaze focused on the floor, hands at your sides, and a frown on your face.”
    Emily could not keep from laughing when he aped Graham Simpkins’s mannerisms with ease.
    “Much better,” he said, straightening and offering her the glass again. “If you do not wish to drink to the end of the readings, then let us drink to something else.”
    “What would that be?”
    “Friendship.”
    “Ours?” she asked boldly.
    His eyes crinkled in his bronzed face. “Why not? Unless you think it would be a waste of good champagne.”
    “A waste?” She tapped her glass against his. “Anything is possible, my lord.”
    Taking a sip, he said, “Almost anything. I find it unlikely I will ever be a fan of the marquis’s poetry.”
    Emily fought to keep her smile in place. Why did he have to speak constantly of his distaste for her work? How she wished she could enlighten him, but the momentary pleasure of seeing his shock would come at the cost of her reputation and Miriam’s.
    “I hope your friend appreciated the book you bought,” she said quietly.
    “Yes.” He held her gaze as he took another drink.
    Blast this man! He had a facile gift for words, even when he used a single one, that she longed for.
    Raising her own glass, she said, “You need not worry, my lord. I have no interest in prying the name of the recipient from you. I was simply inquiring.”
    “I am not worried, Miss Talcott.” He held out his arm. “If I were to buy a gift for an incognita, it would not be something as chaste as a book of bird-witted poems.”
    “Chaste? Half the ladies in the room had rising color in their cheeks when Valeria read.”
    He drew her fingers within his arm. “And most of the men were trying not to chuckle, knowing they had said something as weak-minded to their convenient in order to court her favors.”
    “You are outrageous!”
    “So I have been told on numerous occasions.” He bent toward her as they walked across the room. “And you find it most amusing, Miss