"It amazes me,
Saint, that you can own so few redeemable qualities and still be so likable."
"Did you hear that?" the duke asked with a wide grin, turning to Dare. "She said papa.'"
The viscount returned the candy dish and tea tray to the relocated end table. "I distinctly heard baboon."
"Hm, well, you're distinctly deaf."
Saint took a seat at the main faro table at the Society club. "What the devil is a ladies' political tea?"
Tristan Carroway, Viscount Dare, finished placing his wager, then sat back, reaching for his glass of port. "Do I look like a dictionary?"
"You're domesticated." Saint motioned for a glass of his own, despite unfriendly looks from the tables other players. "What is it?"
"I'm not domesticated; I'm in love. You should try it. Does wonders for your outlook on life."
"I'll take your word for it, thank you."
"I don't think there'll be a next time, my lady." Saint smiled. "But thank you for the offer."
Her eyebrows lifted in surprise. "You're welcome. My, my, manners. Where have you been, church?"
For a long moment the butler sat in silence, his jaw hanging open. "I . . . my lord, I simply don't feel qualified to advise you about such matters."
"Don't tell me that," Saint protested. "Tell me whether you can imagine me as a married man or not."
To his surprise, the butler set aside his brandy snifter and sat forward. "My lord, I do not wish to overstep my bounds, but I have noticed a ... change in your demeanor, of late. The question of whether anyone can imagine you married or not, however, is one I believe must be answered by you. And the lady, of course."
Saint frowned. "Coward."
"There is that, as well."
Never interrupt a lady when she is speaking to you, as if what you have to say is more important.
"Did you hear that?" the duke asked with a wide grin, turning to Dare. "She said papa.'"
The viscount returned the candy dish and tea tray to the relocated end table. "I distinctly heard baboon."
"Hm, well, you're distinctly deaf."
Saint took a seat at the main faro table at the Society club. "What the devil is a ladies' political tea?"
Tristan Carroway, Viscount Dare, finished placing his wager, then sat back, reaching for his glass of port. "Do I look like a dictionary?"
"You're domesticated." Saint motioned for a glass of his own, despite unfriendly looks from the tables other players. "What is it?"
"I'm not domesticated; I'm in love. You should try it. Does wonders for your outlook on life."
"I'll take your word for it, thank you."
"I don't think there'll be a next time, my lady." Saint smiled. "But thank you for the offer."
Her eyebrows lifted in surprise. "You're welcome. My, my, manners. Where have you been, church?"
For a long moment the butler sat in silence, his jaw hanging open. "I . . . my lord, I simply don't feel qualified to advise you about such matters."
"Don't tell me that," Saint protested. "Tell me whether you can imagine me as a married man or not."
To his surprise, the butler set aside his brandy snifter and sat forward. "My lord, I do not wish to overstep my bounds, but I have noticed a ... change in your demeanor, of late. The question of whether anyone can imagine you married or not, however, is one I believe must be answered by you. And the lady, of course."
Saint frowned. "Coward."
"There is that, as well."
Never interrupt a lady when she is speaking to you, as if what you have to say is more important.
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