Lord of Scoundrels - Loretta Chase [20]
"Miss Trent," he said, "I am sure all the other girls at school found your wit hilarious. Perhaps, however, if you would stop batting your eyelashes for a moment, your vision would clear and you would notice that I am not a little schoolgirl."
She hadn't been batting her eyelashes. When Jessica did play coquette, it was purposely and purposefully, and she was certainly not such a moron as to try that method with Beelzebub.
"Batting?" she repeated. "I never bat, my lord. "This is what I do." She looked away toward an attractive Frenchman seated nearby, then shot Dain one swift, sidelong glance. "That isn't batting," she said, releasing the instantly bedazzled Frenchman and returning to full focus upon Dain.
Though one could hardly believe it possible, his expression became grimmer still.
"I am not a school boy, either," he said. "I recommend you save those slaying glances for the sorts of young sapskulls who respond to them."
The Frenchman was now gazing at her with besotted fascination. Dain turned and looked at him. The man instantly looked away and began talking animatedly with his companions.
She recollected Genevieve's warning. Jessica couldn't be certain Dain had any active thoughts of reeling her in. She could see, however, that he'd just posted a No Fishing sign.
A thrill coursed through her, but that was only to be expected. It was the primitive reaction of a female when an attractive male displayed the usual bad-natured signs of proprietorship. She was hammeringly aware that her feelings about him were decidedly primitive.
On the other hand, she was not completely out of her mind.
She could see Big Trouble brewing.
It was easy enough to see. Scandal followed wherever he went. Jessica had no intention of being caught in the midst of it.
"I was merely providing a demonstration of a subtle distinction which had apparently escaped you," she said. "Subtlety, I collect, is not your strong point."
"If this is a subtle way of reminding me that I overlooked what your gimlet eyes perceived in that dirt-encrusted picture— "
"You apparently did not look very closely even when it was clean," she said. "Because then you would have recognized the work of the Stroganov school— and would not have offered the insulting sum of fifty quid for it."
His lip curled. "I didn't offer anything. I expressed an opinion."
"To test me," she said. "However, I know as well as you do that the piece is not only Stroganov school, but an extremely rare form. Even the most elaborate of the miniatures were usually chased in silver. Not to mention that the Madonna— "
"Has grey eyes, not brown," Dain said in a very bored voice.
"And she's almost smiling. Usually they look exceedingly unhappy."
"Cross, Miss Trent. They look exceedingly ill tempered. I suppose it's on account of being virgins— of experiencing all the unpleasantness of breeding and birthing and none of the jolly parts."
"Speaking on behalf of virgins everywhere, my lord," she said, leaning toward him a bit, "I can tell you there are a host of jolly experiences. One of them is owning a rare work of religious art worth, at the very minimum, five hundred pounds."
He laughed. "There's no need to inform me you're a virgin," he said. "I can spot one at fifty paces."
"Fortunately, I'm not so inexperienced in other matters," she said, unruffled. "I have no doubt Le Feuvre's mad Russian will pay me five hundred. I'm also aware that the Russian must be a good client for whom he wishes to make a shrewd purchase. Which means I should do considerably better at auction." She smoothed her gloves. "I have observed many times how men's wits utterly desert them once auction fever takes hold. There's no telling what outrageous bids will result."
Dain's eyes narrowed.
At that moment, their host sallied forth with their refreshments. With him were four lesser minions who bustled about, arranging linens, silver, and crockery with painful