The Hunger by Susan Squires Read Free Book Online Page B

touching that it still hurt him! She had resolved that nothing would ever hurt her again, not Asharti . . . not Stephan . . . not even her mother. “What I think,” she said, “is that young men of eighteen fall madly in love with quite unsuitable partners, and it is up to their parents or a mentor to guide them and protect them from the consequences of being young and highly sexed and romantical into the bargain. It seems someone failed you.”
    His eyes widened, almost imperceptibly.
    She continued. “I’ll wager you didn’t even know she was your half-sister. From what I know of your aristocracy, the country could be littered with half-siblings. I have heard Lady Jersey’s children called “the Miscellany” they have so many different fathers.”
    He swallowed, apparently not sure how to respond. Then he mastered himself. “You are very critical, for one of your reputation.”
    “What you mean to say is ‘very hypocritical,’ ” she observed. “And you are very critical of yourself. I’ll wager you threw yourself into being just as bad as everyone thought you. The Continent? That’s the usual refuge for brokenhearted young men.” She saw she had hit home.She could not help the softness she felt creeping into her smile. “Reputations . . . Well, if my reputation is no more deserved than yours, perhaps we should call a truce.” His eyes expressed his consternation clearly. She raised a brow.
    For a moment she thought he might shoot back some recital of her own reputation, trying to shock her. But apparently he realized that while very rude and satisfying, that would be a losing game. He breathed out, looked at his feet, then up, straight into her face. “Done.” He paused, and cleared his throat. “In that case, we should start over—”
    At that moment Ponsonby returned with two of his friends. “My apologies, Countess, but I was waylaid by these rogues and held at the champagne fountain at knifepoint.” The puppy had never been less welcome. He introduced Lord Sherrington. Melly she already knew. Sherrington looked eager. He was obviously angling for an invitation to her drawing room.
    Beatrix was suddenly tired of being all the rage. What were all these young admirers to her? Their adulation was so easily won it had no value. Still, they would prove a willing source to fill her Companion’s needs. She sighed. “You must come to see me. I shall send round cards, if you could arrange to be free on Thursday next.”
    “Ab . . . ab . . . absolutely,” Sherrington stuttered. His neck cloth was so high it poked at his cheeks. His blond, waving hair curled around his ears.
    “I shall bring him with me,” Melly confirmed in a voice he tried to make deep and bluff. His attempt was ludicrous beside Langley’s rumble, but he wouldn’t recognize that.
    “Of course, you’ll be there, dear Ponsonby.” It was almost comical to watch him brighten.
    “Lady Lente, your servant.” Langley turned on his heel, and moved off to speak to Castlereagh and Perceval,the prime minister. Disappointment pricked Beatrix. Did he regret his confidences? Resent her insights? She had gone too quickly, misjudged his reticence . . .
    “What a rude fellow,” Sherrington exclaimed. “I wanted to ask him if what Ponsonby here says happened on Thursday is true.”
    “And why wouldn’t it be true?” Ponsonby protested.
    Beatrix let their quibbling fade into the background. Couldn’t Langley wait through a little flirtation? He must have known she was about to chance making him an unseemly proposition. Had he just refused her a second time? Indignation beat in her breast.
    “Really, Countess . . .”
    “What? What is it you’re saying?” She felt dulled and stupid.
    “I . . . we . . . we wanted to invite you to Lady Jersey’s picnic on Wednesday. We’re all riding to Hampstead Heath. You have to give a hundred quid to her orphans’ asylum.”
    “I never go out in daylight. If you ever plan a picnic at night, I