Ignorant of his lustful thoughts, the woman bent over again to select him a truffle. “You should take one. Alex won’t mind, if that’s why you hesitate. She’s endlessly generous.”
Ramsay flinched. Miss Teague blithely called the Duchess of Redmayne, lady of perhaps the longest-standing title in the empire, “Alex.” As if nothing had changed since their childhood. As if she were utterly secure in a room full of ancient aristocracy, impervious to the fact that people went out of their way not to talk to Cecelia because they considered her beneath their notice. She was neither titled nor rich, as far as anyone knew or cared. If anything distinguished her in this company, it was her lambent hair and uncommon height.
Was she truly as nonchalant over their rebuffs as she appeared? She must be, to eat three truffles in a room full of cruel opinions.
“Go on, have a try,” she prompted, extending the chocolate toward him.
“Thank ye, but nay,” he clipped, unable to school a husky rasp from his reply. “I doona indulge.”
“In chocolate?” She pulled back, regarding the truffle as though offended on its behalf.
“In anything.”
She gaped at him as though he’d committed treason, or a blasphemy. “Come now, my lord, one taste can’t hurt. Besides, I’ve already taken it from the dish and would be thought very rude to put it back.” A mischievous smile deepened the dimple on her cheek as she wriggled the sweet between her thumb and forefinger in a dainty dance of enticement.
“I canna imagine why ye want me to partake so avidly.”
“It’s obvious you’re ravenous,” she answered. “You won’t stop staring.”
Was it possible she was being coy? “I give ye leave to enjoy it on my behalf. I’ll not be tempted,” he said through clenched teeth.
Her mouth twisted as though she was deciding whether or not to frown. In the end, she shrugged and popped the delicacy past her lips, letting out a contented little moan of appreciation.
Christ, he was a bloody liar. He’d bloody well be tempted. He’d been tempted by Cecelia Teague since he’d first laid eyes on her at Redmayne’s engagement soiree several months prior. Then again at the wedding.
They’d been introduced formally, and he’d bowed over her extended hand. Kissing it had felt wrong, somehow, because of the swell of lust even that innocuous gesture provoked.
Since then, he’d avoided her at all costs, not that it was difficult. They certainly didn’t share any social or professional spheres, but for the attachment to his half brother Piers and her friend Alexandra.
However, it seemed the duke and duchess were unnaturally attached to each other since their hasty wedding, so the tempting Miss Teague would be impossible to evade.
Ramsay let out an impatient breath and tried to focus on someone—anyone—else.
He should be pressing hands with visiting diplomats like the Count Armediano, an Italian businessman and shipping magnate with mysterious origins. Or perhaps discussing tomorrow’s address to the House of Lords with Sir Hubert, the Lord Chancellor, or probate taxation with the Prime Minister.
Aye, he should be working, exerting his will upon those he required to attain his various political and legal objectives.
And yet … he couldn’t stand until he’d brought his unruly cock under control, which would be easier to do were he not in Miss Teague’s voluptuous vicinity.
“How very lamentable.” The true pity in her voice returned his gaze to her vibrant beauty.
“I’m sorry?” Unnerved at her propensity to address his innermost thoughts, he shifted once more and considered the merits of agricultural property law, just to see if that would cool his physical distress.
“We were discussing your lack of indulgences.” She slid him a mischievous half smile that produced the most diverting dimple in her cheek. “My lord Chief Justice, if you’re half as distracted when hearing cases, I fear for those presenting evidence to you.”
To his utter surprise, amusement spiked rather than his ire. It was a rare individual who ever dared tease him.
Rarer still that he enjoyed it.
“Ye’ll have to pardon me, Miss Teague, it’s been a trying day. My manners were peeled away by interactions with the odious dregs of our society, leaving my thoughts unduly burdensome.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” She seemed to smother a curious anxiety with an over-bright but sympathetic smile as she spread her hands over her skirts. “Would you care to discuss it? Often, I find if I unburden myself, I go away feeling much lighter.”
“I would not.” He hadn’t meant for the words to escape in such a terse manner, but the subject of his current worries was not fit for the fairer sex. Indeed, it concerned the disappearances of young ladies. Young girls, rather. Which was not a rare thing in such a metropolis as London, but the investigators of the case had found evidence of an insidious ring of smugglers, traffickers, and profiteers. Ones who might be trading in the flesh market, turning the poor and immigrants into slaves, pricing them per pound of flesh.
A few of the captured criminals pointed their fingers in astonishing directions when interrogated regarding their suppliers and customers. The aristocracy, the government, the military, and even the church.
He was surrounded by corrupt and debased men, and these smugglers often mentioned one word out of fear: rubricata. One of the many Latin words for “red.”
Troubled and absorbed by these affairs of state, Ramsay had little to offer a soiree, but couldn’t send his condolences with such illustrious guests so near to election. And so, after making his obligatory compliments to the guests at dinner, he’d found a quiet corner near the fireplace unoccupied by those who needed to see and be seen at one of the Duke of Redmayne’s marvelously celebrated fetes. He’d ruminated for a moment, working his way toward a perfectly splendid brood before Miss Teague had plopped down in a pile of skirts to pick at a dish of chocolates and stir him into a pique.
She scooted forward in her seat, making as though to stand. “If you do not wish to speak, I’ll leave you to your contemplations, my lord,” she said, seeming not only unoffended, but unaffected.
“Nay,” he snapped without thought.
Her eyes widened at his visceral objection, but it shocked none more than himself. Perplexed, Ramsay watched her intently. What was it about this woman that evoked such a powerful response? No one ever caught him so thoroughly off his guard.
As much as he wanted to be free of her, he apparently desired her close, and the force of that desire discomfited him.
Which meant he should encourage her to flee his vicinity immediately.
“Doona abandon yer chocolates on my account,” he found himself saying before he ground his teeth even harder, lest he do something untenably ridiculous, such as ask her to sit in his lap. Hadn’t he just been hoping she’d leave?
Her eyes glimmered with pleasure, and then softened with understanding. “May I fetch you a drink to help soften the woes of the day?”
He shook his head, acutely aware of how important it was to keep his wits about him in her presence. “I generally abstain from drink. I’ve consumed the one glass of wine I allow myself at dinner.”
“A life without chocolate and wine.” She cocked her head, pity once again dimming the sparkle in her eyes. “How dreary. What do you do for pleasure, my lord?”