Everyone gave a nervous laugh for they all knew of the major’s temper and could imagine the scene playing out quite differently.
A tense silence ensued, the sound broken by the clink of a china teacup on the saucer. The conversation soon turned to more topical subjects—Ecuador declaring independence, a poem in the Gentleman’s Magazine, of all places, that explained the correct nosegay one might send as a love token. Violets for faithfulness. Marigolds for marriage. Ava wondered what token one sent when consumed by raging lust.
They finished their repast, and the footmen cleared away the plates and platters.
“Let us remove to the drawing room where my son is waiting.”
Honora stood and led the way.
Ava joined the back of the queue as she tried to gather her composure. Heavens above, her legs trembled so violently anyone would think she was being presented to the king. How had one kiss—one remarkable kiss—turned her into such a wreck?
After a minute’s pause in the hall, Ava entered and found Lord Valentine paying court to his mother’s friends. Mrs Madeley, being an advocate of equality, was not fawning over him as Lady Cartwright was wont to do. And poor Miss Faversham shook visibly under the weight of the gentleman’s stare.
“Ah, and Miss Kendall is here, of course.” Honora shooed the other ladies away leaving a direct path to the handsome lord.
Heavens, he looked spectacular in dark blue. The colour brought out the vibrant hue of his eyes.
A sinful smile touched Lord Valentine’s lips as his gaze settled on A
va. “Miss Kendall. What a pleasure it is to see you again. Let us hope we may find common ground regarding our assessment of The Modern Prometheus.”
“My lord.” Ava inclined her head. She was hot. Her stays were too tight. It took immense concentration to reply. “Disagreements can be healthy if one is willing to embrace other people’s opinions.”
The tip of his tongue swept over his full lips. For all the saints! It occurred to her that Lord Valentine was right. One kiss was not enough. The need for another grew inside like an opium addiction. One taste would ease the writhing hunger. One taste would leave her desperate for more.
“I can accept anyone’s opinion if made with a degree of intelligence and logic.” He gestured to the gold damask sofa and chairs set out in a circle, though his penetrating blue eyes remained fixed on Ava. “Shall we take our seats? I am interested to hear your opinions regarding the title and what relevance it bears on the novel as a whole.”
“That is simple,” she said as the rich tone of his voice seduced her from across the room. The coil of desire unwound slowly deep in her core. Who would have thought an intelligent conversation could be so arousing? “In referring to Prometheus, the author hints that sin is a major theme. Does the novel not examine the quest for knowledge waged against moral implications?”
A pleasurable sigh left the lord’s lips. “Is it knowledge Victor Frankenstein seeks or power, Miss Kendall?”
Oh, it was an excellent question. The urge to probe his mind whilst running her hands over his bare chest proved distracting.
“I trust you have each read all three volumes,” Honora said, breaking the spell.
The other ladies nodded.
“But you must excuse my memory,” Lady Cartwright said, taking a seat on the sofa, “what with me being the first to accept guardianship of your treasured volumes, my recollection might be hazy.”
Miss Faversham scurried to share the sofa with Lady Cartwright while Ava sat directly opposite Lord Valentine. Try as she might, she could not ignore the way the viscount’s muscular thighs filled his breeches.
A discussion regarding the anonymous author was to be the first topic for debate. Some felt the novel must have been written by a gentleman of prominence who wished to distance himself from other authors of gothic novels. How strange that in a group of ladies seeking equality for their sex they did not consider Frankenstein the work of a woman.
Something about the way Lord Valentine watched them during their analysis spoke of more than an interest in literature. He was studying them, observing, making mental notes. The fact Matilda Faversham continued to stare at the goblet in Honora’s glass display cabinet captured his attention.
While they discussed the relevance of the monster’s appearance on Victor’s wedding night, Lord Valentine scanned Lady Cartwright’s clothing. Did he know that Lord Cartwright had restricted her allowance? Did he know that the lady’s ostentatious dress was merely a means to disguise a lack of funds?
“I think the moral of the story is that all men are beasts,” Lady Cartwright said with a chuckle. She glanced at Valentine and smiled. “Present company excluded, my lord.”
“Of course.” Lord Valentine inclined his head. “And what is your opinion, Miss Faversham?”
“M-me?” The poor girl nearly slipped off the sofa. “Well, is it that men c-commit atrocities as a means to control? Is it that life is dreadfully unfair?”
No doubt her experience at home formed the basis of her opinion.
“Do you not think it leans more to the fact that man is a product of his environment?” Ava said. “Perhaps when we judge people we cast them in a role they feel compelled to portray.”
Lord Valentine hummed. “There is merit in your interpretation, Miss Kendall.”