“I hadn’t given it thought.” His shrug was an elegant affair. “I merely wished to come and circulate.”
From somewhere nearby, Finn’s loud laughter caught her attention. She glanced his way, and the genuine fondness in his expression took her aback. “Don’t let the doctor fool you. He’s only here because I bedeviled him, told him he needed more from life than existing in his clinic.”
“Yes, there is that,” Doctor Marsden said with narrowed eyes at her cousin in his Bath chair. “So here I am.”
“And if I were you, I’d make inroads into leaving reality behind,” Finn continued with a wink before training his focus on her. “Good evening, Cousin. I trust you’ll find something to amuse yourself with.”
What the devil was going on between the two men? “Yes, that is the hope.” When one of the guests requested his attention, she was left again with Doctor Marsden. “Never say you’re a secret poet, Doctor. There’s an elegance about you that might lend itself well to such a thing.”
“Such folderol you speak.” When he laughed, brown flecks appeared in his eyes. “I wouldn’t know the first thing about putting lines of poetry down.”
“Ah, neither do I, and I’ll tell you another truth.” She lowered her voice just enough that he was obliged to step closer to her. “I don’t enjoy it. In fact, I find it exceedingly boring.”
“Then why are you here tonight, Miss Storme? I was under the impression the major worked hard to put together a guest list that would appeal to all.”
Was it too terribly forward to tell him the truth? “Honestly, I wanted a bit of fun before I’m thrust into mourning.”
“That is understandable. In fact, I appreciate your candor. You don’t seem like the type of woman who will fall to hysterics easily.” When he grinned, a shallow dimple in his right cheek flashed. “Honestly, I wouldn’t mind seeing some of these stodgy, stuffy people turned on their head by something not quite… proper.”
Was that an invitation? Isobel’s heartbeat pounded more quickly. “Will you be the man to ensure that happens tonight, Doctor?” As much as she wanted to touch him to further draw him closer, she didn’t dare, not while William watched her every movement like a hawk.
“With the right persuasion, perhaps.” There was a question in his eyes and the slightest elevation of one of his red eyebrows. Did that mean he waited for her to make the first move? Would he willingly follow?
Before Isobel could respond, the butler appeared at the drawing room doorway and rang a brass bell.
“Ladies and gentlemen, dinner is now served.” The middle-aged man glanced about the gathering. “If you’ll make your way to the dining room?”
The doctor caught her eye. He offered her his arm, bent at the elbow. “Allow me to escort you into dinner. We might further our acquaintance.”
“What an excellent idea.” As soon as she laid her fingers upon his sleeve, warmth danced up her arm to her elbow. Oh, there was a distinct connection between them. Now to discover how to draw it out and use it to her advantage. The evening suddenly had improved.
*
Dinner had beena pleasant two hours. She and Doctor Marsden had talked upon a variety of topics, so much so that she’d rather neglected the diner who’d sat on her left. He’d been entertaining enough and quite erudite on each subject introduced, and underlying those conversations, through each different course, frissons of attraction had sparked between them.
Her biggest challenge now was trying not to nod off while various poets and authors read selections from their own works. The only one of any thrill was Finn’s reading from his first book. She’d already read the story three times and she guarded her copy with much vigor, for she never loaned it out. The magnitude of having an author in the Storme family wasn’t something she took lightly, and within those pages of fantasy and adventure and romance, she’d found an escape of sorts.
Polite clapping wrenched Isobel from her thoughts, and as Lady Jane came to the front of the room, she slowly rose from her spot on the sofa.
“Who’s next?” Finn’s wife always appeared as if she knew a joke that no one else did. Despite the challenges she and her husband faced, she maintained a sunny disposition.
“I’d like to give it a go,” Isobel said.
“You, Cousin Isobel?” Finn asked in some surprise.
“Yes. Do you mind a recitation?”
“No. In fact, I welcome it.” He made a shooing motion with a hand. “I can’t wait to hear how you’ll entertain us.” The sparkle in his eyes testified to that fact.
“Oh, I’m quite certain I’ll have everyone’s attention.” As soon as she gained the open spot where all the other poets and authors had stood, her gaze went immediately to Doctor Marsden. “I realize I’m neither a poet nor an author, but I long ago memorized a handful of poems. I thought the gathering tonight would appreciate them.”
Would the doctor’s notice of her after this reading be piqued or disgusted? Perhaps if all went well, it might spark his attraction.
With flutters in her belly, Isobel cleared her throat. Every eye in the room was trained on her. “This is a poem entitled To His Mistress Going to Bed by Anglican priest and later Dean of St. Paul’s Cathedral in London, John Donne.”
A wave of murmurs went through the company, but she began her recitation before one of her relatives could decide to halt it.
She might have been hesitant at first, for the words were unfamiliar while spoken aloud, but once she’d passed the first stanza or so, Isobel found her confidence. All too soon she reached the end and what was the most erotic words of the piece.