He certainly loved hearing himself talk. She hadn’t even been able to squeeze in a question yet about Ann Murray.
Her mind was still with Edgar in the morning room.
He’d been genuinely sorry. She’d seen that, but it hadn’t made her feel any better. Of course he was sorry they had been intimate. He was an honorable man and he’d made these rules that if he didn’t take his own pleasure it would be all right.
This was all so tangled now. She didn’t know what to think.
All she knew was that Edgar thought he was bad, just like the children did.
And she didn’t know how to save him from that belief.
He refused to trust her, to open himself to her. Perhaps when they went to the seashore and walked by the sparkling blue sea, he’d be able to hear her.
Only... he hadn’t mentioned the seashore. Perhaps she’d been mistaken about his intentions. Perhaps she’d been imagining things.
Imagining everything. Seeing what she wanted to see. Hearing what she wanted to hear.
Haddock grasped her elbow and she jerked away, irritated by the familiarity of his touch. The earl seemed to think her sole purpose in coming here today was to listen adoringly to a lecture on ancient Greek and Roman marbles.
“And this, my dear Miss Perkins, is a bas-relief representing a nymph resisting the importunities of an old faun, who, as you see, is endeavoring to divest her of her robe. It appears that he’s about to uncover hisultima Thule.”
He leered at her in a thoroughly repugnant manner.
“Rather than realizing his aim, Lord Haddock, it appears to me that the faun is about to encounter the nymph’s knee. See here?” She pointed to the nymph’s bent knee. “One swift, upward movement and she’d be free of him.”
Haddock shuddered. “Pray do not indulge in so fanciful an interpretation of a classic theme. The fauns and satyrs of the woodlands harbored a noble passion for their nymphs.”
“Humph.” She moved to the bust of a Roman senator.
Haddock followed, draping himself so closely over her shoulder that she could feel his breath on her neck.
She was beginning to have a sinking suspicion about the reasons for his invitation.
All of this talk of wood nymphs and satyrs, and the lascivious twitching of his white whiskers as he attempted to peer down her bodice in the guise of examining the statuary.
She must put an end to this interview.
“Lord Haddock,” she said, stepping out of his reach. “You mentioned an opera singer named Ann Murray, whom I resemble. I should like to know more about her.”
“Oh that?” Haddock shrugged and the buttons of his waistcoat strained over his belly. “I made her up.”
“You what?”
“I invented her. As a way to flatter you. I always tell pretty girls they look like someone famous. It never fails.” He touched the brim of his hat. “And you’re a very pretty girl, Miss Perkins.”
Mari fumed. She never should have come here today. She should have listened to her intuition. It had told her that Lord Haddock was a lecher. But she’d been blinded by the need to learn about her parentage. And she’d rushed away from the duke’s house today, refused any assistance, because of her pride. She should have accepted his apology. And accepted his offer of a carriage and footman. Now she was alone with a pestilence of an earl.
“That was a terrible trick to play, Lord Haddock. I’ll take my leave now,” she said.
“No you won’t,” he replied, closing the distance between them. “I should like to become... better acquainted. In the manner of fauns and nymphs,” he said in a truculent whisper.
“You mistake me, my lord. I’m not that sort of girl.”
“Are you not? Posing in Egyptian collars with your shoulder bared for all the world to see.”
“I only posed as a favor to Lady India. I’ll be going now. I don’t like your insinuations. Or your taste in art.”
“Don’t leave so fast, Miss Perkins.”