Page 87 of Lady Waldrey’s Gardening Almanac for Cultivating Scandal

She laughed. “I always thought he was clever.”

“I’m so embarrassed.”

“I’m sure His Grace doesn’t intend for you to be embarrassed. It’s just some harmless teasing.”

“Why would he have taken the time to memorize so many lines?” she asked, bewildered.

Hortense shook her head, a coy smile about her lips. She murmured, “If you don’t know the answer to that, I’m certainly not going to ruin the surprise.”

“Pardon?”

“Nothing, my lady.”

“Some of the lines he quoted were from The Dawn of Destiny!” she hissed. “I can’t believe you sent James The Dawn of Destiny. That one’s nothing but petticoats and pantaloons! There are bare ankles in that one, Hortense! Whatever will he think of me? He’s going to get ideas.”

“About time,” she muttered, almost too low for Candace to hear.

“What was that?”

“I said the color in your cheeks is quite fetching.”

“Don’t you try to distract me.” Candace stomped toward the mirror to check her reflection. She smoothed a hand down her cheek. “This is a disaster.”

“Not at all. Like I said, you look wonderful.”

“I’m speaking of James, of course!”

“He looks wonderful, too. You’d better get back to your guests; it’s rude to leave them too long.” She flicked her hands in a shooing motion.

Candace nodded, her mind a swirl of muddled confusion as she returned to the dining room. She hadn’t been gone long enough to cause a delay in the service. As she entered, James met her eyes over his glass and gave a slow smile. Maybe Hortense was right—Candace didn’t think he was cruel enough to mock her, and he wasn’t drawing attention to his statements.

Perhaps she was looking at this the wrong way—perhaps he wasn’t making fun of her. Perhaps he meant this to be a private joke they could enjoy together. She straightened her spine and cast about for an idea.

Inspiration struck several moments later, when a lovely plate of flourless chocolate torte was placed before her, the plate swirled with raspberry jam.

“Oh, how beautiful,” she said. “Red as two rose petals, and just as soft.”

“She beat you to it this time,” the baroness crowed at James.

Her voice had become louder as the night wore on, the two spots of color on her cheeks deepening with every glass of wine the footmen unobtrusively refilled.

“She did.” James grinned. “Though I was going to compare the consistency to silk, myself.”

“By all means.” Candace raised her eyebrows expectantly. “Please don’t deprive us of your poetic words on my account.”

He took a bite of the torte and his eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “As smooth as silk, and far more precious.”

“Or perhaps, as luscious as a plum, sweeter than any honeycomb?”

He nodded and met her eyes. “That would also be an excellent description, though I prefer to say the torte is succulent and fascinating, beyond compare, a rarity.”

Candace pretended to study her torte to regain her composure. There was something in his expression when he’d said the last that quickened her pulse—something that felt far more serious than the private game they were playing.

“I say!” the baroness fairly boomed. “Perhaps you should write that book of poetry in tandem. I cannot tell which one of you is more talented.”

“Indeed,” Vera said, sliding her glance between Candace and James.

Candace was at once struck with a deep pang of guilt. She’d momentarily lost sight of the true purpose of the evening. She should have been magnifying her friend’s excellent qualities, should have returned the conversation to Vera at every opportunity.