Page 34 of Just a Little Daring

“No,” Aisling said, looking as if she might leap across the table and strangle him with his own cravat at any moment. “I mean that sometimes one gets a feeling about another person, an instinctive reaction to their presence. In your case, my instincts tell me to run as far from you as possible.”

Vivien shared an amused glance with August. Evie and Ash were deep in conversation and paid Aisling and Sylvester no mind. Viv knew they ought not eavesdrop either, but it was too interesting a conversation not to follow it. Sylvester lowered his voice, his tone intimate and only just audible.

“But perhaps your innocence means are misinterpreting your reasons for running, my lady.”

“What does that mean?” Aisling snapped, her eyes flashing with irritation.

Sylvester sat back in his chair, regarding her with a steady, contemplative expression. “I shall let you figure that out,” he whispered, softly.

Aisling threw her bread roll at him. It hit him on the forehead, ricocheted across the room and landed with a loud splash in a bowl of soup on the table across from theirs. Sadly, it was tomato soup, which splattered the pristine white cravat and delicate pale primrose waistcoat of the diner. His companions, of whom there were three, burst out laughing. The soup splattered diner leapt to his feet with an exclamation of fury, and with such force that his chair toppled over with a crash.

Aisling froze in horror, her face draining of all colour. A public scene was the kind of thing to give her palpitations.

Sylvester got to his feet without a moment’s hesitation. “I do beg your pardon, gentlemen. Entirely my fault. I cannot think how I came to do such a thing.”

“You blithering idiot! How do you throw a bread roll that far by accident?” the diner demanded, and not entirely without justification.

“A stupid accident for which I hold myself entirely accountable. I beg you will send any cleaning bills to me. Just ask for Cootes at the desk.”

“Cleaning? Those stains will never come out!” the fellow shrieked, becoming more incensed by the moment.

“You might try salt and baking soda,” Vivien suggested, as it was her maid’s favourite remedy for stubborn stains.

“Good lord, you’re not only a buffoon but dining with the help,” the man sneered. “A pretty piece I’ll grant you, but you ought not to bring her into society.”

Viv froze, adopting the expression she used as a shield whenever faced with such situations. The trick was to never let them know their words bothered you. If you reacted, they won.

The table fell very silent. At the same moment, August and Ash stood as Sylvester took a menacing step forward.

“That,” Sylvester said, his voice very quiet, “is the daughter of Viscount Cavendish you’ve just insulted. Might I have the honour of your name, sir? For I should like to know where to send the wreath when his lordship hears of your insult.”

The man turned a queasy shade of green. “Now, look here—”

“I’m not sure I want to wait for his lordship to deal with this,” August said, and the restrained fury in his voice made all the fine hairs on the back of Viv’s neck stand on end.

“Me either,” Ash said, practically vibrating with anger. “I’d just as soon sort the fellow out myself. Pa need not get his hands dirty for once.”

This could turn very nasty in no time at all.

“August,” Viv said, reaching out and grasping his hand. He turned to stare down at her and she gave a small shake of her head. “Don’t cause a scene. Not here.”

“Come on, Frank, let's be on our way. I’ve lost my appetite,” said one of the fool’s more sensible friends, tugging at his arm as he stared at the three furious men ready to defend Vivien at the drop of a hat. He wore an objectionable puce waistcoat of a virulent shade even Ash would have hesitated to wear.

Frank’s cheeks were flaming now, the splotches of red an odd sight set against his deathly pallor.

“Yes, do run along, Frankie, old boy,” Sylvester said, grinning, though his smile showed entirely too many teeth to be friendly.

Frankie ran along, his friends following close behind.

“Blasted ignorant prick,” Sylvester said in disgust, resuming his seat.

August sat too, still holding Viv’s hand. His grip was reassuring, firm but gentle, his fingers warm. “All right?” he asked, his voice low.

Viv let out a breath and nodded. “Yes. Thank you for… for what you did, but he was not worth your anger, certainly not worth fighting. He would have insulted your companions for another reason had I not been here. I was just an easy target.”

“He’d best hope I don’t cross his path again when the circumstances are less public,” August muttered.

Viv smiled and squeezed his hand. “Forget it. Let us enjoy our meal. Please,” she added.