was already pouring the tea. “How do you like it, Mr Pope? Sugar? Milk? Lemon?” Without seeming in any way coy or vulgar, she managed to make the simple offer of tea sound seductive. And Julian didn’t even like tea.
“Black, thank you,” he said, accepting his cup.
“Macaroon?” she inquired, holding out a plate of unassuming biscuits.
“Thank you,” he said.
“Of course, if you were chivalrous, Mr Pope,” Viola said, returning to their “argument” as she poured out Mrs Dean’s cup, “you would give me all the pleasure, and keep none for yourself. But, I daresay, there’s no chivalry in London. You London men are too modern for all that.”
Julian was provoked to defend himself.
“Actually, I’m from Sussex,” he said, tasting his macaroon. “But I believe it was you ladies who put an end to chivalry. You simply don’t want to be rescued nowadays. You seem to prefer the company of rogues and scoundrels, and, as ever, we men must conform to your taste or die of loneliness.”
“What do you mean?” she protested, laughing. “Rogues and scoundrels have no appeal for me, I assure you.”
“But you will allow, Miss Andrews, that a Knight of the Round Table would be accounted a pernicious bore in today’s society.”
“And so very hard on the furniture, too,” Viola solemnly agreed. “But, in all seriousness, Mr Pope, you know perfectly well that it is women who rescue men. Indeed, without the civilizing influence of my sex, you men would be no better than wild beasts. Do you not agree?”
“I certainly do not,” he protested, laughing in spite of himself at her preposterous assertion. “If men were barbarous by nature, Miss Andrews, you ladies would have a very bad time of it, and never mind your civilizing influence!”
“This from the man who said to me not five hours ago, ‘Don’t you walk away from me when I’m talking to you, girl!’ If that is not proof of a barbarous nature, Mr Pope, then I don’t know what is. Your behavior was infamous. Admit it.”
“That was very wrong of me, to be sure,” he promptly admitted.
“Oh! But look at you now,” she teased him. “Here you sit beside me on the sofa, perfectly tame, with your cup in one hand and your macaroon in the other. And all this I accomplished in just two minutes! Imagine what I might make of you in five. Now be a good gentleman and drink your tea.”
Julian discovered, to his chagrin, that he could think of no clever reply. Miss Andrews was too fast for him, which only proved her inexperience. A more accomplished flirt would stoop to conquer, and allow her prey the illusion that he was wittier than she.
Unable to comprehend that the young people were merely talking in jest, Mrs Dean had become alarmed by Viola’s banter. “My dear Mary,” she said breathlessly. “Mind how you talk to Mr Pope! He is a rich man. You must not go on so wildly! Mr Pope, I do apologize! My niece has a lively sense of humor, but she means no disrespect, I’m sure.”
“My aunt seems to think you need rescuing, sir,” Viola laughed. “Are you afraid of me?”
“Terrified,” he replied, chuckling. “See? I’m drinking my tea for fear of you.”
“Yes, all men hate tea,” she said, growing more pleased with him by the moment.
“Here I thought it was just me.”
“No. All,” she insisted. “Only think…if men did not despise tea so much, there would be no glory in forcing them to drink it every afternoon! Would you like another cup, Mr Pope?”
“Have I not been punished enough?” he wanted to know.
“I’m not punishing you, Mr Pope. I’m making you better,” she explained, filling his cup.
“I see. And tea will perfect me?”
“Oh, I hope not,” she said softly. “Perfection in a man is an unforgivable fault! It leaves a woman with nothing to do. On the other hand, you are terrible—with so much to do, a girl doesn’t know where to begin. What a dilemma! I almost wish Mrs Dean had not introduced us. Then you would be some other girl’s problem.”
“But I particularly wish to be your problem, Miss Andrews.”
“And something must be done about you—you’re practically feral. Perhaps I’d better take you on, after all. You might be too much of a trial for the next girl.”
“But will I be too much for you, Miss Andrews?”
“It is possible,” Viola admitted. “You are the worst case I have ever seen. But someone must take charge of you, Mr Pope. You’re an absolute menace.”
Julian did not want to talk anymore. It was only the presence of her aunt that prevented him from acting on the desire to take her in his arms and kiss her until they were both exhausted.
For her part, she seemed pleased to have rendered him speechless yet again. It was short-lived, however, and, when he recovered, they spoke at length on a variety of subjects. Julian found her to be wholly ignorant of economics, which was his chief interest in life, and surprisingly well-informed about politics, which he despised with all his heart.
“And so you have bought your ticket to the auction,” Viola remarked presently, sensing that he did not care a straw about the latest shakeup in the Cabinet. “To own the truth, Mr Pope, I have entered into a dark conspiracy with the other bidders,” she confessed. “They have all promised to give her to me, should they win the auction. Will you promise the same?”
“I will make you no promise of the kind, young woman,” Julian said sternly. “That sort of chicanery may be all well and good in Yorkshire, but where I come from, we frown upon all trickery and deceit.”
Her smile threatened to take his breath away. “And where are you from, sir?” she asked playfully. “Suffolk, did you say?”
“Sussex.”
“Sussex. How strange that we should meet in London.”
“Not very strange. My business is in London, and so is your aunt.”
“Even so, it is a very big place, is it not? Two people could live here a hundred years and never meet.”
“My dear Mary,” interrupted Mrs Dean. “The time!”
Viola looked at the clock. Leaving the dog on the sofa, she extended her hand to Julian. “I’m so glad you came to tea, Mr Pope. It has definitely made you a better man.”
Julian looked at the clock, too. “Has it been twenty minutes?” he asked in surprise. Twenty minutes, as all the world knew, was the proscribed length of a social visit. Even in London, to go beyond that was considered bad form.
“I’m afraid it has, Mr Pope. But we will meet again tomorrow at the auction,” Viola added as the front doorbell rang. Julian got to his feet.
“That will be Lord Simon,” Mrs Dean trilled excitedly, jumping up. “Hurry, child! You mustn’t keep his lordship waiting.
