you think to do it on the street?” Miss Cabot asked gaily. She suddenly took him by the hand. “Come,” she said, and pulled him to the center of the room. “Stand just there, if you please.” She pulled a chair from the hearth and positioned it before him, sat down, and arranged her skirts before gracefully folding her hands in her lap. “All right, then, we are in an assembly room.”
George stared down at her.
“Go on,” she said with a charming smile. “Pretend I am Miss Hargrove and you wish to talk to me.” She settled herself once more, then looked away.
George could not believe he was standing in the Beckington House receiving room, engaged in some foolish courtship game. “This is daft,” he groused.
“Please,” she said angelically.
God in heaven. He muttered a curse to himself, pushed a hand through his hair, then bowed. “Good evening, Miss Hargrove.”
Miss Cabot glanced at him sidelong. “Oh. Mr. Easton,” she said, and nodded politely before looking away again.
George stood there. This was not the way he would go about turning Monica Hargrove’s head, not at all. In fact, he had never approached a woman in this manner and wondered at those who did. It felt a bit desperate. Is this how the young bucks behaved in the storied drawing rooms of Mayfair?
Honor looked at him sidelong again. “Sit next to me,” she whispered.
“Why?” George demanded.
“You should be at eye level. You look so...” Her gaze swept over him, and if George wasn’t mistaken, she blushed slightly. “Big,” she said. “You look very big, towering over me as you are.”
George did not see the significance. “I am big.”
“But that is rather intimidating to an impressionable woman,” she said. “Please, do sit.”
“Intimidating!” He laughed. “I think there is nothing that will intimidate you, Miss Cabot.”
“Certainly not! But we are not speaking of me. We are speaking of Miss Hargrove.”
George couldn’t help his chuckle. “Bloody hell,” he said, and reached for a chair at his elbow and set it next to Miss Cabot. He sat. She looked away. She did not speak. What was he supposed to do, then? He racked his brain for what to say. “The weather is fine,” he said.
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