Chapter 9
Dinner was as bad as Sinclair feared. The food was fine, but the company was tedious. Lady Stanhope seated him between two simpering misses. No one within earshot was worth conversing with, unless he wanted to join in a discussion of fashion. He grit his teeth, his grimace mistaken for a smile by the ladies and his hosts. At least Mama appeared content, conversing with the elderly viscount seated next to her.
How he wished he had Quincy nearby to banter with and trade barbs. Had she ever been able to attend supper parties or balls? Certainly her company would be more interesting. He tried to picture her in a gown instead of trousers. Didn’t work. Those legs shouldn’t be hidden by skirts. Trousers, pulled taut across her shapely backside, now that he could picture all too clearl
