From the sequel to Waltzing with the Wallflower:
"I read, my lord," she replied. "I daresay none of the women of your prior acquaintance can boast such."
"Indeed," he said, eyeing her with a hint of doubt in his own charms.
That ought to finish him. A couple of well-placed poisoned darts in his more than adequate ego, and he would be but a memory of this tedious night. Dare she drive the nail home?
"Perhaps the talent eludes even you, my lord."
A shallow, sickly smile spread over his lips. Yes, she was getting to him.
"You may think of me as you please, my lady." His gaze drifted past her to his brother across the room as though seeking a swift escape. Good. The desired effect. No reason to postpone the inevitable. Men leave. The arrogant ones leave sooner. It was a simple matter of time.
"You presume much, my lord. For when this conversation is at an end, I will not think of you at all." His golden-crested emerald eyes flashed the briefest betrayal of his pain. Bridget knew she had said too much, and an icy twinge of guilt spread from the pit of her stomach to her extremities. Her ears burned, and she knew without doubt they were a fiery beacon of her regret. For a moment, Bridget was glad of her scarlet tresses, since they would do much to camouflage her vibrant ears.
She tore her gaze from his face, glanced towards the nearby doors, and waited for him to excuse himself.
"If that is the case," he said, a hint of amusement dancing in his deep, rich voice, "We shall simply continue this conversation for eternity."