Читать книгу The Secrets Of Lord Lynford - Bronwyn Scott - Страница 13

This time, it would be different. Eliza entered the conservatory’s drawing room with that mantra firmly entrenched in her mind. Tonight, she would be ready for the oh-so-attractive Eaton Falmage. His good looks and confident manner would not catch her by surprise. She knew what to expect now and this time they wouldn’t be alone—a point emphasised as soon as she arrived. The room was practically a crush and a very well-dressed one at that, with men in dark evening clothes and women in silks populating every corner of the grand salon. It was a far more robust turnout for the academy’s opening than she’d anticipated. This was no mere gathering of a board of directors and a few patrons. But then, perhaps the outstanding attendance stood to reason. When a duke’s heir gave a party, everyone wanted an invitation.

Eliza unfurled her fan and began to stroll about the room, looking purposeful. No one need pity her aloneness. She’d made an art of it. Over the years, she’d become accustomed to attending events on her own and others had become accustomed to it, too. She arrived alone, she left alone. She’d learned not to be afraid of her own company. She actually rather enjoyed it. There was no conversation to worry over, no egos to flatter or polite compliments to muster. She could survey her surroundings at leisure, study her options and make her own choices as to how she spent her time and who she spent it with. At the moment she wanted to spend that time with Lynford. Congratulations were in order. A private smile skimmed her lips in satisfaction as she assessed her surroundings. Lynford had succeeded against what had looked like overwhelming odds. One would never guess that two days ago the place had been in varying states of chaos.

Eliza scanned the room, her gaze glancing over the masculine decor done to perfection in shades of muted teal and beige against a backdrop of walnut panelling and chair rail that ran the perimeter, interrupted only by a bank of French doors opening to the gardens beyond where paper lanterns winked. She made a mental note of the gardens—those gardens might provide a convenient escape from the crowd should she need it.

Her gaze hurried on, still seeking as it brushed over the multi-armed brass chandelier at the ceiling, the coveted Sébastien Érard, lid raised, at the front of the room—neither item enough to halt her rampant gaze. These were not the things she was looking for. She’d nearly completed her visual circuit of the room when she found him at last, standing at the fireplace, just feet from the Sébastien Érard. It was time to test her hypothesis.

The fan in her hand halted its oscillation, her mind flooding with a certain sense of satisfaction. He was what she’d been looking for. Lynford stood in profile, talking with a group of men, all dressed alike in dark evening clothes, yet he was no more like them than the sun was like the moon. She knew instantly her mantra was wrong. This time was not going to be different after all, unless one counted the fact that Lynford was fully clothed. He was no less handsome for the more formal attire. Eliza began to ply her fan in earnest.

His dark, tangled curls were tamed tonight, carefully styled into compliance, perhaps painstakingly so given the extent of their unruliness the other day. His jaw was smooth-shaven, setting off the strong planes of his face, the wide, almost simian flare of his nose, the broad, high sweep of his cheekbones beneath his dark eyes; in his face, the elegant classical construction was unabashedly at war with the harsh masculinity of his primeval ancestors. In evening clothes, the result was devastating. He stood out, a powerful stallion among the herd, a man born to lead no matter what his age.

Tonight, authority’s mantle sat comfortably on his broad shoulders, not an ounce of that breadth fabricated, even if the rest of his body gave the impression of wanting to be out of doors tramping the moors and cliffs of Porth Karrek. His was not an indoor physique. Not that she should be assessing such things. Her attendance at the conservatory’s opening reception tonight was all business and business did not mix with pleasure. Ever. Hadn’t her experience with Miles Detford taught her that much? She had too much to keep her busy between the mines and the school. She could not allow herself to be distracted with useless speculation about the Marquess of Lynford. She certainly could not allow herself to be caught staring. He might interpret a stare as interest.

Too late. She didn’t look away soon enough. Lynford caught her gaze and returned it with a wide smile, broad like his shoulders and just as genuine, the kind one gives when one is truly pleased to see someone. That worried her. After their last visit, why would he be pleased to see her? She watched in horrified fascination as he excused himself from the group gathered at the fireplace and moved towards her. There was no escaping; she was well and truly flushed out. What could he possibly want? She should be annoyed by the thought that he’d demand anything of her, but there was only intrigue where annoyance ought to be—another reminder that she was very much alive and very much a woman.

He snared two glasses of champagne from a passing tray as he approached. ‘Mrs Blaxland, it’s so good to see you.’ He offered her a glass, his smile unwavering. ‘I trust everything meets with your approval. No dust on the tables. Your gloves will be spared this evening.’ She had the sensation that Lynford was laughing at her, that there was a private jest, some innuendo involved.

‘I’ve only just arrived.’ Her cool tone insinuated there was still time to be disappointed. Would he let her have the lie? Or would he make her accountable for the shameful truth: that she’d been there long enough to take notice of things and the only thing she’d noticed was him? Eliza sipped her champagne, thankful to have something to do other than admit he’d trapped all her attention, that for all her earlier concern about the state of the school, she’d given the issue only the smallest fraction of her attention, while her gaze had raced around the room, gliding over the details in its hurry to find him. Even in a room full of men, all clad similarly, he’d managed to stand out, managed to capture her eye and her thoughts to the exclusion of all else. That was a dangerous position to be in. It made her vulnerable. It was time to go on the offensive.

‘Whatever you want from me, you must want it badly, given your champagne and your smiles, Lord Lynford. So, let’s have it.’ She gave him a smile of her own, one full of directness.

‘Ah, you like champagne. Duly noted. I shall make a note.’ He smiled wickedly. Lynford liked the edge. She’d not expected that. She’d meant for it to be off-putting, but instead a spark leapt in his dark eyes. ‘What makes you think I want anything other than your approval?’ he drawled.

She laughed at that. ‘My approval or my acquiescence? You will not get the latter. If you are looking for it, then you misunderstood my concerns the other day. I was worried you might not finish your preparations in time, not that I wanted you to fail.’ Eliza tapped his sleeve with her fan. ‘I have every hope this school will succeed. I do not sign on to doomed ventures.’ True, she had wondered if he could do it, if he could bring everything together in time. But she’d not wanted him to fail. Failure did not suit her purpose. ‘This school may be the touchstone. Perhaps people will see the value in other types of schools. I’ve been contemplating opening grammar schools for my miners’ children so that they might grow up with the opportunity to develop a broader range of skills than their parents.’ She paused here, wondering briefly if she should go on. Not everyone shared her views, not even her own board. ‘And with those skills, have more choices about how to make their living.’

Lynford’s eyes were two thoughtful dark stars. For a moment, she feared she’d offended him. What would a ducal heir think about empowering miners with education? Would he even understand the necessity? Perhaps she’d overplayed her hand? But Lynford nodded and smiled, his dark gaze intent. ‘I would enjoy speaking about the subject further, Mrs Blaxland.’ He clinked his glass against hers. ‘Here’s to successful ventures in all their forms. Speaking of which, you might be able to aid our cause tonight.’

Ah, there it was. The real reason for his approach. Eliza stiffened in anticipation. Her instincts had not been wrong. He did want something, but she owed him. If he hadn’t called her out on her lie, she couldn’t call him out on his. ‘I was hoping you would say a few words tonight as one of our most generous donors.’

A speech? She sipped her champagne, her mouth suddenly dry despite the cool liquid. He wanted her to make a speech? Of all the cruel and unusual punishments she could think of, this was by far the worst. ‘A speech?’ She choked on the idea.

‘It’s hardly Pericles’ Funeral Oration, Mrs Blaxland, just a few words. Something like, welcome to the school, we are so excited to begin this venture, etcetera, and then lead in to an introduction of Mr Kitto, who will perform afterwards.’ And he wanted her to introduce the famous Mr Kitto, a man she’d briefly met once? It was as if Lynford had looked into her soul and pulled out her worst fear. She could face down a boardroom full of stockholders, she could stand her ground against men who didn’t think a woman could do successful business in their world, but speaking before a crowd without preparation was entirely different. There would be no heat of the moment guiding the interaction. A speech was a planned, formal affair. People would be staring at her—a lot of people—and they would be judging every word, every gesture. She’d spent years earning the right not to be judged.

‘You are prepared for such a contingency, aren’t you?’ Lynford solicited. ‘Surely, as our largest benefactor, you’ve anticipated such a request? I have it on good authority that preparation is the best protection against surprise.’

There was an echo of their previous interaction in his words and she knew: this was tit for tat.

This was an ambush.