Читать книгу Regency Surrender: Passion And Rebellion - Энни Берроуз, Louise Allen - Страница 12

Chapter Two

‘Can you really do nothing better with your hair?’

Mary lowered her gaze to the floor and shook her head as Aunt Pargetter sighed.

‘Couldn’t you at least have borrowed Lotty’s tongs? I am sure she wouldn’t begrudge them to you. If you could only get just a leetle curl into it, I am sure it would look far more fetching than just letting it hang round your face like a curtain.’

Mary put her hand to her head to check that the neat bun, in which she’d fastened her hair earlier, hadn’t already come undone.

‘No, no,’ said Aunt Pargetter with exasperation. ‘It hasn’t come down yet. I am talking in generalities.’

Oh, those. She’d heard a lot of those over the past few months. Generalities uttered by lawyers about indigent females, by relations about the cost of doing their duty and by coach drivers about passengers who didn’t give tips. She’d also heard a lot of specifics. Which informed her exactly how she’d become indigent and why each set of people she’d been sent to in turn couldn’t, at present, offer her a home.

‘Now, I know you feel a little awkward about attending a ball when you are still in mourning,’ Aunt Pargetter went on remorselessly. ‘But I just cannot leave you here on your own this evening to mope. And besides, there will be any number of eligible men there tonight. Who is to say you won’t catch someone’s eye and then all your problems will be solved?’

Mary’s head flew up at that, her eyes wide. Aunt Pargetter was talking of marriage. Marriage! As if that was the answer to any woman’s problems.

She shivered and lowered her gaze again, pressing her lips tightly together. It would solve Aunt Pargetter’s problems, right enough. She hadn’t said so, but Mary could see that keeping her fed and housed for any length of time would strain the family’s already limited resources. But, rather than throwing up her hands, and passing her on to yet another member of the family upon whom Mary might have a tenuous claim, Aunt Pargetter had just taken her in, patted her hand and told her she needn’t worry any longer. That she’d look after her.

Mary just hadn’t realised that Aunt Pargetter’s plan for looking after her involved marrying her off.

‘You need to lift your head a little more and look about you,’ advised Aunt Pargetter, approaching her with her hand outstretched. She lifted Mary’s chin and said, ‘You have fine eyes, you know. What my girls wouldn’t give for lashes like yours.’ She sighed, shaking her head. And then, before Mary had any idea she might be under attack and could take evasive action, the woman pinched both her cheeks. ‘There. That’s put a little colour in your face. Now all you need to do is put on a smile, as though you are enjoying yourself, and you won’t look quite so...’

Repulsive. Plain. Dowdy.

‘Unappealing,’ Aunt Pargetter finished. ‘You could be fairly pretty, you know, if only you would...’ She waved her hands in exasperation, but was saved from having to come up with a word that would miraculously make Mary not sound as though she was completely miserable when her own daughters bounced into the room in a froth of curls and flounces.

Aunt Pargetter had no time left to spare on Mary when her beloved girls needed a final inspection, and just a little extra primping, before she bundled them all into the hired hack they couldn’t afford to keep waiting.

‘We have an invitation from a family by the name of Crimmer tonight,’ Aunt Pargetter explained to Mary as the hack jolted over the cobbles. ‘They are not the sort who would object to me bringing along another guest, so don’t you go worrying your head about not receiving a formal invitation.’

Mary’s eyes nevertheless widened in alarm. She hadn’t any idea her aunt would have taken her to this event without forewarning her hosts.

Aunt Pargetter reached across the coach and patted her hand. ‘I shall just explain you have only recently arrived for a visit, which is perfectly true. Besides, the Crimmers will love being able to boast that their annual ball has become so popular everyone wants to attend. But what is even more fortunate for you, my dear, is that they have two sons to find brides for, not that the younger is quite old enough yet, and I’ve heard rumours that the older one is more or less spoken for.’

As Mary frowned in bewilderment at the contradictory nature of that somewhat rambling statement, her aunt explained, ‘The point is, they have a lot of wealthy friends with sons who must be on the lookout for a wife, as well. Especially one as well connected as you.’

‘What do you mean, Mama?’ Charlotte shot a puzzled glance at Mary. It had clearly come as a shock to her to hear there might be anything that could possibly make Mary a likely prospect on the marriage mart, when all week they’d been thinking of her as the poor relation.

‘Well, although her poor dear mama was my cousin, by marriage, her papa was a younger son of the youngest daughter of the Earl of Finchingfield.’

Mary’s heart sank. Her well-meaning aunt clearly meant to spread news of her bloodlines about tonight as though she were some...brood mare.

‘But if she’s related to the Earl of Finchingfield, why hasn’t she gone to him?’ Dorothy, Charlotte’s younger, and prettier, sister, piped up.

That was a good question. And Mary turned to Aunt Pargetter with real interest, to see how she would explain the tangle that had been her mother’s married life.

‘Oh, the usual thing,’ said her aunt with an airy wave of her hand. ‘Somebody didn’t approve of the marriage, someone threatened to cut someone off, people stopped speaking to one another and, before you knew it, a huge rift had opened up. But Mary’s mother’s people still know how to do their duty, I hope, when a child is involved. Not that you are a child any longer, Mary, but you know what I mean. It isn’t fair for you to have to suffer the consequences of the mistakes your parents made.’

Charlotte and Dorothy were both now looking at her with wide eyes. Mary’s heart sank still further. In the few days she’d been living in their little house in Bloomsbury, she’d discovered that the pair of them had a passion for the kind of novels where dispossessed heiresses went through a series of adventures before winding up married to an Italian prince. She was very much afraid they’d suddenly started seeing her as one of those.

Still, since the Crimmers, who were in trade, weren’t likely to have invited an Italian prince to their ball, she needn’t worry they would attempt to push them into each other’s arms. Actually, she needn’t worry that either Lotty or Dotty would push her into anyone’s arms. They were both far too keen on eligible bachelors themselves to let a single one of them, foreign or not, slip through their own eager fingers.

She pulled her shoulders down and took a deep breath. No need to worry. Aunt Pargetter might talk about her suitability for marriage as much as she liked, but that didn’t mean she was at risk of having some marriage-minded man sweeping her off her feet tonight. Or any night. She wasn’t the type of girl men did want to sweep off her feet.

Men didn’t tend to notice her. Well, she’d made sure they wouldn’t by developing the habit of shrinking into the background. And by dint of following just a few steps behind her more exuberant cousins, she very soon managed to fade into the background tonight, as well. It was never very hard. Most girls of her age actually wanted people to look at them. Especially men. So there was always someone to hide behind.

Mary found a chair slightly to the rear of her aunt and cousins when they all sat down. By shifting it, only a very little, she managed to make use of a particularly leafy potted plant, as well.

Though she was now shielded from a large percentage of the ballroom, she had a good view of the main door through which other guests were still pouring in, greeting one another with loud voices as they flaunted their evening finery. If she hadn’t already decided to keep out of sight, the wealth on display in this room would have totally overawed her. Dotty and Lotty scanned the crowd with equal avidity, whispering to each other behind their fans about the gowns and jewels of the females, the figures and incomes of the males.

‘Oh, look, it’s Mr Morgan,’ eventually exclaimed Lotty, as a pair of young men entered the ballroom. ‘I really didn’t think he’d be here tonight.’

From that comment, and the fact that she and Dotty immediately sat up straighter, their fans fluttering at a greatly increased tempo, she guessed the man in question was what they termed ‘a catch.’ She could, for once, actually see why. The shorter of the two men was extremely good-looking, in a rugged sort of way, besides being turned out in a kind of casual elegance that made him look far more approachable than others of his age, with their starched shirt points and nipped-in waists.

‘Who is that with him?’

Following slightly behind the handsome newcomer was a taller, rather rangy man with ferocious eyebrows.

‘He must be a friend of his from school, or somewhere,’ whispered Lotty. ‘See the way Mrs Crimmer is smiling at him, giving him her hand and sort of...fluttering?’

Mary joined her cousins in watching the progress round the room of what must be decidedly eligible bachelors, given the way the ladies in every group they approached preened and fluttered for all they were worth.

By the time they reached their corner of the ballroom, Dotty and Lotty were almost beside themselves.

‘Good evening, Mrs Pargetter, Miss Pargetter, Miss Dorothy,’ said the tall, slender man, somewhat to Mary’s confusion. This was the man who’d set her cousins all aflutter?

He must be very wealthy then, because he certainly didn’t have looks on his side. Not like his companion.

‘Allow me to present my friend,’ Mr Morgan added. ‘The Viscount Havelock.’

Dotty’s and Lotty’s heads both swivelled in unison as they tore their eyes from the man they considered the prize catch of the night, to the man they’d just discovered to be a genuine peer of the realm. They both pushed their bosoms out a little further, fluttering their fans and eyelashes at top speed.

The viscount, apparently unimpressed by their ability to do all three things at once, accorded them no more than a curt nod.

Then his gaze slid past them, caught her in the act of biting back a smile and stilled.

‘And who is this?’

‘Oh, well, this is my...well, almost a niece, by marriage,’ said her aunt. ‘Miss Carpenter.’

Mary’s cheeks heated. She really shouldn’t have been mocking the ridiculous way her cousins had been preening just because a titled man was standing within three feet of them. But he didn’t look as though he minded. On the contrary, that bored, slightly irritated look he’d bestowed on them had vanished without trace. If anything, she would swear he looked as though he shared her view that they were being a little silly.

And then he smiled at her with what looked like... Well, if she didn’t know better, as if he’d just found something he’d been looking for.

‘Do you care to dance, Miss Carpenter?’

‘Me?’ Her jaw dropped. She closed her mouth hastily, then shook her head and lowered it.

‘N-no. I couldn’t...’ Lotty and Dotty would be furious with her. And insulted. And rightly so. It was almost a snub, to ask her, in preference to them, after they’d made their interest so blatant.

Could that be the reason he’d asked?

You never could tell, with men. What looked like an act of charity could be performed deliberately to spite someone else, or in order to put someone in their place. She stared doggedly at her shoes, her spirits sinking to just about their level. You couldn’t judge a man by the handsome cast of his features. And she’d been foolish to have been even momentarily deceived by them and that rather...heartening smile.

It was a man’s actions that revealed his true nature.

‘My niece is in mourning, as you can see,’ her aunt was explaining, waving her hand towards Mary’s plain, sober gown.

‘Really?’

She couldn’t help looking up at the tone of the viscount’s voice. It was almost as if he... But, no, he couldn’t be pleased to hear she was in mourning, could he? That was absurd.

And there was nothing in his face, now she was looking at it, to indicate anything but sympathy.

‘Perhaps,’ he said, in a rather kinder tone of voice, ‘you would be my partner for supper, later?’

‘Oh, well, I...’ The look in his eyes made her tongue cleave to the roof of her mouth. It was so...intent. As though he wanted to discover every last one of her secrets. As though he would turn her inside out and upside down, until he’d shaken them all from her. As though nothing would stop him.

It made her most uncomfortable. But at the exact same moment Mary decided she would have to somehow refuse his invitation, her aunt accepted it on her behalf. ‘Mary would be honoured. Wouldn’t you, dear?’ She poked her with the end of her furled fan, as if determined to prod the approved response from her.

When she still couldn’t give it, the viscount smiled again, then turned his attention to her cousins.

‘And in the meantime,’ he said, with surprising enthusiasm, ‘would either of you two lovely young ladies show pity on a stranger, by dancing with me?’

Fortunately, before they could elbow one another out of the way in their eagerness to get their hands on him, the tall thin one held out his hand to Charlotte.

Mary sighed with relief as the foursome made their way out on to the dance floor. But her relief was short-lived.

‘I believe you have made a conquest,’ breathed her aunt in rapturous tones as she sidled closer, pushing a palm frond out of the way. ‘Lord Havelock seemed most interested in you.’

‘I cannot think why,’ said Mary. She’d practically hidden herself behind a potted palm, she was wearing a plain gown that did nothing for her pale complexion and she’d turned down his offer of a dance. ‘Perhaps he needs spectacles,’ she wondered aloud. ‘That might account for it.’

‘Nonsense! He can clearly see that you have good breeding. My girls may be prettier than you,’ she said with blunt honesty, ‘but neither of them would know how to go on in his world.’ She nodded towards the viscount, who was leading a glowing Dotty into the bottom set.

‘Well, I don’t suppose I would, either,’ retorted Mary. ‘It’s not as if I’ve ever been a part of it.’

‘No, but your mother was far more genteel than I’ve ever been. And your father, too—I dare say he taught you how a real lady should behave.’

Mary did her best not to react to that statement, though something inside her shrivelled up into a defensive ball at the mere mention of her father.

‘Papa was...very strict with me, yes,’ she admitted. Not that she would ever mention the form his strictness took, not to a living soul. Particularly not as he directed most of it firmly, and squarely, at her mother, rather than her.

‘And he certainly did have strong opinions about how a lady should behave,’ she also admitted, when her aunt kept looking at her as though she expected her to say something more. And he enforced those opinions. With loud demands, interspersed with terrifyingly foreboding silences, when he was sober, fists and boots when he was not.

‘I really do not want,’ she said tremulously, ‘an eligible parti to prefer me to either of my cousins. Especially not when they seem so taken with him.’

‘Well, that’s all very well and good, but he’s plainly only got eyes for you. Besides, both my girls would be far more comfortable with Mr Morgan. Not out of their reach, socially, you see, for all his wealth.’

Mary took a second look at her cousins as they skipped up and down the set. Though Dotty looked as though she was enjoying herself, Lotty was positively glowing. And had Dotty just shot Mr Morgan a coy glance over her shoulder while the viscount’s back was towards her?

She frowned. How could either of them prefer that great long beanpole of a man to the dashing viscount? Not only was he much better looking but he had a more amiable expression. She’d even thought she might have detected a sense of humour lurking in the depths of those honeyed hazel eyes. When he’d caught her smiling at the way Dotty and Lotty had reacted on learning he had a title, it had been like sharing a private joke.

Only, she reminded herself tartly, to suspect him of snubbing them rather unkindly a moment later.

She was in no position to judge him. Or think her own observations could have any sway over Dotty’s or Lotty’s decisions. Lords were notorious for being as poor as church mice. If his pockets were to let, then he’d be looking to marry an heiress. Which ruled them both out.

Besides, they knew Mr Morgan was wealthy. Which must make him terribly tempting.

Anyway, she was not going to harbour a single uncharitable thought towards them. Not when they’d been the only ones of her extended family to make room for her in their lives. The girls could have protested when their mother told them Mary was to share their room. But they hadn’t. They’d just said how beastly it must be for her to have nowhere else to go and emptied one of the drawers for her things.

Mary had tried to repay them all by making herself useful about the house. And until tonight, she’d thought she was beginning to make a permanent place for herself.

But it was not to be. Aunt Pargetter, who wasn’t even really an aunt at all, but only a distant connection by marriage, might be kinder than most of the relatives she’d met so far, but it was absurd to think she would house her indefinitely.

Even so, she was not going to tamely submit to her misguided plans to marry her off. No matter how kindly meant the intention was, such a scheme wouldn’t do for her.

In the morning, she would find out where the nearest employment agency was located and go and register for some kind of work. Not that she had any idea what she might do. She darted a look at Aunt Pargetter, wishing she could ask her advice. But it would be a waste of time. Aunt Pargetter, though kindness itself, was also one of those females who thought marriage was the height of any woman’s ambitions and wouldn’t understand her preference for work.

Well, then, she would just have to, somehow, discover where the agency was on her own. Although what excuse she could give for wishing to leave the house, she could not think. Everyone knew she had no money with which to go shopping. Besides, since she was a stranger to London, either Dotty or Lotty, or probably both, would be sent with her to make sure she didn’t get lost.

She became so wrapped up in formulating one plan after another, only to discard it as unworkable, that she scarcely noticed when the dancing came to a halt and people began to make their way to the supper room. Until Viscount Havelock brushed the fronds of the potted palm to one side, smiling down at her as he offered her his hand.

‘Are you ready for a bite to eat? I must confess, all this dancing has given me quite an appetite.’

‘Oh. Um...’ He wasn’t out of breath, though. Her cousins were fanning their flushed faces, Mr Morgan was mopping his brow with a handkerchief, but Lord Havelock wasn’t displaying the slightest sign of fatigue. He was obviously very fit.

Not that she ought to notice such things about a man.

Flustered by the turn of her thoughts, she took the viscount’s hand and allowed him to place her hand on his sleeve.

It must just be that something about him reminded her of her brother’s friends. Several of them had been of his class and had about them the same air of...vitality. Of vigour. And the same self-assurance that came with knowing they were born to command.

She regarded her hand, where it lay on his sleeve. The arm encased in the soft material of his evening coat felt like a plank of oak. Just like her brother’s had. And those of his friends he’d sometimes brought home, who’d escorted her round the town. Not that this viscount actually worked for his living, like those lads who’d served in the navy. From what she knew of aristocrats, he probably maintained his fitness by boxing and fencing, and riding.

He was probably what her brother would have called a Corinthian. She darted a swift glance at his profile, taking in the firm set of his jaw and the healthy complexion. Yes, definitely a Corinthian. At least, he certainly didn’t look as though he spent his days sleeping off the effects of the night before.

And, if he was one of the sporting set, that would explain why he wore clothing that looked comfortable, rather than fitted tightly to show off his physique. He might not be on the catch for an heiress at all.

Her cheeks flushed. She couldn’t believe she was speculating about his reasons for being here. Or the body underneath his clothing. Not that she’d ever spent so much time thinking about a man’s choice of clothing, either. Just because he seemed better turned out than any other man present, in some indefinable way, she had no business making so much of it.

‘I hope the crowd of people we are following are heading to the supper room,’ he said, breaking into her thoughts.

‘I...I suppose they must be,’ she replied, but only after casting about desperately for an interesting reply and coming up empty.

‘You are not a regular visitor to this house?’

She shook her head. ‘I have only been in London a few days,’ she admitted. ‘I don’t know anyone.’

‘Apart from the lady you are with. Your...aunt?’

Mary shook her head again. ‘I had never even met her before I turned up on her doorstep with a letter of introduction from my lawyer. And to be perfectly frank, I’m not at all sure the connection is...’

Suddenly Mary wondered why on earth she was telling this total stranger such personal information. It couldn’t be simply because there was something about him that put her in mind of her brother and his fellow officers, could it? Or because he’d given her that look, earlier, that had made her feel as though he was genuinely interested?

How pathetic did that make her? One kind word, one keen look, a smile and a touch of his hand and she’d been on the verge of unburdening herself.

Good grief—she was as susceptible to a good-looking man as the cousins she’d decried as ninnies not an hour earlier. She, who’d sworn never to let a handsome face sway her judgement, had just spent a full five minutes wondering how he managed to keep so fit and speculating about the cut of his clothes, and what lay beneath them.

‘You don’t really have any family left to speak of, is that what you were about to say?’

She couldn’t recall what she’d been about to say. Nor even what the question had been. Her mind kept veering off into realms it had never strayed into before and consequently got lost there.

‘Your...aunt, or whatever she is,’ he persisted, while her cheeks flooded with guilty heat, ‘said you are in mourning. Was it...for someone very close?’

Well, that dealt with the strange effects his proximity had been wreaking in her mind and body. He might as well have doused her with a bucket of cold water.

‘My mother,’ she said. ‘She was all I had left.’

She might be in a crowded ballroom tonight, on the arm of the most handsome and eligible man in the room, but the truth was that she was utterly alone in the world, and destitute.

‘That’s c...’ He pulled himself up short and patted her hand. ‘I mean to say, dreadful. For you.’

They’d reached the doorway now and beyond she could see tables laid out with a bewildering array of dishes that looked extremely decorative, but not at all like anything she might ever have eaten before.

Since they’d both come without an invitation, space was found for them at a table squeezed into the bay of a window.

‘Don’t worry,’ he said when he noted her gaze darting about anxiously. ‘I shall make sure we find your aunt once we have eaten and return you to her side in complete safety.’

She was amazed he’d noticed how awkward she felt. And that he’d correctly deduced it was being separated from her aunt that had caused it. Most men couldn’t see further than the end of their noses.

He must have noticed the way she’d eyed the food with trepidation, too, because he took great care, when offering her dishes, to ask if she liked the principal ingredient of each. Which deftly concealed her ignorance. For he could have explained what everything was, making her feel even more awkward, whilst puffing off his own savoir faire. As it was, since the other men at their table were passing dishes round, and helping the ladies to slices of this, or spoonfuls of that, nobody noticed anything untoward.

Eventually, her plate, like that of everyone else at the table, was piled high and conversation began to flow.

Except between Lord Havelock and her.

She supposed he’d gone to the length of his chivalry. She supposed he was waiting for her to make some kind of remark that would open up the kind of light, inconsequential conversations that were springing up all around them.

But for the life of her she couldn’t dredge up a single topic she could imagine might be of interest to a man like him. Or the kind of man she suspected he was. She didn’t really know a thing about him.

And though she was grateful to him for the way he’d behaved so far, she began to wish she was with her aunt and cousins. They would know how to entertain him, she was sure. They wouldn’t let this awkward silence go on, and on, and on...

He cleared his throat, half turned towards her and said, ‘Do you...?’ He cleared his throat again, took a sip of wine and started over. ‘That is, I wonder, do you enjoy living in town, or do you prefer the country? I suppose,’ he said with a swift frown before she could answer, ‘I should have enquired where you lived before you had to come to London, shouldn’t I? I don’t know why I assumed you had lived in the country before.’

‘I lived in Portsmouth, actually,’ she said, relieved to be able to have a question she could answer without having to rack her brains. ‘And I haven’t been here long enough to know whether I prefer it, or not.’

‘But do you have any objection to living in the countryside?’

It was her turn to frown. ‘I cannot tell. I have never lived anywhere but in a town.’

Oh, what a stupid, stupid thing to say. She should have made some remark about how...bustling London was in comparison to Portsmouth, or...or how she missed the sound of the sea. Or even better, asked him about his preferences. That was what men liked, really, wasn’t it? To talk about themselves? Instead, she’d killed the potential conversation stone dead.

They resumed eating in silence for a few more minutes before he made a second, valiant attempt to breach it. ‘Well, do you like children?’

‘Yes, I suppose in a general way,’ though she couldn’t imagine why he might ask that. But at least she’d learned her lesson from last time. She would offer him the chance to talk about himself. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘Oh, no reason,’ he said airily, though the faint blush that tinged his cheeks told her he was growing a bit uncomfortable. ‘Just making conversation.’ He reached for his wine glass and curled his fingers round the stem as though in need of something to hang on to. And then blurted, ‘What do people talk about at events like this?’

For the first time in her life, she actually felt sorry for a man. He’d come here expecting to enjoy himself and ended up saddled with the dullest, most boring female in the room. And far from betraying his exasperation with her ignorance, and her timidity, he’d done his best to put her at ease. He’d even been making an attempt to draw her out. And wasn’t finding it easy.

‘I expect it is easier for them,’ she said, indicating the other occupants of the table. ‘That is...I mean...they all know each other already, I think.’

He looked round the table and she couldn’t help contrasting the animated chatter of all the other females, who were universally fluttering their eyelashes at their male companions in the attempt to charm them. Then he looked back at her and smiled.

‘Well, we’ll just have to get to know each other then, won’t we?’

Oh, dear. Did he mean to ask her a lot of highly personal questions? Or expect her to come up with some witty banter, or start flirting like the other women? That’s what came of throwing a man even the tiniest conversational sop. She’d made him think she was interested in getting to know him.

‘What,’ he said abruptly, ‘do you think about climbing boys?’

‘I beg your pardon? Climbing boys?’

‘Yes. The little chaps they send up chimneys.’

All of a sudden, the odd things he said, and the abrupt way he said them reminded her very forcibly of her own brother’s behaviour, when confronted by a female to whom he was not related. He was trying his best, but this was clearly a man who was more at ease in the company of other men. Lord Havelock had no more idea how to talk to a single lady than she had as to how to amuse an eligible male.

He was staring at his plate now, a dull flush mounting his cheeks, as though he knew he’d just raised a topic that was not at all suitable for a dinner table, let alone what was supposed to be the delicate sensibilities of a female.

And once again, she felt...not sorry for him. No, not that. But willing to meet his attempts to entertain her halfway. For he was exerting himself to a considerable extent. A thing no other male she’d ever encountered had ever even considered doing. And though men did not usually want to hear what a woman thought, he had asked, and so she girded up her loins to express her opinion. It wasn’t as if she was ever likely to see him again, so what did it matter if he was offended by it?

‘It is a cruel practice,’ she said. ‘I know chimneys have to be cleaned, but surely there must be a more humane way? I hear there are devices that can produce results that are almost as good.’

‘Devices,’ he said, turning to her with a curious expression.

‘For cleaning chimneys.’

‘Really? I had no idea.’

‘Oh? But then why did you ask me about them?’

His brows drew down irritably.

‘I beg your pardon,’ she said hastily, hanging her head meekly. Whatever had possessed her to question him? How could she have forgotten the way her father had reacted should her mother have ever dared to question his motive for saying anything, no matter how absurd?

There was a moment’s awkward pause. She darted him a wary glance to find he’d folded his arms across his chest and was glaring at his plate as though he was contemplating sweeping it, and its contents, from the table before storming off.

A kind of dim terror crept over her. A mist rising up from her past. Her own appetite fled. She pleated her napkin between nervous fingers, fighting to stay calm. He couldn’t very well backhand her out of the chair, she reminded herself. Not even her father had taken such drastic action, when she’d angered him, not in public, at any rate.

No—Lord Havelock was more likely to return her to her chaperon in frosty silence and vow never to have anything to do with her again.

She felt him shift in his seat, next to her. ‘Entirely my fault,’ he growled between clenched teeth. ‘No business bringing such a topic up at a dinner table. Cannot think what came over me.’

The mist shredded, blasted apart by the shock wave of his apology. She turned and stared at him.

‘I dare say you can tell that I’m just not used to conversing with...ladies.’

Good grief. Not only had he apologised, but he, a man, had admitted to having a fault.

‘I...I’m not very good at it myself. Not conversing with ladies, obviously, I can do that. I meant, conversing with members of the opposite...’ She floundered on the precipice of uttering a word that would be an even worse faux pas than mentioning the grim reality of chimney sweeps.

And then he smiled.

A rather devilish smile that told her he knew exactly which word she’d almost said.

With an unholy light in his eyes that sent awareness of her own sex flooding from the pit of her stomach to the tips of her toes.