Page 23 of The Rebellious Lady and the Phantom Lord
“Your pardon, milady,” Armande said. “I had not meant to startle you, but I thought I heard your voice in here.”
Heard her voice and how much more? Phaedra wondered, her heart thudding from the shock of his sudden appearance.
“I had some business to attend. Private business.” She tried to present the picture of haughty composure, but her hands trembled as she hastened to slip the coins back into the purse. Faith, she could not have appeared more guilty than if she were the infamous Guy Fawkes caught stacking a powder keg under parliament.
Gilly, on the other hand, had contrived a smile of the most charming innocence. The rogue probably could have done so even if he stood holding a lighted fuse in his hand, Phaedra thought with some envy.
In her nervous haste, she dropped one of the guineas. It rolled to a halt by Armande’s silver-buckled shoe. He bent and retrieved the coin in one graceful motion.
“I am sorry if I am intruding,” he said. Armande took her hand. He pressed the gold coin into her palm, cupping her fingers about it. His ice-blue eyes delved into hers, seeming to promise that what secrets he had not heard, he would prize from her by force of will. Then his gaze traveled to Gilly. One of the marquis’s dark eyebrows arched questioningly.
Phaedra had no choice but to perform the introduction. “My lord, this is my cousin, Patrick Gilhooley Fitzhurst.”
“A pleasure it is, my lord.” Unabashed by Armande’s appraising stare, her cousin seized the marquis’s hand and wrung it in a hearty shake. Devilish lights danced in Gilly’s eyes as he added, “I’ve heard a great deal about you.”
“I’ll wager you have, Mr. Fitzhurst,” Armande said.
“My cousin helps me. With my investments, from time to time,” Phaedra said and then she silently cursed herself. She owed Armande no explanations. “Unfortunately, Gilly was just on the point of leaving.”
“You are not staying for supper, Mr. Fitzhurst?”
“Nay, my lord.” Gilly swung his cape about his shoulders. “I fear most of Mr. Weylin’s guests are the sort to take Mr. Swift’sModest Proposalto heart. Not only do they think all Irish children should be devoured-they wouldn’t hesitate to serve me up, tough and stringy as I am.”
To Phaedra’s surprise, the marquis laughed. It was the first time she had ever heard him do so, the sound rich and, deep-timbered, but also restrained, as though the man dared not find genuine amusement in anything. She found the thought disturbing and somehow sad.
“Farewell, coz. Your lordship.” Gilly bowed to Armande and gave Phaedra an audacious wink as he moved toward the door.“No need for you to summon Madam Pester. I can find my own way out.”
Gilly was nearly across the threshold and Phaedra had just felt herself begin to relax when Armande spoke up. “One word before you go, about your, er-investments, Mr. Fitzhurst.”
Her cousin paused on the threshold, his brow furrowed in an expression of polite inquiry. The marquis shook out the lace at his wrists and continued in completely impassive tones, “Half a crown might do for a laundry maid, but it takes far more to induce a good lodging house keeper to gossip about one of her guests.”
A gasp escaped Phaedra, and she could feel the color begin to drain from her cheeks. He knew. Dear God, Varnais knew about the questions Gilly had been asking. For a moment, even her cousin looked shaken, but he quickly recovered.
“I shall bear that in mind, your lordship.” Although he flashed the marquis an impudent smile, his gaze swept over Armande as though reappraising the Frenchman. He said to Phaedra, “Maybe I should stay awhile longer?—”
“No, I wouldn’t dream of detaining you,” Phaedra said. She all but thrust him across the threshold, muttering low enough so that only her cousin could hear. “Please, Gilly. You will only make matters worse. I can deal with the marquis.”
Gilly backed out of the room with obvious reluctance, unwilling to leave her alone with Armande. As soon as the door had closed behind her cousin, Phaedra felt her own bravado ebb.
The silence that settled over the anteroom seemed heavier than one of London’s fogs. Phaedra avoided looking at Varnais. Nervously she moistened her lips. “We’d best hasten to the dining parlor. I daresay the others will be wanting their supper.”
She took a step forward, but Armande’s outstretched arm barred her path, not roughly, but an immovable barrier all the same. “My lady, I believe we have need of a talk.”
“Well, if you want to .talk about prying,” Phaedra blustered, then realized with dismay, it was not he who had brought up such a thing, but she. She continued doggedly, “How dare you follow me from the salon!”
“Your grandfather sent me to find you.”
“I hadn’t realized there was a shortage of footmen.” She tried to slip past him, but he planted himself more firmly in her path. Never had he seemed more formidable, his masculine strength thinly veiled beneath the cool exterior of ivory satin.
“What you should realize, my lady,” he said, “is that I seldom trouble myself to warn anyone a second time.”
Phaedra thrust out her chin, seized by an impulse to deny any knowledge of what he was talking about. But one look at his eyes glinting like shards of crystal, told her denial would be useless. She faltered. “And just how did you know that I-that Gilly?—”
A trace of amusement eased the hard lines of his mouth. “My dear Lady Grantham, you and your cousin are not exactly the most subtle people I have ever met. But I will admit that when reports reached my ears of a strange Irishman asking odd, unconnected questions about me, I neither knew his name nor associated him with you until ten minutes ago.”
“Oh,” she said weakly. She retreated a step, still unable to gauge how annoyed he was. She had a strong fear that if she ever raised Armande’s anger, she might not even know it until too late.
She affected a careless shrug. ““So now you know it was I who set Gilly on, what will you do about it? Draw your sword and run me through?”
