Page 26 of A Match Made in London
Chapter 9
“What amIdoing here? I could ask the same of you, sir.” Really, the cheek of the man. And what was Sir Tristan Crosby doing in the family quarters? Granted, this was not Lady Belham’s home but her cousin’s. She supposed Sir Tristan could be known to the owner of the house. It seemed Sir Tristan knew anyone and everyone in London, after all. But the intimacy could not be so great as to merit him exploring the house at will.
He continued to stare in disbelief at her. No, not disbelief, she amended. More like patent horror, as if he could not believe his bad luck.
That made two of them, she thought darkly.
“If you are here to visit Lady Belham or her cousin, I must insist you await them in the drawing room.”
Sir Tristan’s mouth dropped open. “Lady Belham’scousin?”
“Yes.”
“Hercousin.”
“Yes,” she said, slowly and distinctly. Truly, was the man simple-minded?
“Do you know her cousin then?”
“I have not had the pleasure to meet her yet. I arrived a short time ago, and she has not returned from her outing.”
“Herouting.”
Rosalind very nearly rolled her eyes. “Yes.”
He frowned. “But you are companion to the Gladstows. What are you doing here with Gra—er, I mean Lady Belham?”
“I am no longer employed by the Gladstows,” she said stiffly. “Not that it is any of your business, but I was relieved of my post this morning. Lady Belham was kind enough to take me on.” But she was letting her tongue get away from her again. She drew herself up. “That is neither here nor there. You should not be in this part of the house. I insist you accompany me back to the drawing room and I will fetch Lady Belham straight away.”
To Rosalind’s consternation, the confusion in Sir Tristan’s face was quickly being replaced by…levity? “By all means, Miss Merriweather,” he said, grinning, “let us go to the drawing room.”
Flummoxed by such a change in demeanor, Rosalind peered closely at him. His eyes sparkled with what looked suspiciously like mischief, his mouth tightening at the corners as if he were holding in a laugh.
He swept his hand before him. “Shall we then?”
Rosalind narrowed her eyes and started off down the hall. He was a ridiculous man, no doubt having a good laugh at her expense for some unfathomable reason. All men like him were cut from the same cloth, after all: trampling others in pursuit of their own pleasure, thinking nothing of those beneath them. Well, he would soon see she was not one to be cowed easily.
She hurried down to the first floor, walking blindly, eager to see the man get his comeuppance. As she turned left at the bottom of the staircase, Sir Tristan cleared his throat.
Stopping, she turned to glare at him. “Yes?”
“Ah, I do believe the drawing room is this way, Miss Merriweather,” he murmured, indicating the hall behind them.
Rosalind’s face went hot. “Erm, yes. As I said, I was just taken on this morning. Still learning the house and all.”
She moved to pass him. His hand on her arm stopped her in her tracks.
Heat shot through her body at the contact. She sucked in her breath, staring dumbly at his bare fingers on her skin.
“What, no thanks?” he murmured. He was not scandalously close, yet his warm breath fanned the stray tendrils of hair at her temple, making her shiver.
Her reaction to him shook her. Frowning, she yanked her arm from his loose grip with much more force than was warranted. “Do not presume to touch me, sir,” she gritted. Without waiting for his response, she stormed off.
As luck would have it, the butler, Danielson, reached the first floor and headed her way. “I have distressing news,” she called as he came closer. “It seems Sir Tristan has lost his way and was wandering the family apartments. Would you be so good as to show him the drawing room where he can await Lady Belham at her pleasure?”
The butler froze, his eyes going wide, darting from her to Sir Tristan. Rosalind smiled smugly. Surely their interloper would not fail to see the utter brass of his actions now. But instead of a proper level of dismay, the man’s amused grin had returned tenfold.
“I’m sorry, Miss Merriweather,” Danielson said, drawing her attention back, “I don’t quite understand.”
