Page 22 of The Danger of Desire
Time for his marquess stare. “I am a gentleman, madam. And your niece is a lady.” When she wasn’t pretending to be a lad named Jack Jones. “And this is beginning to feel oddly like an inquisition.”
“I merely want to determine why a man who has shown absolutely no interest in marrying heretofore has suddenly decided that my niece—”
“Lord Knightford!” cried a voice from the door.
Miss Trevor had apparently left her bed after all.
As he rose with the cat in his arms, she rushed into the room. She looked utterly different from when he’d danced with her yesterday. Her gown was a soft yellow that made her eyes shine pure azure, and her hair was very messily done, as if she’d put it up herself—or hurried a maid along to do it.
Someone must have told her he was here, for panic flickered in her eyes before she regained her composure. If he hadn’t caught that glimpse, he would never have known she was rattled. Aside from the messy hair, that is.
He’d thrown her off her game, which gave him an odd pleasure. Because Miss Trevor at home was another creature entirely from the two versions that he’d met. Thrown out of kilter by his visit and clearly fresh from her bed, she was flushed and unguarded and the loveliest thing he’d seen in a long time.
Not that it mattered. He wasn’t looking for a wife, and definitely not one who played a different character every time he saw her.
Then her gaze dropped to his arm, and her pretty mouth hardened. “What are you doing to my cat?”
Nowthatwas the impudent Miss Trevor he’d met yesterday. He could practically see the walls going up around her. Which intrigued him even more, damn it.
“Petting it. Why? Is that not allowed?”
“It’s just that... well... Flossie hates everyone but me.”
“Clearly not everyone,” he drawled.
Lady Pensworth stepped in. “Delia, do come sit down. His lordship has done us the honor of paying us a visit, so the least you can do is be courteous.”
She flashed him a tight smile. “Of course. Forgive me, my lord, I’m not used to seeing Flossie cozy up to anyone.”
“Cats are unpredictable,” he said. “Much like their owners.”
Casting him a wary glance, she took a seat on the chair across from him. “It’s either be unpredictable or be boring.”
He sat down on the settee and let the cat leap off to go to her mistress. “We certainly wouldn’t want the latter. But then, I doubt there’s any chance of that.”
Lady Pensworth leaned forward. “I believe there’s a lovely compliment buried in there, Delia.”
“Buried quite deep, I’m sure,” she mumbled as Flossie jumped onto her lap. Delia cast a furtive glance at her aunt, as if to gauge what he might have said to the woman before her arrival. “What brings you to Bedford Square, sir?”
“I’m paying you a call. That should be obvious.”
“What’s not obvious is why.”
“Funny, but your aunt was just asking me the same thing. And I told her—as I’ll tell you—I’m hoping we could be friends.”
“Friends? I somehow suspect you have more than enough of those.”
“But none as intriguing as you. Although I did make an acquaintance last night in the gaming hells—a fellow by the name of Jack Jones—”
She rose abruptly. “My lord, perhaps you would like to take a turn about the garden across the street. It’s lovely at this time of year.”
Suppressing a smirk, he stood. “What an excellent suggestion. Assuming it’s all right with your aunt, that is.”
Lady Pensworth blinked at them both, clearly thrown off by the odd conversation. “I’m sure a turn about the garden would be fine, sir.”
“Thank you. I promise I won’t keep your niece long.” He offered his arm to Miss Trevor. “Shall we?”
Taking it, she practically dragged him from the room. How amusing that he could rattle her so easily. The chit was obviously suffering from a guilty conscience.
