Page 9 of The Danger of Desire
Uh-oh. Toomanydetails could also ruin a tale. “Well, of course one can.” She hoped one could, anyway. Reynold had only grown flax on his land, for the local linen mills.
“In Shropshire,” he said, “only one county over from Cheshire, corn doesn’t grow well at all.”
Reynold and Papa had taught her that the best way to win at cards was to go on the attack. Surely that would prove true for dealing with overbearing lords, too. “How would you know? Clarissa says your estate is in Wiltshire.”
An odd light gleamed in his eyes. “One of them. But I’ve owned a hunting box in nearby Shropshire for years.”
“So you grow crops at your hunting box, do you?”
Irritation flashed over his face. “Of course I don’t grow— What has that got to do with anything?”
“I’m merely saying that if you don’t grow crops and you likely don’t meet many farmers, you can’t know too much about the local agriculture.”
She cast a furtive glance at Owen. She had to get rid of his lordship. It was clear from Owen’s expression that he needed to speak to her. And he didn’t dare stay out here very long or Aunt Agatha would wonder why he wasn’t with the other servants.
Fortunately, the waltz was ending. As soon as the music stopped and they bowed to each other, she said, “Thank you for the dance, Lord Knightford. It was most intriguing. I wish you luck with Lady Clarissa.”
But as she turned to walk off, he caught her by the arm. “I’m supposed to lead you from the floor,” he said firmly.
She forced a laugh. “This is a lawn, sir. And I can find my own way, thank you.”
His eyes narrowed on her. “Are you sure you won’t consider joining forces with me to keep Clarissa from plaguing us with her matchmaking? Your Phineas Owenhammer would never have to know.”
She started to correct him on the name again, then gave up. “Oh, but my dear Phineas could hear of it in the papers. You’re a very popular subject in the gossip rags, you know. And given the difficulties he and I already face in being together, I don’t want to take any chances.”
This time when she pulled away, he let her go, but she could feel his eyes on her the whole way. Somehow she’d managed to snag his attention, and that was not good.
She could only hope that his interest in her was as fleeting as his interest in every other woman she’d heard associated with him. Because one way or another, she would find the man who’d cheated Reynold. And neither Clarissa nor the disturbingly handsome marquess was going to stand in the way of that.
Three
As Miss Trevor was darting away, Warren leaned forward and snagged a feather from her coiffure. She had so many of the damned things that she wouldn’t miss one, and he’d need an excuse to approach her again.
Which he fully intended to do. Because Clarissa was right—something was up with Miss Trevor.
He wasn’t sure what, but he knew that her tale about her “suitor” was created from whole cloth. She was good at lying—he’d give her that—but Phineas Owenouse? He’d wager there wasn’t a man on earth with such a ridiculous name, Welsh or no. Not to mention that she’d had trouble describing what he did for a living.
Farmer, hah! No farmer didallof what she described. The fellow would have to be filthy rich, and there were few farmers who werethatrich.
Besides, he’d noticed her furtive glances at the servant standing on the edge of the crowd. Something was up. Whose servant was he, and why would she communicate with him so furtively? Was she arranging an assignation? Accepting one of those notes she supposedly read at balls?
And why didhecare, anyway? The woman had deplorable taste in clothes, she was a pain in the arse, and she was almost certainly not worth Clarissa’s worry.
She also had a forthright manner that intrigued him, a lively enjoyment of dancing, and a fresh, lemony scent that made him think of tarts—not only the pastry kind, but the other kind. And unlike most debutantes, she didn’t seem to care what he thought of her.
It was maddening. Women of her station usually cozied up to him; they didn’t try to escape his advances. He was a bloody marquess, for God’s sake, practically the holy grail of husbands in society.
And she talked about things no debutante would ever discuss. She had a quick wit and a ready smile, and her throaty laugh would make any man imagine making love to her.
Often. Thoroughly.
He groaned and clamped down on a surprising burst of lust. He was supposed to be protecting her from ravishment by some fortune hunter, not plotting how to ravish her himself.
Clarissa wanted him to save Miss Trevor from trouble, and that’s what he meant to do. In years past, he should have pressed Clarissa harder about whyshe’dresisted marriage. If he’d known the truth, perhaps he could have prevented some of what she’d had to endure later. Doing this favor might go a long way toward assuaging his guilty conscience about that.
Besides, after all his ward had suffered, she deserved not to be fretting about her friend falling prey to a scoundrel. Clarissa, in her delicate condition, didn’t need any more worry weighing her down.
Right.Thatwas why he was now stealthily edging toward a woman who didn’t want his attentions. Because of some need to protect his former ward.
