Page 43 of Lord Ashley's Beautiful Alibi
She shook herself to attention. “No. No, no. Our cellars were inundated, and the kitchen staff lost their quarters. Only lately have our servants been able to bail out all the water.”
“Tragic.” He sat, serene as if he were in church, and went on about damages in London from winter storms.
She wished she could measure the length of his black lashes. Why would a man need such lovely things? It was not fair.
“Gus?” He cocked his head. “Does she?”
“What? Hmm. I apologize.”
He flicked those lashes downward.
Did he hide a grin?
She had better ideas what to do with those lips.
“Your aunt,” he said, and gave her a look that implied she had been miles away, “does not join us?”
Ah. Well. No.“She remains abed until at least three. Last night went on and on. She stayed until the very end.”
Thank heaven he and Gus were alone. Aunt Cecily, perceptive as that lady was, would see through her bumbling. Gus’s assurances to her that she did not care for him would be for naught.
She had to find her footing.
“You slept well last night?” she asked, filling a void with a stupid, stupid subject.
“I did. And you?”
“Not very.” She reached for her tea. “I have trouble sleeping occasionally.”
“All the late nights add up. They are not good for you. Nor for anyone.”
“They cannot be avoided,” she bit off.
“I understand.” He accepted cheeses and sausages from the tray the footman offered him. “It’s good you and I are—”
Wincing, she slid her gaze toward the kitchen door and the threshold to the hall.
His brows shot high. Then he nodded.
The walls did have ears.
“—shall we say?—able to break away better than others.” He smiled and went back to his eggs.
The butler hovered over her. Blind with dismay, she took a scoop of eggs that would choke a horse.
Her companion noted it with dubious brow.
She glared at him and jabbed her fork into her mound of food.
“Was last night a success for you?” she ventured in an attempt to cover her petulance and make decent conversation.
He stopped, his fork in midair, and looked at her across the circular table. His brow crinkled in a frown. “With potential offers of sales for England?”
“Of course.” She knitted her brows in reprimand.
He sipped his coffee for a minute, all the while examining her as she shoveled her breakfast into her mouth and searched her brain for her reason.
“Why don’t you tell me where you wish to ride today, Gus?” He tucked into his omelet and toast, as unperturbed as the cucumbers on the plate.
