Page 42 of The Scoundrel's Daughter
It quickly became clear that Lucy wasn’t the focus of these ladies’ visit. Alice was their target. Lady Fanstock, the older lady, was a grandmother, and she and her daughter had come with a view to presenting Lady Fanstock’s middle-aged son, Threadbow, as a potential—nay, ideal—husband for Alice.
Lady Fanstock waxed long and lyrical about Threadbow’s many fine qualities, and whenever she paused to draw breath, Threadbow’s older sister filled the gap with more encomiums. Threadbow was clever, he was sensitive, he would cause her no worries of the wandering sort—he’d never been in the petticoat line—and it was a complete fabrication on people’s part to suggest that he had weak lungs.
Alice nodded, murmured polite, noncommittal responses and wondered whether the clock was broken. The hands were moving so very, very slowly.
In the middle of one of these torrents of Threadbow praise, Alice happened to catch Lord Tarrant’s eye. He raised a dark, sardonic brow, winked, then jerked his head toward the door in query.
Give me a wink, and I’ll toss them out on their ear.
A bubble of laughter rose in her. She managed to turn it into a cough.
Tea and little iced cakes were then brought in.
Eventually Lady Fanstock and her daughter finished their tea and left. Lord Tarrant should have gone, too, but he made no move to depart, possibly because there were several little cakes remaining. It seemed Lord Tarrant had a sweet tooth. Before she could delicately suggest to him that his visit was well overdue to end, two more ladies arrived. He rose, greeted them politely and sat down again.
Alice resigned herself and called for a fresh pot of tea and more little cakes—somehow they’d all been eaten.
These lady visitors were visibly delighted with LordTarrant and pelted him with questions—attempting to discover, none too subtly, his marital status, fortune and plans for the future, as well as his war experiences. She was amused to see how he deflected the more intrusive questions by changing the subject so adroitly that the ladies didn’t realize it.
She wasn’t surprised by their interest. There was something about him, something compelling. It wasn’t just that he was tall and ruggedly attractive; he had an air of command—not the kind of swaggering arrogance that she associated with her late husband and some of his friends, but a quiet assurance. As if he were perfectly comfortable in his skin and had nothing to prove.
And of course there was the title and the fortune to go with it.
While his attention was on the other ladies—and the cakes—she took the opportunity to look at him, really look at him. Without those disturbing, knowing gray eyes observing her interest.
And that’s all it was, she told herself—interest. Curiosity. Nothing else.
He was not heavy, as Thaddeus had been, but lean, with a body well used to hard exercise. And fighting, she reminded herself. He’d arrived wearing fine brown leather gloves. He’d removed them and now drew them through his long fingers over and over, as if restless—though in every other way he seemed relaxed.
He was closely shaved. The thought prompted the memory of the faint scent of his cologne the evening of the party. His thick, dark hair was cut short, almost brutally so. She thought she detected a slight hint of curl.
Alice repressed a smile. A number of men of her acquaintance cultivated a head of artistically arranged curls. She suspected some went to bed with their hair in rags, or perhaps their valets used curling irons. Lord Tarrant cut his curls off.
He was plainly dressed in immaculate buff breeches, which clung to his long, lean legs, with their hard, muscular thighs. His linen was pristine, his neckcloth was neat but not ostentatious, and his dark blue coat, clearly cut by a master tailor, hugged his broad shoulders. His boots gleamed with polish, and unlike most fashionable gentlemen of her acquaintance, there were no fobs dangling from his waistcoat, just a plain gold watch chain.
He’d stopped speaking, and she glanced up and found him watching her. Watching her watching him. Her cheeks warmed. Amusement glimmered in his eyes. And then she realized it wasn’t just him—everyone in the room was looking at her. Expectantly.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, addressing the ladies. “Were you talking to me? I’m afraid I was woolgathering.”
“Quite all right, my dear,” the older lady said, with a knowing sidelong glance at her companion. “I was just wondering whether you and your goddaughter are planning to attend the Peplowe masquerade ball next week.”
“Yes, indeed, we’re looking forward to it, aren’t we, Lucy?” Alice said, willing her blush to fade. “Lady Peplowe and her daughter called here earlier.” Lady Peplowe had very kindly sent a note the previous day adding Lucy to Alice’s invitation, and assuring Alice that had she known Lucy was visiting, she would have been included in the original invitation. Alice was delighted. Penny Peplowe was a thoroughly nice girl, the kind that she hoped Lucy would become friends with.
The talk then turned to costumes, but as nobody wanted to reveal their costume plans in advance, the conversation soon dwindled. The two ladies rose to take their leave. Lord Tarrant rose also and bid them a courteous goodbye but made no move to follow them out.
The two ladies exchanged glances once more, and Alice, hoping Lord Tarrant would take the hint, took Lucy withher as she escorted them to the front door, leaving Lord Tarrant alone in the drawing room.
***
James leaned back in the very comfortable chair, crossed his legs and settled down to await her return. He was perfectly aware she wanted him to leave, but he had something to say to her first.
He’d learned a few things about her in the time between dancing with her at the party the other night and calling on her this afternoon. From what he could gather, she’d had a number of men sniffing around her skirts and had given every one of them short shrift.
From the prickly way she’d reacted to him on the previous two occasions, she was expecting more of the same from him. Even though he suspected she was feeling much the same attraction to him that he felt to her.
Which was interesting. For a woman who’d been married for eighteen years and was now widowed, there was a strange kind of innocence about her.
He needed to get to know her better. But first he had to get her to relax around him. He had a plan for that.
