Page 6 of Her Impeccable Scoundrel
Chapter Three
Blythe’s spies and correspondents in the various seaports and government offices had failed her.
Pulling herself together, she stood. “What an unexpected surprise,” she said truthfully, and added, “And most welcome.”
His frown said he didn’t believe her. As well he shouldn’t.
“Lady Chilcombe,” he said, bowing.
Before he’d left England, the serious boy had become a young man with a reputation for impeccable manners. Those manners she knew hid a contrary nature and an utter lack of charm and humor. A strange mix of traits for a diplomat.
He’d grown since then; filled out, matured, toughened. He was a stark contrast to his cousin, Archie.
It seemed she must drastically move up her date of departure from Chilcombe House.
And go where? Her friend, Lady Loughton, had a houseful of family descending on Loughton House and no room for a homeless countess.
She would ask there for shelter anyway.
Or she could gather her things and retreat to the country, except that she needed to be in town, active in the social swirl, close to her solicitor, close to the court handling the disputed will.
Shaking off her dithering, she went to greet the new earl, mustering her composure, groping for words, her senses muddled. They’d been friends once, many years earlier, and she wasn’t immune to a handsome, active, masculine man’s scents—cologne, horses, and fresh air.
Up close, the glint in his hazel eyes signaled… a challenge? That this was his home, not hers?
Or could it be humor.
“You have only just crossed the threshold?” she asked, her voice trembling. Despite the chaos of life with Archie, she’d never grown comfortable with sudden disruption, with careful plans gone awry, with watchfulness and danger.
Remembering the crowd waiting with bated breath to see what came next, she steadied herself. She had to win over society. Any hint of weakness might be her downfall with the ton, and eventually, with the court deciding the matter of Archie’s will.
The new earl reached for her hand, said “Excuse us,” to the crowd of visitors, and led her out. Adwick followed them, pulling the drawing room door closed.
Too startled to speak, she freed herself from the large, warm, masculine hand and composed herself yet again.
“I gather I have arrived earlier than expected,” he said. “You look well, cousin.”
Cousin? She supposed they were that now, but by marriage only. Warmth rose in her cheeks to match the heat she saw in his eyes.
Oh, this would not do.
“You will want to refresh yourself,” she said, mustering a bored tone. “Adwick, please show the earl to his chambers. And then, my lord, I will see this crowd out and meet with you at your earliest convenience.”
He studied her, his expression unreadable, said thank you, and left.
Blythe pressed a hand to her heart and slipped into the drawing room.
In the seconds it took to return to her guests, she’d prepared a task list in her head: tell her maid Radley to begin packing; send a servant to Mivart’s Hotel on Brook Street; and send a note to her estate agent telling him there was no longer any time to quibble over leases.
Getting rid of this lot in her drawing room—the new earl’s drawing room—would be easy. Their call on the scandalous countess had harvested quite a juicy morsel of gossip. By dinnertime, all of London would know that the impeccable Earl of Chilcombe had arrived to claim his home and found the old earl’s countess residing there.
By breakfast, they’d learn that Lady Chilcombe had departed said home. There would be much gossip about her departure, but staying under the same roof with the new earl alone would stir far more.
The butler, a ramrod straight, austerely handsome man with gray hair, led Graeme up a flight of stairs and down a hallway covered in carpeting.
The air of understated elegance matched that of the lady below.
Blythe.
