Page 68 of Three Weeks with a Princess
“That doesn’t do a damn thing for my conscience,” he said tartly. “Not with Sir Nathan as your escort. He doesn’t know who you are, does he? As far as I can tell, he’s entirely lacking in morals and is an inveterate gossip to boot.”
“I’m not a complete idiot, Mr. Sinclair. Of course he doesn’t know who I am. As for my two friends, I trust them completely—if for no other reason than my stepfather would probably fire them from his acting troupe if he knew they’d helped me tonight.”
He shook his head. “You’re not just kicking up larks, are you? You’re courting disaster by doing this, you know. It’s completely insane.”
Lia reminded herself that he was trying to be helpful. “I’m touched by your concern, but please believe that I know what I’m about.”
“If you’re on the lookout for a paramour, I must disagree with you.”
When his gaze flicked over her body, lingering for a few moments on her bosom, she was grateful she wore a mask to hide her blush. It wasn’t pleasant to present oneself as an object of commerce to strangers, but to see herself judged in that context by someone she knew—and liked—was disturbing.
The disapproval in his eyes gave her a taste of the future. The people she loved would feel more than disapproval—they would feel betrayed, probably even disgusted. Jack would want nothing to do with her. He would be infuriated that she had so recklessly disregarded his wishes and would no doubt vow never to see her again.
Which is exactly what you want, is it not?
“What’s wrong?” Sinclair asked, his expression transforming into one of concern. “You’re looking rather ill just now.”
She forced a smile. “I’m laced too tightly into this costume, that’s all.”
He waved a vaguely imperious finger at her. “What are you supposed to be, a milkmaid? Where’s your bucket and stool?”
“I checked them with a footman, obviously.” She made a point of perusing his garb. He looked very elegant in discreet black and white, with a black silk evening cloak flung carelessly over his shoulders.
She waved a vague finger back at him. “That’s not much of a costume. What are you supposed to be?”
“A bored gentleman of business,” he said dryly.
She laughed. “I suppose that fits, then. And I’m afraid I agree that this affair is rather boring, despite its salacious nature.”
For a moment Lia considered sounding the retreat and allowing Sinclair to escort her home. But who knew when she would have another opportunity to scout out potential protectors? She couldn’t afford to let this opportunity go to waste.
“Then let me take you home,” he said gently, as if reading her thoughts. “You don’t need to do this.”
Lia shrugged. “Not true. And I suspect you’ve already heard why I do.”
“I have, but that ugly incident wasn’t your fault.”
“It doesn’t matter whose fault it was, the damage is done.”
“Your family would not agree.”
“My family is wrong.”
She thought she saw pity in his gaze. That felt worse than his disapproval; pity was likely the only charitable feeling she could expect from her family and friends. And pity so often turned to scorn.
“If you’ll excuse me, sir,” she said, desperate now to make her escape. “I must find my—”
“I know what it’s like to be an outsider, you know,” he interrupted. “To realize that no one can understand you.”
She couldn’t repress a snort. “I don’t mean to be rude, Mr. Sinclair, but you’re wealthy and the son of a well-regarded baronet. Short of being a royal, one couldn’t be much more of an insider, especially among the beau monde.” If he noted the irony in her statement—because royal blood ran throughherveins—he didn’t acknowledge it.
“I don’t pretend to understand your particular situation,” he said, “but I will say that appearances can be deceiving. My personal history, for instance, involved an exile from my home and everyone I cared for. I was in India for over ten years and it was not by choice.”
His somber expression tugged at her sympathies as well as her curiosity. Lia wished she could ask for an explanation, but she’d already spent too much time with him. Barbara would come looking for her sooner rather than later and she didn’t want to risk another scene.
She briefly pressed his forearm. “You’re very kind, Mr. Sinclair. Please don’t worry about me. I promise to be careful.”
When he tried to hold on to her, she evaded his grasp.
