Chapter 6

Andrew stared through the conservatory glass at the moon and inhaled until his lungs could hold no more, waiting for the tobacco to surge through his body.

It was a cold clear night. He thought it might actually be too cold to snow, although somebody at dinner had been sure there was a storm on the way.

Lord. The only thing that would be worse than spending Christmas and New Year at Wych House was if he were snowed in and couldn't take his daily ride.

He reluctantly exhaled, the smoke heavy in the humid air, mingling with the scent of dirt and vegetation.

There was an interesting halo of sorts around the moon and the sight momentarily diverted his thoughts.

Andrew squinted as he tried to recall what the phenomenon was called.

"It is a moondog ."

Andrew bit back a groan at the unwanted voice. "Why are you following me?" he asked, not caring if he was being rude. "We're here—in the bosom of your family and friends—and yet you still must persecute me. Can't you find a more interesting target?"

Kathryn laughed, the throaty, sensual sound far older than her tender years. "I think you underestimate your appeal, Shelton." She waved her hand in front of her face and gave an exaggerated cough. "Must you befoul the air?"

"Yes, I must. Perhaps you should find somewhere else to be if you do not care for it?"

Undaunted by his bad manners, she said, "How are you enjoying your first evening at Wych House?"

Andrew would have liked to ignore her question—and her, as well—but several months of enforced proximity with the youngest Bellamy sister had taught him that ignoring her only invited more persecution. For whatever reason, she delighted in bedeviling his every waking hour.

"I am having a delightful time," he said, not bothering to hide his sarcasm.

"Liar. The only person here who looks more unhappy than you is my mother's companion."

Andrew thought about the woman who'd just scowled at him in the drawing room. He'd been too agitated to notice much about her when she'd run into him outside Lady Shaftsbury's chambers. But seeing her again at dinner, and afterward, he'd felt a strange twinge of memory. Had he met her somewhere before?

He'd never had a head for names, but his ability to recall faces had become even worse after he'd returned home from the War.

"Who is she?" Andrew asked.

"She is my mother's companion."

"I know that," he said, giving her a withering look. "What is her name?"

"Why?"

Andrew lifted an eyebrow at her suspicious tone. "Why what?"

"Why are you asking?"

"Why do you think I'm asking?" he demanded testily, although he could no longer remember why himself.

"Is she your next target for seduction?"

"Very droll." How did the little witch manage to draw him into these conversations?

Kathryn laughed. "Or ab duction, I suppose."

Andrew knew he deserved her mockery, so he kept his mouth shut and endured it.

But he also took a deep draw on the slender cigar and then exhaled, not being too choosy about which direction he blew his smoke.

She coughed. "Is she, Andrew?"

"Is she what, Kathryn ?"

"Your target."

He gave vent to an explosive sigh. "Lord, but you're persistent! You're like a walking, talking, nagging burr in skirts."

"And you are avoiding the question, which can only mean I've hit on the truth. I should probably warn our host of your intentions."

"Bloody hell!" he muttered, pushed beyond civility by her harping. "You can stop teasing yourself on the subject, Kathryn. I'd have to be desperate indeed to foist my attentions on such a drab, downtrodden little dab of a female." Shelton scowled, furious that she had driven him to utter such unkind words. While it was true the countess's companion had given him a look of near loathing in the drawing room, there was no excuse for what he had just said.

"That was a cruel thing to say, Shelton." There was no humor in her voice now.

Andrew's ears heated and he hoped it was too dark to see the flush that was no doubt coloring his face. "Haven't you heard that I'm an unprincipled cad?" he taunted. "What else do you expect?"

"Even for you that was low."

It had been.

"Her name is Miss Martin," Kathryn said. "Don't you know her?"

"Would I have asked you if I did?" he shot back irritably.

"I'm not sure about that," she murmured.

He frowned. "Just what do—"

"I know she is a desperate woman," she went on, talking over him as if he was not there.

The woman he'd seen earlier had looked scornful and haughty, but not especially desperate. "Why do you think she is desperate?"

"Only a desperate woman would take a position working for my mother."

He barked a laugh. "Such filial devotion. That's rather a, er, grim assessment of your mother."

"Is it?" She gave him a slyly amused look. "You met her earlier in the drawing room."

"Touché."

"So, what do you think of her?"

"I think she has good reason to dislike me."

"I don't mean my mother. Even an idiot could guess that. I meant Miss Martin."

" Should I think something about her?"

She shrugged.

He picked a shred of tobacco off his tongue and flicked it away before saying, "I assume she is some poor relative?"

"No, her father was Viscount Clayton."

Clayton. Andrew vaguely recalled the name but could bring no face to mind. "What's she doing working as a companion?"

"Her father died without a son and the new viscount—a distant cousin—is a cheeseparing villain who tossed her out. And so she had to leave her family home and earn her crust."

"I thought you said you didn't know her," he said, amused by her description of the man.

"I don't, but I know about her situation."

Andrew grunted, bored with the subject of the companion. "Will your father be joining us?"

"Thankfully, we will be spared that gruesome event as he is spending the holiday at Oatlands with the Regent."

He wasn't exactly thunderstruck to hear that Addiscombe had chosen to carouse with the profligate prince rather than play chicken stakes whist with his family. Doubtless the earl would lose a packet over the holiday; money that Needham would have to pay.

"Do you know my father, Andrew?"

"I've met him, but I wouldn't say that I know him." The man owed Andrew money from years before, but it seemed indelicate to mention that.

"You mean you've played cards with him."

He hesitated before saying, "Once or twice."

"Did he lose?"

"He might have. I can't recall," he lied.

"When was this?"

"Ages ago. You would have been in leading strings." Andrew could still recall what a dreadful cardplayer the man was. Doubtless he was greatly enjoying himself now that he could loot Needham's bottomless pockets.

It wasn't any of Andrew's concern, but he hoped Sylvester didn't get drawn into supporting the profligate old rooster. The dukedom might be wealthy, but a man with Addiscombe's ability to waste the ready could drive it into the dirt fast enough.

He took a last draw on his cigar, pinched off the glowing end, and exhaled before saying, "I'm going back inside. Are you coming?" he added, his manners getting the better of him.

"No. I'll stay here for a while," she said, sounding oddly subdued.

"Suit yourself," he said, and then left the moody adolescent to whatever was eating away at her.

***

I'd have to be desperate indeed to foist my attentions on such a drab, downtrodden little dab of a female!

Stacia couldn't stop hearing the words, which echoed like the ring of an especially unpleasant bell.

I'd have to be desperate indeed to foist my attentions on such a drab, downtrodden little dab of a female!

The description had frozen Stacia to the spot, far more unpleasant than the smoke from Lord Shelton's foul-smelling cigar.

Stacia had always considered herself to be a practical person. She was not beautiful, but neither was she ugly. Perhaps being average was even worse than either of those things? She'd never believed that to be the case until tonight.

Drab, downtrodden little dab of a female.

Was that really how people viewed her?

Stacia quietly eased from the conservatory and hurried back toward the ancient staircase, as if she could outrun the nasty words.

She glanced down at her gown as she climbed the stairs. Yes, it was a serviceable shade of brown, but what was wrong with that? As a matter of fact, brown suited her!

I'd have to be desperate indeed to foist my attentions on such a drab, downtrodden little dab of a female!

"Enough!" she hissed upon reaching the landing.

Lord Shelton's head suddenly popped around the corner. "What was that?"

Stacia shrieked.

Shelton winced. "Er, sorry. I heard somebody say something behind me and assumed you were talking to me."

"What is wrong with you?" Stacia's hand had jumped to her heart, as if by laying a hand over it she could soothe its frantic rhythm. She glared up into a face that would make angels weep, her eyes colliding with a pair that were an unearthly shade of blue.

I'd have to be desperate indeed to foist my attentions on such a drab, downtrodden little dab of a female!

"Are you all right, Miss Martin?"

The sound of her name on his tongue snapped her from confusion and misery to icy control. So. He had finally remembered it after all these years, had he?

Rather than please her, it only made her hate him more. "I am fine , my lord. At least I was until you leapt out of nowhere and all but stopped my heart."

He recoiled at her harsh tone, momentarily taken off guard. But he recovered quickly enough, his eyelids lowering and his unfairly perfect lips pulling up into a lazy smirk that was, even after all these years, enough to snatch the air from her lungs. "I normally prefer to stop a lady's heart using more… pleasant means."

Her jaw dropped.

The knowing expression on his face said he was accustomed to robbing women of words and laying waste to their wits. He gifted her an amused, condescending smile and held out his arm. "Allow me to make up for my boorish behavior by escorting you back to the drawing room."

I'd have to be desperate indeed to foist my attentions on such a drab, downtrodden little dab of a female!

The words snapped her from her besotted fugue.

"Oh, dear me!" she said in an exaggerated, gushing tone. "Such a treat would likely make my head swell, my lord. I'm sure it is far safer for my peace of mind to walk into the room unassisted."

His expression of stupefaction was so complete that she was tempted to linger and enjoy it. But Stacia knew the value of a well-timed exit and took advantage of the stunned silence to sail past him, her chin high.

Only when he was behind her did she allow herself a triumphant smile. Take that you insufferable, arrogant toad.