Lenora wished desperately she were Freya in that moment. For it would be preferable to the confusing jumble of attraction and guilt that she was wading through.
As she opened her mouth to speak again, anything to fill that damnable silence, a sinfully attractive gentleman strode into the room. “The man at the door said I could find you here,” he said to Mr. Ashford. “Damn near tackled me when I made to walk off without him, but I do believe I gave him the slip.” He grinned and turned to Lenora. His chiseled face transformed, going from boyish delight to heavy-lidded interest in the space of a heartbeat. “Well, hello.”
A growl sounded. Lenora turned to look at the dog, but Freya was busy staring at Mr. Ashford, her too-large ears tilted toward him. Had that noise come from Mr. Ashford then?
She was saved from ruminating on it as the dark man with the wickedly sparkling onyx eyes sauntered forward. “Peter,” he drawled, not taking his eyes from Lenora, “perhaps you would be so kind as to introduce me to this vision.”
Mr. Ashford merely glared at the man, who continued to stare at Lenora as if she were a sweet cake.
It was Lady Tesh who finally spoke. “You must be Peter’s business associate.”
He gave Lenora a bold wink before turning toward the viscountess. “As my friend is playing the brute, allow me to introduce myself,” he said, striding to the older woman and bowing over her hand with an impressive flourish. “I am Mr. Quincy Nesbitt. And you must be Lady Tesh. It’s an honor to be a guest in your beautiful home.”
“The honor is mine,” Lady Tesh replied. Suddenly her eyes sharpened. Which really was saying something, as the woman had the most piercing gaze Lenora had ever witnessed. “Nesbitt? An unusual name, that’s certain. You’re not by chance related to the Duke of Reigate, are you?”
The man’s smooth smile turned brittle, the tightening of his lips and the hardening of his eyes altering him in an instant. Then Lenora blinked and his face smoothed back into its previous warmth. A trick of the light, perhaps?
“Ah, I’m afraid not,” he said with a mournful shake of his head. “Though that would be something, wouldn’t it?” He chuckled, before letting his dark gaze drift back to Lenora.
Lady Tesh took the hint. “My young friend here that you were flirting so outrageously with is Miss Lenora Hartley.”
“Miss Hartley,” he drawled, bowing in her direction.
“My granddaughter is also staying with me,” Lady Tesh continued. “You will meet her later.”
“I look forward to it,” he said with a slow smile. His eyes fell to where Freya sat at Lady Tesh’s feet. To Lenora’s surprise, he dropped to one knee before the dog. “And this tiny creature?”
“That there is Freya. I think you will find she is more mistress here than I am,” Lady Tesh replied.
“Well, aren’t you a beauty,” Mr. Nesbitt cooed, reaching out to scratch Freya under the chin. The dog closed her eyes and let out a low moan.
Lenora choked back a laugh. She had a feeling that the man was more than used to such reactions from females. He was quite the most attractive man she had ever seen, and the most confident as well. And that was saying something, having been acquainted with most members of theton.
Why, then, Lenora thought as her eyes were pulled against their will to Mr. Ashford, was she much more drawn to a great glowering Viking?
The man in question made a rude sound. “Come along, Casanova,” he growled. Grabbing his friend by the arm, he pulled him to his feet and propelled him out the door. But not before Mr. Nesbitt gifted her with a parting wink.
“Dear me,” Lenora said faintly.
Lady Tesh watched the men leave. “This, I do believe, will be a very interesting month.”
Chapter 5
Peter scowled at his reflection in the looking glass. Not because he was displeased by what he saw. No, he was more than presentable, despite lacking the necessary evening clothes for dinner in a stately home of the English elite. It didn’t matter that his coat was not of the finest wool or of the most fashionable cut. He was clothed and clean; nothing else should matter.
No, what caused his mouth to pull down so deeply at the corners was his concern over what a certain young lady might think of him when she saw him.
His frown deepened. The opinion of a society miss should not matter to him in the least. Nor would it, he vowed viciously, turning away from the glass. His gaze landed on Quincy, who was leaning casually in the doorway.
“Do you enjoy sneaking into my rooms?” Peter snapped.
“I admit,” Quincy said with a shrug, “while last time it was entirely your fault, this time I was drawn in by pure curiosity. What, I thought to myself, would the much-too-serious Peter Ashford wear to a viscountess’s dinner?”
“My clothing is fine,” Peter grumbled, tugging at his cravat. Not failing to notice that Quincy, in his impeccably cut stark black evening clothes and snowy cravat, appeared to be an archangel come to life.
Damn the man.
“I told you back in Boston,” his friend continued, “to bring along evening wear. Didn’t I tell you?”
