Peter was saved from giving his friend a blistering set-down by the timely arrival of a maid. She stumbled to a halt, her eyes going wide as she took in the two of them.
Quincy gave her a courtly bow as she continued to stare mutely. “How may we be of service, miss?”
The girl, who could not have been above sixteen, blushed scarlet. “My pardon, sir. You’ll be meeting in the drawing room tonight for dinner, and Lady Tesh has bid me to show you the way.”
“And she could not have chosen a more charming guide,” Quincy said with a rakish grin.
Peter watched with narrowed eyes as the girl gave his friend a shy, adoring smile and beckoned them to follow her. He moved close to Quincy, pulling him back beyond the girl’s hearing.
“Stop it,” he hissed.
“Stop what?” The wide-eyed look Quincy gifted him with was so innocent as to be almost comical.
Peter was beyond laughter, however. “The women in this house are not here for your amusement, be they lady or servant.”
“Come now, old man,” Quincy said with a roll of his eyes. “You know I won’t let it go further than a flirtation.”
“A flirtation can be just as dangerous,” Peter said darkly, motioning toward the maid, who cast yet another awestruck glance back at Quincy.
Quincy waved away his concerns. “You’re jealous.”
“Jealous?” Peter spat in disbelief.
“Because they prefer me. And how could they not, me being so exotic while you’re…” He motioned from Peter’s scuffed boots to his overlong hair. “Well, you.”
This time Peter did laugh. “You, exotic?”
Quincy grinned. “I took so well to life in America, I’m practically American myself. I reek of the exotic.”
Peter snorted. “You reek, but not of the exotic. Just promise me, no more of your outrageous flirting with the women in this house.”
“Fine,” Quincy said. “But know, you’re taking all the fun out of this for me.”
They reached the drawing room. And in unison stumbled to a halt. For though Miss Hartley was noticeably absent—damn him for even noticing—there appeared to be an entire harem of women waiting there for them.
“Oh, comeon,” Quincy groaned, sending Peter a long-suffering look.
“Peter, Mr. Nesbitt,” Lady Tesh called as they moved forward, “I do hope your rooms are to your liking.”
“They are, madam, thank you,” Peter said.
“I would like to introduce you to some relations of yours, Peter.” She turned to the women who milled around her. “Ladies, this is Peter Ashford and his friend, Mr. Quincy Nesbitt. Gentlemen, this is my granddaughter, Mrs. Margery Kitteridge. You will recall she’s staying as well at Seacliff. And these young ladies are Lady Clara Ashford and Lady Phoebe Ashford, the Duke of Dane’s daughters.”
A ringing started up in Peter’s ears. So these were the children of the man who had turned him away when his mother lay writhing in pain. Fury surged through him, turning his vision red at the edges. He had not wanted to meet these women. Yet here they were, looking on him with wide, nervous eyes. He was always so careful, considered every possibility. How had he not seen that, by staying with Lady Tesh, there was every chance he would be meeting socially with the duke’s family?
He clenched his hands tight at his sides.
Quincy cast Peter a cautious glance before he smiled his most charming smile and bowed. “It is an honor, ladies.”
“Ours as well, Mr. Nesbitt,” the elder, Lady Clara Ashford, said with a blush. She seemed to drag her gaze from Quincy with effort before turning her attention to Peter. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Mr. Ashford. My father sends his regrets that he was not able to attend this evening. His health prevents him from getting out.”
Her voice was pleasant and sweet, though there was a flash of pain in her eyes when she spoke of her father’s ailment. His eyes tightened at the corners as he studied the young woman and her sister. They looked on him with an uncertainty that he could fully understand, for here before them was the man who would have sole control of their existence when their father died.
He leveled a look on Lady Clara, one that must have been frightening indeed if her widened eyes were anything to go by. Peter opened his mouth, intending to put the woman in her place, their audience be damned.
“I’m so sorry for being late.”
That voice, already so familiar, was like a blow to the head. He swung about, his eyes falling on the newcomer as she hurried into the room. And every intention to lay the duke’s daughters low was lost as he gazed on Miss Hartley’s sweetly smiling face.
