It drifted through the air like the scent of honeysuckle on summer wind. It wasn’t the laughter of his mother, though she was known to chuckle drily at the right provocation. No, this laugh was brighter. It sounded rather like someone who had tried very hard not to laugh and failed entirely.
Suddenly, his entire body tensed up. He knew that laughter from somewhere. He’d been too stunned at the time, what with her having assaulted a peer and kissed him straight in the face, but the sound had stuck. In fact, it was still there, somewhere in the back of his mind, irritating and pleasant all at once.
That woman.
He exhaled slowly. But she was gone. She had run off into the night like a heroine from a tragic novel, possibly to perish, possibly to star in several footmen’s nightmares. Either way, she was no longer his concern.
Except… there it was again, that sound, that laughter. It was closer this time. Mason’s brows drew together. It came from the drawing room.
A sinking feeling began to settle in his chest as he stepped into the hall. The corridor stretched out in golden light from the windows. He walked with deliberate intent when suddenly a voice echoed through the place as evidently, the drawing room door was not closed.
“Dear heavens, I think this is the most delicious tea I’ve ever had!” came a sweet female voice.
Mason stopped dead in his tracks. That woman was inhishouse… again. Mason swore very softly under his breath. This was not good. He had no time for distractions. And this particular distraction had already kissed him and nearly committed involuntary manslaughter on his library furniture.
He ought to leave now and ride away for the day. He ought to let his mother handle whatever madness had led to that woman’s reappearance. But he didn’t move—because as much as he told himself that he was done with her and her madness, that laughter and that voice were tugging at him like a thread he hadn’t realized was loose.
He couldn’t control himself any further.
The door swung open with a force that sent a draught through the room and scattered several well-placed napkins across theDowager Duchess’ knees. His eyes held the faintest sheen of disbelief, the part he was not able to control.
“What,” he inquired with the clarity of a man teetering on the edge of abandoning civility, “is going on here?”
The woman, who had just been offered a second biscuit, let out a small squeak and nearly dropped her tea. The Dowager Duchess did not so much as flinch. She sipped her cup with the practiced elegance of a woman who had witnessed thirty-seven balls, two revolutions, and the cruelty of a man she had married.
“Tea, I should think,” she replied calmly. “And conversation. You might try it sometime, Mason.”
His gaze flicked immediately to the woman, who was now very upright, very composed, and very clearly trying to appear as though she had not broken into a cold sweat.
“She is supposed to be—” Mason began, only to be cut off by his mother’s gentle voice.
“—my companion,” the Dowager finished, as though they were discussing the weather. “Miss Cordelia Brookes has agreed to stay here. She is in need of a quiet place to rest, and I am in need of company. A simple arrangement, really.”
So, he’d found out her name, but that was the least of his concerns now.
“You don’t need a companion, Mother.”
“I beg to differ.”
“You hate having company.”
“I hate havingboringcompany,” she corrected. “Cordelia, at least, is entertaining.”
Cordelia almost chuckled. “That may be the kindest insult I’ve ever received.”
Mason ignored her. “Mother, this is absurd. There are other… more suitable places for her to stay. Somewhere far less complicated.Farther, ideally, for need I remind you what happened the last time she was here?”
“I know the story,” his mother confirmed. “And so do you. Besides, the man was bandaged and taken home rather tenderly, I might add.”
Mason raked his fingers through his hair. “I don’t think is a good idea, Mother.”
The Dowager Duchess gave him a look that communicated very clearly she’d be able to tame a lion, if need be, which was very much unlike her. He couldn’t understand where this sudden desire to keep Cordelia by her side had sprung from. “The matter is settled, dear.”
Cordelia placed her teacup on its saucer and rose slowly. She turned to him with all the affected calm of a governess correcting an unruly child.
“If His Grace believes me an unsuitable guest,” she said in a sweet voice, “I will, of course, take my leave at once. I understand it must be… distressing… to receive unexpected news.”
It was something about that tone he didn’t like. It was overly polite, perfectly measured, so very ladylike that it could not be anything but sarcasm in disguise. It grated at him more than outright defiance.
