“For having the same exquisite taste as a Renaissance master artist?” he asked with wide-eyed innocence, clearly misconstruing her words on purpose. “’Tis I who should be thanking you. Should you wish for me to continue my observations on your divine tresses one day, simply send a note to—”
“Grenville!” called out a well-dressed, raspy-voiced man in obvious desperation. “I must speak to you. That matter we discussed? The newest development must be handled at once. May we converse privately?”
“Of course. Do try to calm yourself. I will work it out.” Mr. Grenville turned back to Lady Roundtree’s carriage and managed to sweep Nora and the baroness a half bow from atop his horse. “A thousand apologies to the loveliest ladies in Hyde Park. If you’ll forgive my hastened departure, I promise to make it up to you in the future.”
Lady Roundtree wagged a finger. “Duty must come first. Go rescue the earl before he has an apoplexy and falls off his horse.”
Nora nodded quickly. “Please help your friend.”
“Until we meet again.” Mr. Grenville lifted his reins and galloped down the path after the panicked earl.
Nora forced herself not to stare after him. The ill-timed interruption had been a boon. She had been so enraptured by Mr. Grenville’s meaningless compliment that she’d forgot for a moment the power—and the danger—he represented.
He uncovered people’s darkest secrets.
She needed to keep hers at all costs.
A flirtation with him, no matter how brief or innocent, could only invite disaster. Mr. Grenville was not her beau or even her friend. He was a member of theton. Fully capable of destroying her reputation, her position, and her best chance at improving her grandparents’ lives if he ever found out the truth.
With luck, they would not meet again.
Chapter 8
As Heath handed off the reins to his landau in front of the Roundtree residence, he could not help but wonder if today’s unusual summons was at all related to the Hyde Park encounter with the baroness and her lovely companion earlier in the week.
Try as he might, Heath had been unable to cease thinking about Miss Winfield. How much simpler it would be to put paid to this obsession if he could simply spend more time in her company!
Had the two of them been traversing Hyde Park from the relative privacy of an open carriage, he and Miss Winfield could have conversed without witnesses eagerly spying upon every word. A nice long conversation would instantly clear up the question of whether their personalities actually suited, or if the intense longing to pull her into his arms and kiss her was nothing more than meaningless chemistry.
Heath tried to push such thoughts from his head as he loped up the stone steps. So what if the chemistry between them was electric? He was not going to kiss her. So what if their personalities suited? He was not going to court her. No matter how many sparks sizzled between them, she would remain in her place and he in his.
Although, the summons here today made him wonder what else might be going on.
Because Heath and the Roundtrees resided on the same social plane, he frequently came across the baroness at various Society events. However, this occasion marked the first time he had received an invitation to their home. He frowned in concern. As much as he enjoyed helping others, Heath was fond of the baroness and hoped he had not been summoned to prevent some personal tragedy from becoming a public scandal.
Before he could rap the brass knocker, a stately butler swung open the large door and ushered Heath inside.
Upon presenting his card, Heath was quickly escorted to a sunny salon in the front of the town house, where Lady Roundtree reclined upon a stuffed chaise. A modest blanket covered any fear of exposed stockings due to her splinted leg resting gently on a truly mountainous pile of cushions.
Heath swept a deep bow. “Lady Roundtree.”
“Thank you so much for your prompt attention, Mr. Grenville.” She waved a fretful hand toward the chair opposite. “I hope you are not offended by my lack of curtsey.”
“I shall only be offended if you fail to accompany me in a livelyBoulangerthe very moment your surgeon pronounces you healed,” he teased, knowing full well the baroness preferred to oversee country dances from the sides, in order to note every detail.
The baroness harrumphed, her eyes twinkling. “We shall see if Lord Roundtree allows me to dance with a pup a decade younger than myself.”
“A pup!” Heath clutched his hands to his chest in mock agony. “Now youhaveoffended me, and grievously. Have I been summoned to this beautiful salon only to bear witness to grave assaults against my character?”
“Quite the opposite.” The humor disappeared from Lady Roundtree’s countenance. “I’d like to discuss details of someone else’s comportment with you.”
At the implication, a cold knot formed in Heath’s stomach. “Miss Winfield?”
“What?” Lady Roundtree stared at him in bafflement before she burst out laughing. “No, my companion pleases everyone but Lady Pettibone, and that is only because the ‘old dragon’ is impossible to please.”
Heath did not join in the laughter. He had never run afoul of Lady Pettibone, nor was he wont to find witticism in cruel nicknames. Yet the emotion in his chest was not outrage on the absent Society dame’s behalf, but rather an intense relief that Miss Winfield was not involved in any scandal.
By the sound of Lady Roundtree’s description, her companion was just as unlikely to find herself in an imbroglio as Heath himself. That spoke highly of her character. Despite their class differences being impossible to overcome, sharing a strong sense of personal ethics only made him like Miss Winfield more.
