But Priscilla couldn’t risk any of that. She’d had her moment of fun, experienced her first flirtation. No matter how rude she had to be to make it happen, it was time to discourage his attentions once and for all. Nothing could jeopardize her inheritance.
Especially not her heart.
Chapter 4
Thad grinned across the top of his mount at Miss Weatherby.
He hadn’t known he was looking for her until he caught sight of her and forgot everything he’d been trying to say to the Countess of Fortescue.
Miss Weatherby was the strangest wallflower he’d ever met. To wit, she seemed only to be a wallflower to him, and a handful of other gentlemen of Thad’s acquaintance.
He could not help but be fascinated. She was clever and witty, and now that they’d put their disastrous encounter at Almack’s behind them, perhaps they could—
“Whatever you’re thinking,” she said, all the humor gone from her eyes. “No.”
He blinked. Clearly the accidental admission that he’d hoped to see her again had been taken in some unflattering light.
“Please do not think me too forward,” he said hurriedly. “I meant to imply nothing more illicit than an offer of friendship.”
“I don’t think of you at all.” She folded her arms beneath her bosom. “And we are not friends.”
“Well, no,” he stammered. “Not yet. But I thought—”
“Don’t think,” she said. “I’ll save you the trouble. I don’t want to be friends, and I don’t wish for you to court me. I’m sorry if I misled you.”
“You haven’t led me anywhere,” he assured her, at a loss as to how their lighthearted conversation had turned so sour.
Other than the Marriage Mart, there was literally no reason to go to Almack’s. He could probably scrounge up better quality crumbs from between the squabs of his carriage.
Which meant Miss Weatherby wasn’t against marriage. She was against him. He’d attempted to be Prince Charming and she’d taken him for a villain instead.
This was completely new territory. As far as Thad knew, he had never made such a bad impression before. He wasn’t certain where he’d gone wrong, but he had to make this right.
“I’m not trying to marry you,” he said quickly. “Or seduce you.”
Likely an unconvincing argument. Did dissolute rakes ever admit their nefarious plans in advance?
“I know you aren’t,” Miss Weatherby surprised him by saying. Her expression was kind. “It’s not personal. You don’t have what I need.”
Actually, that sounded very personal.
“What do you need?” He steeled himself for her response. A title? A palace? Money? A knight on a white steed?
“Goodbye, Mr. Middleton,” she said instead, and motioned to her driver.
The barouche managed to roll forward three or four inches.
Thad’s mouth fell open. It was not quite the cut direct—she had bid him farewell—but it was a baffling end to what had begun as a delightful conversation.
Rather than continue about the park, he nosed his mount away from the flow of carriages and back toward Jermyn Street. His townhouse was not as lavish an affair as the grand residences in Mayfair, but it was home, and he was always happy to be in it.
Lately, however, home had started to feel empty. He handed off his usual trusty bay to the usual loyal footman, walked up the same front steps to be greeted by the same family butler, and then…
Nothing.
Except for the occasional silent-footed maid, the townhouse was still and quiet. Wandering alone down the corridors and up the stairs felt like visiting an after-hours museum of his life.
The townhouse was lonely without Diana around. Thad’s cousin had only been his ward for five years, but he’d adored having someone surprising and challenging in the house. They had never been bored.
