“No,” he said firmly as she began to stretch out a hand. “You are not a butler, and there is no point in both of us being soggy.” He removed his hat and coat as he spoke and set them down nearby while she folded her hands at her waist and looked inhospitable.
She watched as he ran a finger beneath the back of his cravat. There was nothing much he could do about its dampness except put up with it.
“The fact and propriety of my being alone in the house are absolutely none of your concern, Lord Hardford,” she told him. “I will not have you play lord of the manor here in my own home.”
He opened his mouth to dispute that last point, but closed it again without saying anything. It would be petty to argue. But he could not capitulate entirely. “Even opening the door after your servant has left could be dangerous,” he said. “How did you know it was safe to do so now?”
“I did not,” she said. “And clearly itwasnot. But I will not live in fear.”
“The more fool you, then,” he said. He had not missed the insult, but perhaps he had returned it. One did not normally call a lady a fool. “Are we to remain freezing out here in the hall?”
“I beg your pardon,” she had the good grace to say as she turned to lead the way into the sitting room, which was invitingly cozy and warm. “I do hope, though, you have not come here to be disagreeable, Lord Hardford. Take the chair by the fire while I make some tea.”
“Not on my account,” he said, availing himself of the chair she indicated. “And I am not always or even often disagreeable.”
“I know,” she said. “You are charm right through to the heart.”
Ah, a direct quotation from his own mouth. Well, and so he was with almost everyone he knew. Everyone, in fact, except Lady Barclay. He regarded her as she arranged her skirts about her on the love seat. It was unfair to think of her as being made of marble. On the other hand, she was not all feminine warmth either. He had no idea why he had come.
“I have no idea why I have come,” he said.
Ah, the polished gentleman of consummate good manners with an endless supply of polite topics upon which to converse.
“You came to disapprove of me and find fault and scold,” she said. “You came because I am an encumbrance upon your estate and you are too irritated simply to ignore me.”
Well.
“Fustian!” he said. “You would not even be decently submissive enough to allow me to pay for your roof.”
“Exactly,” she agreed. “But you found a way of paying half anywayandof making me beholden to you for getting the job done without further delay.”
“You are as irritated with me as I supposedly am with you,” he told her.
“But I did not seek you out this evening,” she pointed out with damnably faultless logic. “I did not go toyourhouse, Lord Hardford. You came tomine. And if you dare to point out that my house is actually yours, I shall show you the door.”
He sat back in his chair, not a particularly wise move, since it pressed his damp shirt against his back. He drummed his fingers on the chair arms. “I never quarrel with anyone,” he said, “especially women. Whatisit about you?”
“I do not worship and adore you,” she said.
He sighed. “I am lonely, Lady Barclay,” he said.
Yes, whatwasit about her? What the devilwasit?
“I think perhapsboredwould be a more appropriate word,” she said.
She was quite right.
“You presume to know me, then?” he asked.
She opened her mouth, drew breath, and—interestingly—flushed.
“I beg your pardon,” she said. “Why are you lonely? Is it just that you are far from your family and friends? Are there many of them?”
“Family?” he said. “Hordes. All of whom love me, and all of whom I love in return. And friends? Another horde, most of them friendly acquaintances, a few closer than that. I am, as one of my cousins informed me on my birthday recently, the most fortunate of men. I have everything.”
“Except?” she said.
He raised his eyebrows.
