Mr. Smith isn’t smug.
For a heartbeat, something startled and wicked lit Mr. McQuoid’s eyes, a flash of amusement cracking through the hard, cynical mask he wore—then it was gone.
Oh, God! Lucy curled her toes tight into the soles of her borrowed slippers. She’d said that aloud. The problem in talking to oneself, as a habit, was it caught a lass up at the worst of times.
“Uh…” The bemused nobleman nodded slowly. “Yes. Campbell is not the humble sort. That…is one of our favorite things about the lad.” He looked to his amused son. “Isn’t that right?”
The right corner of Arran’s mouth tucked in the faintest grin. “Oh, among them. There truly are so many wonderful traits Campbell possesses. I would certainly say his lack of arrogance to be among his top three.”
It was a wonder what an honest, open smile could do to a gentleman with rugged, sun-bronzed features, chiseled from stone—and to the woman fortunate enough to be his recipient.
Heat washed over her face.
As if the handsome devil hadn’t already been appealing enough.
A frown formed on Lord Abington’s lips.
What had she done or saidnow? Lucy’s stomach dropped.
When the earl spoke, however, he did so in a kindly way. “Also, Lucy, you needn’t stand on formality referring to him as Mr. Smith. Campbell is your sweetheart. You have leave to use the lad’s name.”
“You refer to mother as Lady Catherine,” Mr. McQuoid pointed out.
Lucy tried in vain to keep up with their rapid volleys.
“I do not do it all the time.” The earl looped his fingers into the waistband of his sage green trousers. “And it is different, boy.”
The sun-bronzed gentleman reclined a big shoulder against the wall. “Because Mother is not your sweetheart?”
Wait. Was the somber fellow making light?
Catching Lucy’s eye, Mr. McQuoid gave a little wink. A single downward sweep of impossibly long, dark lashes. It was like he let her in on a special joke only they shared. Flustered, Lucy settled her hands over her belly to stop the strange fluttering there. They remained trapped in—
“I forgot!”
Lucy and Mr. McQuoid jumped.
Lord Abington’s bushy side whiskers moved up. “How could I be so absent-minded, failing to provide proper introductions. Lucy, this one here is my younger lad, Captain McQ—”
The gentleman gave a tight shake of his head. “Father.”
“Ah, that’s right! No formalities. This is my son,Arran.”
Captain McQuoid—Arran—offered Lucy a playful wave.
This side of him caused a little leap in her chest in a way it had never done, except when Mr. Smith came through the doors of The Spotted Elk.
Abruptly, the suddenly distracted earl withdrew his watch fob and consulted the time. “Uh, yes. Now that you’re properly introduced,” he said. “Why do I not leave you to become acquainted and exchange stories about Campbell?”
Before, she’d been unnerved around Mr. Smith’s surly seeming cousin. That disquiet was nothing compared to this new sense of unease around the charming gentleman.
Lucy sprang forward onto the balls of her feet. “Oh, I really mustn’t! I can’t.” Panic pounded in her chest.
Lord Abington smiled. “Of course you can,” he said jovially. “Arran can still find a way to be charming when the situation calls for it, isn’t that right?”
The brief light which transformed the man from sinister captain to approachable mortal went out. His chiseled features shuttered. There was absolutely no way this stranger, this commanding and enigmaticstranger, wanted to keep company with an unremarkable miss with messy hair like Lucy.
She suspected he would, on account of his being a gentleman.
