Trevor sighed. “I haven’t an inkling who it was. A footpad.”
Pamela gasped. “You could have been killed!”
“And Cousin Cluttermuck would have rejoiced,” he said wryly. “I dare say Ferdinand would be here even now, stealing all the family silver and Sèvres like the conscienceless weasel he is.”
“You know his surname is Clutterbuck, not Cluttermuck,” his sister chided gently.
He took note that she did not otherwise argue with his assessment of their avaricious toad of a cousin, next in line to inherit.
“Cluttermuck is more suiting,” he said. “He ought to have it changed by royal license.”
“You are obfuscating the point,” Pamela countered, “which is that you could have been grievously injured. Whatever were you doing skulking in an alley, giving some criminal the opportunity for attack?”
“I do not skulk, sister,” he said smoothly. “I move with great deliberation and intent. As it happens, I was leaving my establishment and returning home for the evening when the incident occurred. I take my responsibilities seriously, you see. A business must be looked after.”
“I do not wish to speak of that dreadful place,” she said primly, folding her hands in her lap as she made her disdain for The Velvet Slipper abundantly clear—and not for the first time. “However, I am quite pleased to hear that you take your responsibilities seriously, for surely that means your reason for requesting this interview was not so that you could once more cry off attending a ball with myself and Lady Virtue.”
Ah, yes. That had, indeed, been the reason. He recalled it now.
He cleared his throat and shifted in his chair, an unusual surge of guilt hitting him. “I do have a great deal of correspondence awaiting me that I must attend.”
“Ridgely,” she snapped, sounding so much like their mother that he experienced a visceral reaction. “The Montrose ball is quite likely one of Lady Virtue’s greatest opportunities for setting her cap at a husband. You promised you would attend.”
So he had. Blast Past Trevor for being so daft.
“I cannot think my presence would prove a boon for my ward,” he pointed out carefully. “As you said, my reputation is hardly pristine.”
“You are, nonetheless, a duke.” Pamela’s tone was crisp and cool, much like her blue gaze so like their father’s. “The girl is gauche. There is no gentler way to phrase it. Whilst you may be something of a heartless scoundrel, I cannot help but to think your attendance as her guardian—perhaps even a dance with her—would help to enhance her appeal. At the very least, it would show that you are actively supporting her search for a husband.”
A dance with Lady Virtue? Never. Trevor did not dance. Not because he wasn’t adept at it. But rather because he didn’t bloody well like it. Colossal waste of time, jumping about and whirling and smiling. Unless it was a waltz. That was a different matter entirely, although he wasn’t about to waltz with her either. The very thought of holding her so close, having her in his arms, was enough to make every part of him go uncomfortably hot.
“I’ll not dance with the chit,” he decided.
“Then attend,” Pamela beseeched. “I am begging you to aid my cause.”
“Your cause is hardly a munificent one,” he could not resist reminding her. “If I hadn’t agreed to funding your wardrobe for the next year, you’d never have agreed.”
“Yes, but that is only because you are dreadful,” his sister said without heat.
He couldn’t argue the point. Hewasdreadful. He made rather a habit of it. There was no easier means of keeping everyone at a polite distance.
Trevor sighed. “When is the ball?”
“Tomorrow evening.”
Bloody hell.
“Tomorrow?” He scowled. “I cannot possibly. I have previous engagements, to say nothing of the matter of my injury. Tongues shall wag, making all manner of assumptions as even my own beloved sister did.”
She waved a hand at him. “Have your valet arrange your hair in an artful fashion to cover the lump. It is certainly long enough.”
Her voice was tart, and he heard the unspoken disapproval in her assessment of his hair.
“I prefer to wear it as it is,” he groused, just to nettle her.
“For one night only, it shall suffice.”
“Pamela.”
