He nodded.
“In that case, perhaps you should leave.”
He blinked at her. “Why?”
She’d heard of men who ruined their bodies by endless drinking. Could it ruin the mind? In one not yet thirty? “If you’re found here, there could be trouble.”
“True enough. Fussing ’n’ botheration.” He swayed and then, giving up the effort of standing, turned and collapsed back down onto the chair and out of sight.
Perhaps he’d hidden there in the hope his aunt wouldn’t discover how drunk he was.
Ariana seized the copy of theTimesand edged back toward the door, still watching him in the mirror. He seemed only half-conscious, but then he said, “Don’t go.”
She realized that if she could see him, he could see her. “I mean to instruct the servants to take you home, sir.”
“Don’t have a home. Not in London at leasht.”
“To your inn or hotel, then.”
“Don’t have one of ’em, either. Live here.”
“This is the house of the Dowager Countess of Cawle,” she repeated. Helivedhere?
“I know that,” he said, frowning at her. “She’sh my aunt.”
Ariana was pleased to have arrived at honesty. “Yet she doesn’t know you’re here?”
“Been away. ’Rived back late. The queshtion is, who are you, my gold-topped Amazon?”
Tone and faint gleam in bloodshot eyes were warningenough. “Another guest,” Ariana said, and backed again toward the door.
“Lady Ariana Boxstall,” he said, making it to his feet again, brow furrowed, as if trying to remember more.
She prayed he didn’t. But she couldn’t resist a mischievous lie. “I apologize, sir, but I do not remember you.” It was hard not to grin at the way it took him aback. Had any women ever before forgotten him?
He managed a slight bow without falling over. “The Earl of Kynashton, at your service, Lady Ariana. We danced once. At m’aunt’s ball in... ’09, yes? Musht have been ’09.”
Ariana hoped her smile looked merely polite, for her innards were behaving erratically. He remembered their one dance? “You have a remarkable recall, my lord. You must have danced with a great many ladies then and since.”
“But none so tall. And your name does act as an aide-mémoire. Tall,” he added, as if she might miss the point, “and Boxstall.”
If the newspaper in her hand had been something heavy, she might have thrown it at him. As it was, her only weapon was indifference. “So it does, my lord. If you will excuse me?”
“You’ve improved.”
Some buried part of her still stirred in foolish hope, and that broke her restraint. “As you have not, my lord! You are as arrogant as ever, and a drunkard as well. I recommend you find your bed, wherever it is.”
“So you do remember me.” He came toward her then, weaving only slightly, his words becoming clearer, perhaps along with his wits? “Will you steer me to my bed, Lady Ariana?”
“You’re drunk, my lord, and don’t know what you’re saying.”
“Not true, not true. I do want you to take me to my bed. To my great sorrow.”
“Come any closer and I’ll hit you.”
Humor gleamed in those heavy-lidded eyes. “With a newspaper?”
“With my fist.” Ariana switched the paper to her left hand and raised her right, clenched and ready.
