Catherine put down her square of toast. “I beg your pardon?”
“You are helping him find Mary Forster,” Leith said. “Why would you do that?”
“Keep your voice down!” Catherine said, looking over her shoulder, but finding no one.
“I already told you I took care of the man,” Leith said, when she turned back. “Well?”
“Come on, Leith,” Montaigne whispered, although she could still hear him, “ease up.”
Somehow, the Earl of Montaigne’s attempt at kindness bothered Catherine even more than Leith’s questions. She may not have a title, she might not be a noblewoman, she might be disgraced, but she wasn’t a delicate, senseless maiden at the mercy of these men.
“He is paying me, of course. I am sure you two have heard all sort of odious things about me and my family. I am surprised that two gentlemen as maligned by the scandal sheets as yourselves would believe what they print. I am not a scheming whore, like my missing aunt, nor am I a babe-in-the-woods. Unlike the Breminsters, the scandalactuallyruined my family so Ineedthis money. I would appreciate if you gentlemen stopped insinuating I am up to anything more nefarious than helping your friend for the right price.”
She stared at the two men. They both looked taken aback. The earl had actually frozen with his fork halfway to his mouth and the marquess’s lips were set in a tight, unpleasant line, which said he did not like to be chastened.
“Look here,” Leith said, “we’re just—”
“Catherine?”
She turned round and looked up at John. He appeared extremely displeased at her choice of breakfast companions.
Catherine looked back at his friends and, as she did, she caught something in their eyes that before she had missed. As they took her and John in together, the Earl of Montaigne and the Marquess of Leith both looked—well, there was no other way to say it. They lookedworried. It eased her anger and even amused her a bit. The society pages had set these men up as the most abandoned of rakes. They didn’t seem that abandoned at this inn breakfast table, staring at their friend like he was balancing one-legged on the top of a parapet.
She wasn’t the only one with ridiculous protectors, she thought, recalling Ariel’s letter. She had assumed these men merely caroused together, not that they actually cared for each another. She was starting to see that she had been wrong.
“Why are you talking to her?”
“Edington, don’t bloody start,” Leith said. “As if we want any further involvement in this mess. In fact, we were just going. I am due back in London tomorrow and must make haste.”
“What did you say to her?” John barked at his friends.
“Brother,” Montaigne said, putting his hands up in a gesture of neutrality. “We’re just getting acquainted. We know she’s yours.”
Yours.
Catherine felt her heart fall into her stomach. She knew that, once again, she was failing not to blush. She couldn’t have looked up at John at this moment if someone had offered her another five hundred pounds. Extending the agony, John didn’t confirm or deny this assessment. Instead, he said nothing, and his friends just stood there.
“I’ll seeyouback in London,” Leith said to John finally and then, with exaggerated meaning, “Until then,take care. Very nice meeting you, Miss Forster,” he said with a touch of frostiness and strode out the door.
Montaigne lingered. “We’ll see you soon, Edington,” he said, softly. “You’ll be all right?”
“Leave,” John snapped.
His friend nodded, but then he leaned in towards John, his voice dropping in volume. Once more, Catherine could still hear him.
“For what it’s worth, I like her.”
John barely managed a growl in response.
“Good day, Miss Forster,” he said, flashing another of his warm smiles.
And then the Earl of Montaigne was gone too.
John turned to her. “Were they bothering you?”
“No,” she said, faintly, “they weren’t—not really.”
“Did they do anything improper?”
