Miss Smith shot him a look that clearly said that they already had one. Him.
Outrage turned instantly to amusement and arousal. Devil take it, but she was an exciting woman. Whatever the truth of her situation here, she clearly was no angel. She was too ripe, too bold, too responsive to a kiss. Sparks flew from her, igniting fires in him, and she knew it.
What a pity he couldn’t stay at Rothgar Abbey to investigate Miss Smith at leisure, not to mention witness his haughty cousin’s handling of the return of his pawn and his reception of nursery treats. It would also make it easier to assess exactly how to use his weapon.
It wouldn’t do, though. It would look as if he was accepting the invitation, as if he was ready to sue for peace. He probably shouldn’t return the pawn, either. Devil alone knew what Rothgar would do with it next. Cheynings would be a better option, but Thalia would be hard to convince.
Snares and entanglements. He raised his glass and wryly toasted the three ladies. “To Christmas, and all merriment of the season.”
Chapter Seven
Genova returned the toast, but she recognized malicious enjoyment behind it. She should be wary, if not afraid, yet something was firing her blood as it had not been in an age.
Not something. Someone. The Marquess of Ashart. In the year since her father’s retirement, she’d learned that she missed action and adventure. Now she was engaged in a duel with a formidable opponent, and the zest of it sparkled in her blood.
She was determined that he support his child, and he was determined to resist. It would be a glorious battle.
Thalia broke the moment. “Good, that’s settled! Now we can have a nice game of whist. Genova, dear, ring for the servants to clear the table.”
Genova did so. This hardly seemed the moment for a game, but Thalia adored whist and went after what she adored with the purpose of a willful child.
As they waited for the servants, Genova tried again to pin down practical details. “How are we to transport the baby and his maid? We can’t fit five adults in the main coach, and the secondary ones are packed.”
“Five?” asked Thalia, already with her cards in hand. “Oh, Ashart will ride. Won’t you, dear?”
“Always,” said the marquess.
Genova remembered his arrival in that ominous cloak. The outriders had ridden all day for two days, but that a marquess should choose to do so in such bitter weather seemed…unnatural.
The essential problem in the Trayce family was awoman who’d murdered her baby. Did insanity, or at least instability, run in the blood? Thalia, dear though she was, was dotty.
Now that Genova thought of it, wasn’t the madwoman’s son, Lord Rothgar, sometimes called the Dark Marquess? She seemed to remember reading of a duel not long ago in which he’d killed his opponent. The Portsmouth paper had regarded it as scandalous, and hinted that only royal favor had saved the marquess from dire consequences.
Caution chilled excitement. What was she blindly sailing into? What was she blindly carrying two innocents into? As the servants arrived and set to work, she said, “Perhaps we should think of some other plan—”
“Stop fussing, Genova,” Lady Calliope growled. “We have space in the coach, and you’ve arranged for a bed.”
“Which I haven’t.” Ashart caught the attention of one of the servants. “Tell the innkeeper I wish to see him.”
The man bowed and left.
As soon as the table was clear, Thalia sat and dealt the cards. They had finished the first hand when the innkeeper arrived, looking distressed.
“Milord, milord, I spoke the truth. This close to Christmas, many are on the roads, and with the weather so bad many stopped early. The arrival of such a large party as this…”
“So? Do you expect me to turn holy and sleep in the stables?”
Lynchbold winced at the tone. “No, no, milord! If you would be so gracious, there is a mattress already set up in the lady’s parlor upstairs. I gather it was for a maid, but it’s a good thick mattress, milord, and a maid can sleep in the kitchens.”
Genova braced herself for a tantrum, but the marquess sighed. “It will have to do.”
The innkeeper left, almost quaking with relief. Genova was weary of battle but had to make one moreforay. “Would it be possible for Sheena to sleep with us, Thalia? With her speaking no English, it would be frightening for her to be put among strangers.”
“She’s already among strangers,” Lady Calliope snapped. “Stop pampering her. She probably sleeps in an earth-floor hovel in Ireland.”
Lord Ashart looked wry. “You truly do think I should sleep in the stables, don’t you, Miss Smith?”
“No, my lord, but…”
