Whatever was wrong with her? She was here on a very important matter and yet he was proving to be a distraction. “I have provided you with significant details in my letters. Surely you received them?”
“I am sure I did, but for the sake of time, why not refresh my memory?” He leaned back and linked his fingers over his stomach.
“You have not read them, have you?” She stared at him, her suspicions rising.
His even smile never wavered, but there was a tenseness in his jaw that wasn’t there a moment ago. “Not all of them, no.”
“How many, exactly?” She’d been sending him letters for the past three months as things in her home village at Upper Waverly had escalated to a dangerous level. He’d ignored them all, hence her visit.
“Is this how you want to spend your five minutes, Mrs. Adare?” he asked, the smile he flashed deepening the dimple on his cheek.
Temper sparked, she clutched the reticle in her hand. “This is no laughing matter, my lord.”
He stilled at her remark, a tick forming in his cheek.
Patience, Elizabeth. She feigned a polite smile, although it pained her to do so. It wouldn’t be wise to alienate the gentleman when she desperately needed his aid. “I am sorry if I insult, but this matter has me most distressed.”
His inscrutable stare never wavered, and she resisted the urge to squirm in her chair. It was a tribute to her own stubborn nature that she remained in her seat.
“You, Mrs. Adare, are a very poor liar.” He clasped his hands together, bringing her attention to the rise and fall of his breath beneath the tan waistcoat. His stomach was flat, without a trace of a paunch. “You’re not sorry at all. Admit it.”
His physical presence and his intuitiveness were off-putting. But then again, she doubted he got the position he held without a keen insight and enough savvy to recognize deception when he met it face to face.
“You’re correct. I am not sorry at all. You’re clearly mocking me,” she said.
He ran his hand along the back of his neck, ruffling his dark blond hair. “You’re right on both accounts, Mrs. Adare. I should be the one apologizing.”
“I realize the fight against Napoleon’s imperialism is of the utmost import to England, but innocent lives are being threatened. Why not a month past, Lord Randell’s men beat two of my tenant farmers. One man died from his injuries, and the other may never walk again. He has to be stopped.” She bristled with indignation every time she thought of what damage that evil man had caused. The villagers were terrified, and she felt helpless every time they aired their grievances with her.
“You have spoken with the local magistrate, I trust?” Stanton splayed his hand on his knee. He had long fingers with broad palms and wore a signet ring, a small raven with laurel etched in the gold. His family crest, perhaps?
“John Cane is a worthless sot whose pockets are lined by Lord Randell’s ill-gotten gains.” If possible, Cane was worse than Randell. It was he and his minions who carried out the man’s vile orders.
“Come now, Mrs. Adare, you know as well as I that Lord Randell is not only a peer of the realm, but a powerful member of Parliament.” He tapped his thumb against his tan breeches, the wool a fine quality. “I find it difficult to believe he would risk his reputation for a few duty-free goods.”
Frustration cut through her core. She had to make him understand the severity of the situation. “I have witnessed the smugglers with my own eyes. If you but sent a man, I can show him all the evidence you need. I have seen—”
“Mrs. Adare.” Stanton leaned in and held her gaze. He was close enough that she could see the tiny lines at the corners of his arresting eyes. “You will not—under any circumstances—risk your life by spying on unsuspecting men for the sake of a little intrigue!”
“I am not a silly miss to be ordered about.” She stood, and he got to his feet as well. Her mind whispered to take a step back, to distance herself from him like a proper lady should, but she remained where she was. In the country, she hadn’t much interaction with men of a similar station. They avoided her for many reasons, mostly because she was plainspoken. Apparently, it was a trait most men feared. Stanton appeared to be the exception. “I know what I saw, and I will stop Randell whether or not you help me.”
“Sit down.” He pointed to the chair that she’d vacated, his expression unreadable. “Mrs. Adare, our audience is not at an end.”
“I believe it is, my lord. If you’re unwilling to help me, then we’re at an impasse. Now I must find another way to save the villagers from the tyranny of its overlords.” Despair threatened to weigh her down. He was her last resort and from the negative turn of the conversation, he wasn’t willing to help.
Laughter cut through the tension surrounding them and amusement curled his lips. “The tyranny of its overlords? You make the gentry sound positively medieval.”
She allowed a reluctant grin and shook her head, flabbergasted and flustered by this infuriating man. “I know I sound dramatic, but I am desperate to help these people who have lost all.”
The door opened and an older man entered. By his carriage and clothing, he was a member of the gentry. A scowl marred his face, one that might be handsome if he weren’t glowering. “Langdon, what is the meaning of this? Idle was prattling on about you being in here with some troublesome chit.”
“Langdon?” Elizabeth looked from one man to the other, a sickening feeling twisted her stomach. She knew his name from somewhere but at that moment, she couldn’t quite place it. The fact she couldn’t recall spoke of how rattled she was over the deception. He had lied to her the entire time. Humiliation choked her. She pointed a shaming finger at him. “You’re not Lord Stanton!”
