A pause. He considered her with an expression she could not interpret. "It is not that simple, Lady Lavinia. There is a matter I must discuss regarding Sophia's instruction."
"Indeed?" she said, her voice flat. "Have you found fault with my methods again?"
He motioned her off the main path, guiding her toward a narrow lane shaded by overgrown lilacs. His hand briefly touched her elbow, and though the pressure was minimal, it left a scorch mark on her skin.
He waited until they were alone before saying, "Lady Sophia has grown too attached to you."
"Too attached," Lavinia repeated. "Is that a crime, Your Grace?"
He ignored the sarcasm. "She is scheduled for a fitting tomorrow. I need her to be presentable, poised, and undistracted by personal affection."
It took her a moment to grasp his meaning. "You would like her to be a statue in a new dress."
"If she cannot comport herself properly in public, all the progress you claim to have made will be undone."
"I see," Lavinia said. She kept her hands folded. "Would you prefer I teach her the art of superficiality? I am adept at masking emotion, if you require a demonstration."
He looked at her directly, and she could see that something inside him was under strain—a rope pulled too tight, about to snap. "You are exceedingly good at it," he said. "Though not so good as you believe."
"Your Grace," she said, "you forget yourself."
He took a breath, the only sign she had rattled him. "Forgive me. It is only—" He stopped, looking skyward as if for inspiration, then down at the gravel path. "You are not as invisible as you think. The ton is already discussing your association with my family. Your name has appeared in three separate gossip columns this week. I would not wish to see you further compromised."
"If it is so damaging to your reputation," Lavinia said, "why did you hire me?"
He turned, as if to walk away, then reconsidered. "I do not always act according to reason."
The silence between them stretched. In it, Lavinia realized she was trembling.
He noticed. Of course he did. "Are you cold?"
"No," she said, with more conviction than she felt.
He took one step closer, violating the margin of space that usually buffered interactions between men and women in public. "You should be careful of men like Pettigrew. He is in debt and seeking a woman of status and wealth."
“What do you mean by that?” she snapped.
A muscle worked in his jaw. "He is not a suitable match. You would be wise not to waste your time or expectations on him."
"And if I have no expectations, Your Grace?" Lavinia was somewhat puzzled by the indignation his words were drawing from her, but she would not back down before him. "What then?"
He searched her face as if trying to read words written on her skin. "Then you have my apology," he said softly. "But it is not in my nature to let such things stand, when I can address them."
“What business of yours is it?” she demanded.
He straightened and tugged slightly on his waistcoat. “Good day, Lady Lavinia.”
With that, he turned on his heel and walked away, leaving her even more confounded than before. The nerve of him! To interfere in her life in such a manner and refuse to tell her why!
Lavinia touched her elbow, where his fingers had brushed, and found it still warm. But what was more irritating was how her heart would not stop beating, even as she watched his retreating form
CHAPTER 10
“Mr. Farrel!” Tristan bellowed the butler’s name as he marched into Evermere Hall in a temper fit to curdle the marrow in his bones.
His mind was too full of Lady Lavinia Pembroke: the set of her chin, the way her eyes had met his, the stubborn streak that dared him—him!—to challenge her in public.
“Send Griffin to my study. At once,” he added when the butler appeared.
