“Was it something I said?” he asked in all innocence next to her ear.
Roslynn didn’t hesitate to give him the full impact of her elbow, which landed unerringly at such close range. Satisfied with his grunt of discomfort, she slipped around him, putting a more breathable distance between them.
“I believe you’ve had enough amusement at my expense, Sir Anthony. I only intended to be here a few minutes, and I’ve wasted all this time on unnecessary explanations. I have a driver waiting and a long trip ahead of me. You said you were in a hurry as well. The name, if you please.”
He leaned back against the door, that “long trip” sending off tremors of panic through his body. “You’re not leaving London?”
“Of course I am. You don’t think I can stay here now that Geordie’s found me, do you?”
“Then how do you intend to entice one of your admirers into a marriage proposal if you’re not here to help the courtship along?”
“Hell’s teeth! As if I have time for a courtship now,” she said, exasperated by his never-ending questions. “I’ll be doing my own proposing, if you’ll—just—give—me—a—name!”
Her furious emphasis on each word warned him to change tactics, and yet he was at a momentary loss. He wouldn’t give her a name even if he had one to recommend, but if he told her that, she’d be out of the room in a flash and gone who-knew-where. He wondered if he dared ask her destination. No, she was fed up with his deliberate evasions.
He walked toward her, indicating the thick lounge chair in front of the fireplace. “Sit down, Roslynn.”
“Anthony…” she began warningly.
“It’s not that simple.”
Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “You’ve had ample time to sift fact from rumor, as you promised to do.”
“I asked for a week, if you’ll recall.”
Her eyes flared in alarm. “Then you haven’t—”
“On the contrary,” he cut in quickly. “But you’re not going to like what I’ve found out.”
She groaned, ignoring the offered chair, and began pacing again. “Tell me.”
Anthony’s mind raced ahead, scavenging frantically for possible dirt he could pile on her contenders. He began with the only piece that was actually true, hoping inspiration would follow for the rest.
“That duel I told you David Fleming refused to participate in. It not only branded the poor fellow a coward but also—well, actually—”
“Out with it! I suppose it involved some woman? That’s hardly surprising.”
“The argument wasn’t over a woman, my dear, but another man, only it was still a lover’s quarrel.” He took advantage of her moment of shock to refill her brandy glass once more.
“You mean—”
“I’m afraid so.”
“But he seemed so—so, och, never mind.Hecertainly won’t do.”
“You’ll have to scratch Dunstanton too,” Anthony said. Since she was leaving London, she couldn’t confirm his next words: “He’s just announced his betrothal.”
“I don’t believe it!” she gasped. “Why, just last weekend he asked me to the theater. Of course, he canceled but…oh, very well. I wanted the list narrowed down, and so it is. What about Savage?”
Anthony was inspired by the name. “He won’t do at all, my dear. Somewhere along his misspent youth he must have taken his name to heart. The man’s a sadist.”
“Oh, come now—”
“It’s true. He enjoys hurting anything weaker than he is—animals, women. His servants are terrified….”
“All right! You needn’t go into detail. That still leaves Lord Warton, whom even your niece recommended to me, and Sir Artemus.”
It was Anthony’s turn to pace, for he drew a blank where Warton was concerned. Shadwell’s love of gambling could be played up, but there was absolutely nothing to discredit Warton with. In fact, the chap would no doubt make an ideal husband for Roslynn. Fortunately for Anthony, that knowledge so annoyed him, he managed to dredge up the perfect muck to swill on the fellow.
