Hardly! There was no offer. Only a demand.
One she felt compelled to meet. What battle of wits might he devise? And what stakes would they be playing for? Her nipples tightened beneath her corset as her face grew warm.
‘I see you are as passionate about swine as I am. It is so rare to find a female whose mind is capable of grasping such concepts.’
‘Oh, I assure you, I am well acquainted with all manner of pigs, Viscount Beachley.’
‘Fat, dirty pig!’ Sir Robin, who had perched himself on the backof Clio’s chair, fluffed his feathers. Viscount Beachley nearly choked on his dessert.
Grey coughed loudly beside Clio as Lady Langley looked up from her custard-covered plum pudding. ‘Clever boy!’ she called over the hum of conversation. ‘Do you know who would love that bird? Anna. It would be just the thing to cheer the poor cherub up.’
Clio’s heart raced. She schooled her expression to remain calm. This was the perfect opportunity to interview the girl. ‘I would be more than happy to introduce Sir Robin to her if you think it might help. He’s wonderful with children.’
‘You can see her tomorrow. I’ll inform her nurse to expect you. The girl wakes at ghastly hours. Far too early for me. But I’m sure you’ll be fine.’
Clio had to bite her lip to stop the wide grin. The fates must have taken pity on her. With any luck, she’d have enough information to find the killer by noon on the morrow. She could leave this house party before teatime and never see Grey again. Which should have filled her with relief. Unaccountably, it did not.
‘Don’t be ridiculous, Lady Langley.’ The new Viscount Beachley glared at Sir Robin, who merely clacked his beak. ‘The girl’s family is dead. A feathered rat isn’t about to help her forget that.’
Before Sir Robin could retaliate against the insult, Clio twisted in her seat, reaching up to stroke his sleek feathers and willing him to remain calm. ‘I must disagree. Sir Robin has been an endless comfort to me during difficult times.’
The viscount’s pudgy cheeks reddened as his eyes narrowed. He did not react well to being contradicted by a woman. ‘That only proves how feather-brained you are, silly girl.’
Sparks flared in her belly as her power spiked.
‘Or perhaps she is highlighting your lack of education in animal therapy, Viscount Beachley. My cousin has spent several years studying with Florence Nightingale. Her opinions on the therapeuticbenefits of animals are widely respected in the medical community. Are you suggesting Florence Nightingale is wrong?’ Grey leaned over to better skewer Viscount Beachley with a stare rivalling the most terrifying devil. ‘Or are you merely insulting my cousin’s intelligence?’
The viscount’s mouth dropped open as the table grew quiet.
‘I-I merely suggested… that is… I would never think to?—’
Grey cut in, his green eyes flashing dangerously. ‘No. I should hope not. I would hate for your new title to pass on so quickly to the next in line.’
Silence descended in the dining room as tension pulled tight between Grey and the new Viscount Beachley, whose face had turned an unhealthy shade of crimson as he spluttered.
Cynthia burst into a gale of shrill laughter. ‘Oh, brother. You do have such a funny sense of humour.’
Lady Langley looked from Grey to Viscount Beachley, her eyes gleaming with hunger for more drama.
Cynthia dropped her spoon with a clatter, reclaiming some attention from the rest of the table. ‘I say, is it time for the men to smoke their smelly cigars? I, for one, am dying to play a game of whist. Lady Langley, I haven’t forgotten what a card shark you are, but you won’t beat me this time. I swear it.’ She stood, forcing the men at the table to join her or risk their reputations as well-bred gentlemen.
Clio spared Grey a wide-eyed glance as he rose. Why on earth would he risk so much to come to her defence against a stupid comment by an even stupider man? If Viscount Beachley weren’t such a blustering coward, Grey could have found himself in a real duel.
Lady Langley, seeming to think the fireworks were over for the present, stood as well. ‘Of course! We’ll leave the men to their whisky and whisperings while we ladies partake of far morecivilised entertainment. Do mind you don’t start any wars in my drawing room, Lieutenant General Grey. Save that for when you join us in the parlour.’
Tittering from the ladies and laughter from the men dissolved the simmering promise of violence as the guests began moving to their separate rooms. Clio waited until only she and Grey remained in the dining room. She stood and gripped Grey’s wrist, ignoring the current passing between them as her bare fingers touched his pulse. ‘Don’t do anything rash. He’s not worth the effort,’ she murmured.
‘You are worth the effort.’ The words fairly singed her as he pressed his lips together, his eyes holding her captive for a breathless moment. She would bet her share in All Things Bright and Beautiful he hadn’t meant to say that.
I’m not. I can give you nothing. I want nothing from you.
But it wasn’t true. She wanted a great deal from Thomas Grey. More than she was willing to admit.
‘I can take care of myself, Thomas.’ His name came out unbidden.
Something hungry flashed in his eyes.
‘I know.’ He turned his hand to capture her fingers and brought them to his lips, pressing a kiss against her palm as sparks danced in the space between them. If any of the guests remained in the dining room, they would have wondered at the marvel. ‘You are a clever witch, Clio.’
