She pursed her lips and then said, “The Duke and Duchess of Rutland are in the midst of building a new Belvoir Castle on the site of the old ruin. It’s far from finished, but the grounds are lovely. You might even get permission to fish in one of the lakes, if you’re of a mind. My cousin could arrange it, I’m sure.”
They pivoted to the beat of the music, which he could tell was coming to its end. “Ah yes, Rutland. He breeds fine thoroughbreds, as well.”
“He’s known for that, yes.” The music faded at last and she stepped back to give him a deep curtsey. Her expression seemed more relaxed now and she glanced away from him, like she was counting the moments until they were parted. “Thank you, Lord Kirkwood.”
He took her hand to escort her from the floor. They stopped to the side and he tilted his head to look at her more closely. “I do not think you like me much, Miss Lockhart.”
Her lips parted and he could see he had startled her. “That is very direct.”
“I find it is easier when one is. I note you do not deny it.”
“Because it is also an entirely impertinent observation to make of someone you hardly know. Very rude.” The words bubbled from her lips and she paled instantly. She shifted and then said, “Forgive me. I should not have said that.”
“Why-ever not? I prefer it, for it’s far more honest than glaring daggers at me across every room I enter. So, you believe me rude.”
She shoved her hands down at her sides and drew a long breath before she curtseyed to him a second time. “Please excuse me.”
She pivoted and walked away and he watched her with increasing frustration. The woman was impossible. He should have let her go, simply walked away with a shrug at her strenuous dislike and rigid idea of proper comportment and find something more entertaining to do. Mr. Longford’s sister, Mrs. Vale, had been making eyes at him all day. She was a widow—if she was open to it, he could have a bit of fun at least. That would make him forget the entirely unpleasant, if lovely, Miss Lockhart.
And yet he didn’t filter back into the crowd and find the lady who actually seemed towantto spend time with him. Instead, he followed the one who made it increasingly clear she didn’t. Through the crowd, out the terrace door and around to a quiet corner of the wide veranda. She had stopped at the terrace wall and gripped her hands into fists against the rough stone there as she looked out onto the moonlit garden.
“Miss Lockhart,” he said.
She turned to face him. “Gracious, why must you continue to harangue me?”
Her cheeks were pink with angry color and her eyes snapped with the same. It made her even prettier and more interesting to look at. But he ignored that and folded his arms.
“Becauseyouare adept at avoiding a simple, straightforward conversation. You dislike me. Greatly, it seems, though I don’t thinkwe’ve ever had the displeasure of encountering each other before I dismounted from my horse on your drive not four full days ago. So unless we have some shared history I’ve forgotten, then I can only assume all this vitriol you are barely containing is about me committing the cardinal sin of arriving to your family home uninvited? Is that why?”
She seemed to struggle with a response, but at last she folded her arms and took a long step toward him.
“Yes,” she snapped out. “I find the fact that you have intruded uninvited into a party of a family you do not know isabominablyrude and entitled. Are you happy now, Kirkwood? May I be freed from this ridiculous interrogation?”
The words spilled from her mouth, laced with all the anger she so often repressed down deep in her chest, and Clarissa immediately wished she could take them back. Just as she had in the ballroom a few moments before and earlier on the pall-mall alley, she was allowing her emotions take over. According to etiquette guides, that was one of the deepest sins a lady could commit. And yet this man, this tall and handsome and really entirely annoying man, seemed to bring them out. That was the very best reason to avoid him if he would ever let her do so.
“Please,” she said, drawing a few breaths. “Forgive my lapse in manners and let me go.”
He caught her hand instead of doing so and she stiffened. He’d touched her during the dance, as well, and she felt an odd reaction through her body when he did. Not entirely unpleasant, though certainly foreign. Was it disgust? No, it didn’t feel like that. It was like warmth that spread through her. What did one call such a thing that no other gentleman had ever inspired?
“I asked you for the truth of your feelings,” he said, his tone making it clear that he was only clinging to control just as she was. “So you needn’t apologize. But you must allow me to respond to your charge.”
She shook his hand away and folded hers in front of herself, willing them to stop tingling. She didn’t want to let him respond. She wanted him to bow his head and just go away so his presence would stop troubling her so much.
But that wasn’t fair, was it? Certainly this entire situation made her just as impolite as she wanted to believe him. She let out a shaky sigh. “Yes. I suppose I owe you that.”
He ran a hand through his hair, disrupting the smooth lines of the style and making him look as rakish as he was rumored to be. “I’ve been mates with your cousin George for years, you know. And so when he approached me in London at the end of the Season and asked me to accompany him to his estate, with a stop here at your gathering, I agreed.”
She sucked in a breath to retort, but he held up a hand and it stopped her, as annoyed as she was by the act.
“But,” he continued with a little glare. “I also insisted he ensure that my presence would be expected and welcome by your family. He agreed and since he said nothing to the contrary before our departure, I assumed it was until I dismounted Othello and found everyone in your family either shocked or annoyed to see me there.”
Her anger cooled a little at that entirely understandable and rational explanation. “Oh.”
He arched a brow at her tiny response. “So, yes, I agree that it isveryrude to come uninvited to a gathering with a family I hardly know. And yet, that was not my intent, even if it was the result of circumstances out of my control.”
She stared at him a moment, lit by the moon and the glittering candlelight of the ball through the windows. He looked truly bothered by this conversation. She had no idea if that was real, but she had no reason to doubt him. Or at least none she could find when she didn’t even know him.
“I-I could see how my cousin might do such a thing,” she admittedat last. “He is a dear little rapscallion at best. And a forgetful clod at worst.”
