"You did not have to. Your tone said it for you."
Martin's expression flickered, showing surprise, perhaps, or something else she could not read before smoothing back into its usual mask of urbane amusement.
"I have no opinion on Lord Deane whatsoever," he said. "He is perfectly... adequate."
"Adequate." She could not help the sharpness in her voice. “What a formidable recommendation.”
"Would you prefer I fabricated the truth? Tell you he is the most fascinating man of my acquaintance?" Martin's smile did not reach his eyes. "I am many things, Vanessa, my word is not to be trifled with.”
The use of her name, without the protective layer of teasing, sent a jolt through her. He so rarely called her simply Vanessa and so it felt intimate and extremely dangerous.
"I would prefer," she said carefully, "that you keep your opinions about my potential suitors to yourself."
"Potential suitors?" His eyebrows rose. "So he is a suitor now? If my information remains current, you were merely acquaintances."
"People's circumstances change."
"Do they?" He was watching her with an intensity that made her skin prickle. "And what circumstances, precisely, have changed?"
Before she could formulate a response, Lady Wayworth appeared at her elbow.
"Vanessa, dear, do come help me with the seating arrangements. There has been a small crisis with the place cards." She smiled apologetically at Martin. "You will excuse us, Lord Montehood?"
"Of course, Lady Wayworth." Martin executed a perfect bow. "I shall endeavor to entertain myself."
Vanessa allowed herself to be swept away, but she could feel his gaze on her back as she went.
Watching. Waiting. For what, she could not say.
***
Dinner was announced at eight on the hour precisely.
The dining room glowed with candlelight and the table was laid with the family's best china and silver. Lady Wayworth had surpassed herself with fresh flowers in crystal vases, crisp linensand the subtle gleam of polished wood. Everything was perfect, with the sole intent of making a great impression.
Vanessa found her seat, between Lord Deane on her right and Martin on her left, exactly as her mother had arranged and endeavored to expel the bothersome notions that clouded her mind.
"What a lovely table," Lord Deane said, settling into his chair with evident appreciation. "Lady Wayworth has impeccable taste."
"She does," Vanessa agreed. "She has been planning this dinner for days."
"The mark of an excellent hostess." He turned to her with a warm smile. "Though I confess, the décor interests me far less than the company."
From her left, she heard what might have been a soft snort.
She ignored it.
"You flatter me, Lord Deane."
"I speak only the truth." His voice dropped slightly, becoming more intimate. "I have enjoyed our conversations immensely, Lady Vanessa. You have a way of making me feel as though my thoughts actually matter."
"Your thoughts do matter."
"Not to everyone." There was a flicker of something in his expression, vulnerability, perhaps. "You would be surprised how many people are interested only in my title and my fortune. You are... refreshingly different."
Across the table, Edward was leaning close to Helena, murmuring something that made her blush and smile. Lady Wayworth watched with barely concealed approval. Mr. and Mrs. Crawford exchanged bemused glances, clearly uncertain what to make of their daughter's sudden popularity with the heir to an earldom.
"They make a handsome couple," Lord Deane observed, following her gaze. "Lord Wayworth and Miss Crawford."
