Lady Frances didn’t blush. It would take far more than that. She never made much response to him at all other than to smile, the glint in her eye knowing, not maidenish. She took lovers, he knew. But she was discreet. She’d know enough to ensure his sons were his. There’d be no need for distasteful discussions. Such things were understood.
As for his own response… He desired her about as much as he desired any beautiful woman—enough for what was necessary in a man who needed an heir.
He took his hand away, silver on his fingertip. Mrs Ardingly would have left ink.
“Oh dear, Lord Cotereigh,” said Lady Frances. “Have you come here just to scowl at me?”
He cleared his brow with a smile.
“Not at all. I came to ask if you’re still planning that picnic at Richmond next week?”
“Yes,” replied Lady Frances. “And every day looking at the weather and praying it will hold.”
“How many are coming?”
“Two dozen at the last count.”
“Might you be prepared to invite one more?”
She tilted her head, a pretty, curious bird. “Who is it?”
“Ah.” He smiled. “You’re wise to make it conditional. You won’t like my answer.”
She furrowed her brow, her curiosity genuine now. “Whoever can it be?”
“A Mrs Ardingly. Lady Pemberthy’s niece.”
Lady Frances frowned, searching her memory, then pulling a face. “No!” she breathed, astonished. “Whatever can you mean? Not that stout, puffing preacher in her moth-eaten velvets?”
“Her niece, yes.”
Now Lady Frances’s eyebrows shot up. “The Pretty Pariah! My goodness, no! What are you playing at? You’re not the pranking type.”
“Nor the gambling kind, or so I thought. But…you see…I somehow seem to have entered into a wager, and Pemberthy and her niece are at the heart of it.”
Lady Frances gave him a frowning smile. “Sir Nathan Handley, was it? Go on. Explain yourself.”
“Handley, yes. And a wager to do the impossible. What else could I do but be prepared to meet it? I am tasked with getting them ten upstanding members of our set for their committee. And, not only that, but with making sure their fundraising ball is a triumph.”
She started laughing. “My goodness. The thought of you turned charity maker…”
“You haven’t heard the worst of it.”
“No?”
“Their cause is hopeless.”
He told her what it was and she laughed—of course—her fingers over her mouth. “Oh no. But that ismadness.They can’t really think it’s possible?”
“They certainly seem committed.” He had a memory of Mrs Ardingly’s face and that damned ink splotch, her lips parted in indignation, heat flushing her cheeks as she met his common sense with her stupid, self-immolating fire. He shifted his position, uncrossing his legs and studying his boot as he flexed his calf. The papers in his pocket crackled.
“I find them rather…pathetic,” he said. “Have you ever watched the runt of a litter, some weak, struggling pup?”
This was the method he’d determined upon to prove his heart to Lady Frances. She’d never believe he’d committed to this ridiculous cause in earnest. But that he might pity the hopeless people attached to it… Might that be believable?
Probably not.
Not to anyone who truly knew him.
