He sat waiting. Tall, handsome, insufferable. His fingers started drumming on his leg. There was no sound, but it annoyed her. She stiffened her back, willing to wait him out—
“Never mind, I’ll start,” he said. “I think I know why you do not care for me—”
“You are going to tell me how I feel about you?” She couldn’t believe his presumption.
“You have always been as clear as a pane of glass.”
“No, I am not.”
He was silent, although his expression said louder than words that she deluded herself.
Clarissa’s temper was ready to snap. She didn’t need his nonsense. “Very well, whatdoI think of you? Pray tell me.”
“That I am uncommonly handsome, well-spoken, and intelligent.”
His statement startled her so much, her reaction had to be quite comical because helaughed, and she rolled her eyes in disgust. Why had she believed he was serious about any of this?
Then, he spoke, his tone sober. “You find me arrogant.”
Clarissa thought about his rudeness over the years, the white cotton dress, the verbal pokes. She went to the heart of the matter. “Aye, you are arrogant. However, what I don’t like is that you believe your arrogance is excusable. After all, you are the wealthy, entitled Earl of Marsden. Why shouldn’t you do as you wish, even if it inconveniences others? It is just your due.”
“There is some truth here,” he said as if trying hard to be conciliatory. “I am often excused for poor behavior. Although I must put forth that my behavior is little different from any other man or woman. Weall”—she sensed he was including her—“have bouts of poor behavior. Of course, the fact I have a title can’t help but make me ‘entitled.’”
“Don’t annoy me,” she answered.
He opened his mouth. She cut in, “You asked formyopinion.” He shut his mouth, and crossed his arms as if barricading himself.
Good.
She smiled, her expression tight. “But let me not waste time on petty complaints, my lord. What truly annoys me the most about you is that you have wasted your life.”
“Wasted it?”
“There is so much good you could do. You have opportunities that the rest of us can’t even imagine. Look around you. Can’t you seethe need? The hunger? The number of citizens of this country who have no one to speak for them? You don’t even contribute to the leadership of this parish—”
“I’m a member of the Logical Men’s Society,” he grumbled, letting her know her comments were hitting their target.
“The Logical Men’s Society?” She made a dismissive noise. “Do they even exist any longer? After Mr. Balfour and Dr. Thurlowe left your bachelor ranks, who remains who matters? Oh, yes, Sir Lionel, although he’s usually too deep in the cups to be a leader in any direction except the next bottle. And you know as well as I that the Logical Men’s Society was more of a drinking club than one dedicated to social welfare or justice.”
A muscle hardened in his jaw. She counted that a victory.
“Any other complaints?” he asked. Tightly.
“Of course I do. I find it a disgrace you rarely warm your seat in the Lords,” she said, referring to the House of Lords. “Or that you believe public intoxication is perfectly acceptable.”
“I’ve never been intoxicated in public.”
“Sitting off in a dark corner of the room counts. Sneaking out of a parish dance to tipple in someone’s coachcounts. And it is common knowledge you over-imbibe almost nightly—”
“You are wrong. I no longer indulge regularly.”
“—whether you have company or not,” she finished, ignoring his protest.
Oh, yes, that did not please him at all.
“Finally,” she said, rather enjoying herself, “I find it disgraceful that a man who has been given so much does so little. You can’t even rouse yourself to make an appearance at Sunday services—”
He sniffed his opinion. “Oh, yes, that is the epitome of a gentleman, a hypocrite who presents himself in the church each Sunday.”
