She considered returning to her reading, then decided that might not be wise. It was one thing to pretend you had not seen your brother’s gesture for you to ride in, and another to pretend you did not see a man right in front of you.
He paced his horse closer. She could see him better now. Displeasure hardened his mouth, which emphasized its sensual full lips. Dark eyes took her measure quite thoroughly. His black coat was not fashionably cut for London, but she knew French fashions well enough to recognize it as most appropriate for Paris. He wore a casually tied dark cravat.
She thought him very handsome in a brooding, poetic way. Having known a few men of dark humor in the past, she had little interest in making another’s acquaintance, no matter how handsome he might be.
He stopped his horse ten feet away. He did not dismount but towered above her. She considered standing, to bridge the distance, but decided not to. If he meant to frighten her, he would have to do better than this.
“Good day, sir.” She allowed her voice to convey how unwelcome she found his intrusion.
He swung off his horse. “Please forgive me the lack of a formal introduction, but I doubt you will mind since you are a woman who does not bother with such things overmuch.”
“I am sure I do not understand what you mean.”
The corners of that mouth turned up enough to indicate he knew she was lying. Indeed, that half-smile implied he knew everything about her.
“You cut me back there, Lady Clara. That is what I mean.”
“It is not possible to cut someone you do not know.”
“You managed it all the same.”
High-handed would be too kind a way to describe him. “You mentioned an introduction,” she said through a tight smile.
He made a short bow. “I am Stratton.”
Stratton? The Duke of Stratton?Here?Had Theo gone mad?
No wonder he looked vaguely familiar. She had seen him years ago, across ballrooms, before his father died and he left England. When last in London ten days ago she had heard a mention or two that he had returned, but it was beyond comprehension that Theo had allowed him on the estate.
He sidled over and assumed a casual stance right next to her, with one of his shoulders propped against the tree trunk. He folded his arms like a man who expected a lengthy chat.
She scrambled to her feet, clutching the papers close to her chest so they did not fly across the hill.
“I had no idea who you were. Even if I had tried to guess the identity of the man with my brother, your name would never have entered my head.”
“Assuredly not. Our families have been enemies for decades.”
“Theo is letting his new title go to his head if he received you. My grandmother must have been apoplectic.”
“It was your grandmother who invited me here.”
“That’s not possible.”
“The letter was from her, in her hand. It was most unexpected,” he said in a sardonic tone.
She narrowed her eyes on him. “Yet you accepted her invitation.”
“Your grandmother has been one of society’s bulwarks longer than I have been alive. The patronesses of Almack’s quake in her presence. I would never insult someone with such influence.”
He teased her now. She doubted that he cared a fig for Grandmamma’s social influence. He did not look to be a man who would set aside his family’s pride and seek Grandmamma’s good word on his behalf.
She should pack up Althea’s article and leave. Curiosity got the better of her, however.
“Why did she invite you?”
“She proposed a dynastic marriage with your sister, to end the animosity. To bury the past.” That half-smile again. “You can imagine my astonishment. It was much like your own right now.”
Astonished hardly did her reaction justice. This only got odder and odder. Also increasingly annoying. She experienced a double feeling of betrayal. First on behalf of her father, who would have never approved of this idea. And second for herself, because she was not told, let alone consulted. Grandmamma must have used the full force of her will in keeping this a secret from her if even Emilia had not confided in her.
