“Don’t play coy and be polite,” Christian demanded. “I know there is something wrong or I’d have been married long before now. I want you to tell me what it is. I want you to be honest with me, Lady Sarah. You’re the belle of the Season. You must know a great deal.”
“Well…” He could tell the moment she took his proposal seriously. The proper polite tone had left her voice and an interested sparkle lit her eyes. She stood and walked around him, taking in his face, his clothing, his stance. “Your clothes are a bit out of fashion,” she admitted. “I could tell you which tailor to go to.”
He looked down at his clothing. “These aren’t what I’d normally—”
She’d obviously warmed to her subject, for she interrupted him with nary a breath. “Your hair is a bit long, and that beard must go. Close-cropped hair on a gentleman is all the rage in London these days.”
He stroked his chin. “I’ve been traveling and—”
“I could tell you what to say, how to behave, and which venues to frequent to make you irresistible to women. To begin with, Almack’s is out of the question.”
This time he grinned. “That is precisely what I’m looking for. I’ve spent many a boring evening sipping tepid lemonade at Almack’s.”
“A pity,” she said, just before rubbing her hands together with obvious glee, the sparkle still firmly alive in her eyes. “It would be a challenge for me. The very thing at which I excel.” She paced back and forth in front of the fireplace and tapped her cheek with a finger. “Can I do it? Can I turn a young gentleman from the Scottish Highlands into the most eligible bachelor of the Season?” She turned in a sudden swirl to face him, a catlike grin on her face.
He eyed her over the rim of his wineglass. “I don’t know, Lady Sarah,canyou?”
“Is that a challenge?” she asked.
“Indeed it is, my lady.” His gaze met hers in an obvious dare.
“Mother always says I cannot resist a challenge.” She lifted her skirts and curtsied to him. “Very well, Mr. Forester. I accept. I’m going to turn you into a legend.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
“So tell me, what have your efforts been to date?” Sarah asked. She stood, gathered up the plates and wineglasses, and located the wash bucket under the counter. She filled the bucket with water from another pitcher, pushed up the sleeves of her gray gown, and began scrubbing the dishes as if she’d been born to the role of scullery maid.
Christian watched her for a few moments in awe. If everything else she’d told him didn’t seem plausible, he’d wonder if she was indeed the daughter of an earl. For some reason, despite her cooking skills, he’d expected the belle of the London Season to perch on the sofa while he catered to her. But she did nothing of the sort.
He shook his head and refocused his attention on the question she’d just asked. “My efforts?”
“At courting young ladies.”
“Ah, that.” He pushed up his sleeves and grabbed a dish. Their fingers touched in the wash bucket and Christian swallowed. Sarah froze.
Sarah took a step away from him to the side.
Christian shook his head again.Focus. Focus.“My efforts have been positively abysmal. If I’m not stuttering, I’m saying something entirely wrong. However, it is how I made some of my closest friends. I cannot say it’s been entirely bad.”
Her head snapped up to face him. “Friends?”
“Yes. Some of my closest friends are ladies who weren’t a bit interested in me.” He chuckled.
“And you were interested in them?” she ventured.
He shrugged. “Not all of them.”
“Who?”
He picked up a bit of linen to wipe the plate he’d just finished washing. “Let’s see. One is my friend Lucy.” He wasn’t about to admit that she was also known as the Duchess of Claringdon.
“Who else?”
“Cassandra and Jane.”
Sarah frowned, perhaps wondering why he was referring to his lady friends by their Christian names. But Cass was a countess and Jane a future countess. Sarah would wonder why he was acquainted with such highborn ladies. “Anyone else?” she asked.
“Most recently, I did a good turn for my friend Alexandra. Though I cannot say we were ever enamored of each other.”
