“Excuse the intrusion. I did not mean to startle you,” he said.
The man’s intense gaze reminded Camille of a hawk and had her feeling the unmistakable disadvantage of being the mouse. She glanced back at the party, easily in view and close enough to call attention from if she raised her voice. Remembering her manners, she dipped a shallow curtsey. “It is I you must excuse. I was expecting someone else.”
A single, blond brow rose at that. “A friend? Your companion, perchance? I do believe she’s making a good show of beating every woman here at firing arrows and earning a horde of male admirers.”
Camille shook her head, her stomach knotting. Syd’s porcelain face and forward manner would earn far more than admiration. She’d be sure to resist teasing Scarlet next time she complained about the headache of subduing the antics of her little sister.
“Would you care to take a turn about the lake?” the man asked, his smile charming.
His charm did nothing for her. “A woman does not permit an escort she’s not been properly introduced to, sir.”
He paused, whether from shock or amusement at her cutting tone, his reaction was hard to discern. “Then let us rectify that at once.” He bowed. “I am Gunther Flarborn, Marquess of Slasbury. And you are?”
The name brought Madam’s files to mind, a file she’d flagged due to inconsistencies in his application. The fact alone raised caution, but she had no reason to deny societal pleasantries, and she had no wish to shame her host by being taciturn.
“I am Camille Forthright.”
“There now.” He winked. “Now we are no longer strangers.” He held out his elbow. “What do you say, Miss Forthright? Would you care for that walk? It is not far, and the other side does seem to have a picturesque view of the woods.”
His manners were pretty. His smile was wide, like a friendly crocodile before its jaws snapped shut.
Camille had no reason to suspect anything untoward. His invitation was nothing but natural, and the lakeside path was visible from every angle, but she hesitated.
She glanced back at the party, a smattering of applause sounding after someone had gotten in a considerably proficient shot to the distant target. Angling her body in the direction of the crowd, she offered Lord Slasbury a polite smile.
“I do believe it is time to return to my friend.”
The man’s smile didn’t slip. He continued to offer his arm as if she’d said nothing.
“Really, my lord.” She backed up a step. “I thank you for the offer, but I must decline.”
He stepped towards her, that same side smile like a slash of paint across his face.
Camille’s stomach dropped.
“There you are!”
Camille whirled with relief to see Lord Quickner hurrying in their direction, his overcoat and pants a perfect match to his mauve cane and top hat.
He stopped a short distance away and nodded to the other man. “Good day, Lord Slasbury. I’d heard you’d arrived. I’m glad you could make it.”
The marquess’s smile had an edge to it, but his words were nothing but pleasant. “Of course, Lord Quickner. I wouldn’t miss one of your legendary garden parties.”
“I see you’ve met Miss Forthright?” Lord Quickner offered his arm to her. “Come now, the tournament is near half over already and I’ve had to fend off more than one attempt at our tray of tarts.”
Camille accepted his arm gratefully. She dipped her head to the marquess. “Excuse me, Lord Slasbury. It seems I’m needed elsewhere.”
His responding nod was accompanied by a quiet, “Another time, then.”
“Glad that’s settled.” Lord Quickner steered her towards the party and a large, white-clothed table filled with light pastries and lemonade. As an afterthought, he waved back towards Lord Slasbury. “You are welcome to join us?”
The other man followed at a distance, and Camille felt his gaze on her neck like a brand.
Lord Quickner patted her hand. “I hope I wasn’t intruding?”
“Saving me, actually,” she said. “Thank you.”
The older man smiled. “Lord Slasbury has an intensity about him. I’ve heard from more than one lady that he isn’t much of a conversationalist, but it seems he merely lacked a good partner.”
