He might have hidden from the world in his study last night, but that morning Nicholas had woken ready to face whatever life—or his mother—threw at him. A brief interrogation of his butler had come first. Though Timmons was loyal to the dowager, the butler had to know something was meant to be a secret before he’d keep it from Nicholas. But Timmons had known nothing about Miss Pentry and therefore hadn’t known to hide that no sixth carriage had arrived yestereve.
Lady Helen finished her breakfast and departed without saying more than a dozen words all told. She was exactly the sort of woman he wanted for a wife—when the time came—and Nicholas had tried most of yesterday to imagine her in the role. Yet he couldn’t do it. In his imagination, she was nothing more than another piece of furniture in his home: a tasteful decoration that was occasionally useful. Which was what he wanted, wasn’t it? So why did the mental image feel so wrong?
Across from Nicholas, Miss Pentry choked on her tea and coughed.
“Are you alright, dear?” his mother asked.
“Yes. Just… swallowed… wrong,” Miss Pentry said between coughs. All the while her gaze kept darting to Nicholas, and he suddenly had the suspicion the problem wasn’t that she waschoking on tea, but on laughter. Except nothing had happened to prompt any laughter.
Nicholas’s mother waited another moment, until Miss Pentry’s coughs died down, then rose herself. “I have tasks to see to in order to ensure this month goes smoothly. I shall see you both in the lavender sitting room at noon with everyone else.”
Nicholas watched her go, a little surprised at how easily he ended up alone with Miss Pentry. Then common sense reasserted itself, and he realized his mother would be arranging for him to spend time alone with all the ladies over the coming month. Miss Pentry was simply the first.
Still, this was one conversation he wanted to have.
Nicholas drank the final remaining sip of his now-cold tea and waited for her to look his direction. She did so almost the moment the door swung shut behind his mother. For a second, he feared she was going to stammer something about propriety and scurry away, but her look wasn’t nervous, nor calculating. It was challenging.
She said nothing, merely raising a brow as she bit into a slice of peach.
Nicholas did not stare at her lips. She would not distract him that way. A flash of surprise, quickly hidden, proved she had wanted to provoke a reaction. Had expected to, even.
Locking his eyes on hers, Nicholas summoned the bored tones he so often employed when visiting the city. “Miss Pentry, would you care to explain how you arrived at Marstede?”
She swallowed. Licked her lips.
He forced his attention away from her mouth once more.
“The usual way.”
“Indeed?” He rested his elbows on the table and steepled his fingers. “I rather thought the usual way involved a carriage, trunks, and a maid.”
“Your point being?”
“You, Miss Pentry, arrived with none of those things.”
“Is that so?”
“It is.”
She shrugged. “What other explanation could there be for my arrival, then?”
“The truth. Which you will share now, if you please.”
She laughed. “I don’t think I do.”
“What?”
“You said if I please. It pleases me far more not to tell you anything.”
“Miss Pentry—”
She leaned forward. “Yes, Lord Marstede?”
Was she trying to distract him on purpose? The dress she wore had a higher neckline than an evening gown, but with her angled like that… Dammit, he was not going to let a glimpse of décolletage divert him. No matter how enticing the view was.
“You are in my house,” he said firmly, his eyes trained on the dark brown of hers. “Whether it pleases you or not, I deserve to know how you came to be here.”
Leaning back, she picked up another slice of peach. “Nonsense. I am a guest of your mother’s. She is the only one with a right to my secrets under the circumstances. Not that I am keeping any fromher.”
