She snorted, but when Lord Cross merely raised an eyebrow, her laughter died on her lips. “What? But…what? That’s ridiculous! A lady doesn’t court another lady on behalf of a gentleman!”
“She does if she happens to be a matchmaking, er… genius?” Lord Cross’s lips tightened, as if merely saying that last word had caused him physical pain.
“But I’mnota matchmaking genius! I don’t know a blessed thing about matchmaking. I don’t possess a gift for choosing matches, no matter what every gossip in London might say.”
“Of course, you don’t. The very notion is preposterous.”
Surely, there wasn’t any need for him to agreequiteso vehemently. “Well, then?”
“It doesn’t matter whether you’re a matchmaking genius or not, Miss Templeton. What matters is Lady Corabelievesyou are. If you suggest to her that Lord Barnaby is a proper match for her, she’ll listen to you.”
“But sheshouldn’tlisten to me.” If she hadn’t just been through a disastrous season of her own, she might have been naïve enough to believe she could help Lady Cora, but six weeks in London had taught her otherwise. “Suppose she did as I advised, and ended up miserable? Lord Barnaby seems a pleasant young gentleman, but I believe he’s considered something of a rogue.”
She wouldn’t be the one to doom that sweet young lady to a lifetime with a libertine.
“Barnaby is high spirited, but he has an honest heart, and he’s a gentleman. I believe his affections for Lady Cora to be both, er… ardent and genuine, if a trifle rash.”
Rash? Lord Barnaby was the opposite of his cousin, then. “Even if I were to undertake such a mad scheme, I can’t promise a favorable outcome, nor will I agree to suggest anything at all to Lady Cora that I don’t believe is in her best interests.”
“If I didn’t believe Lady Cora and Barnaby would make each other happy—as happy as a marriage ever makes anyone, that is—I wouldn’t be in favor of the betrothal, but they’ve been friends since they were children. They’re an ideal match.”
Was there even such a thing? She’d thought so, once, but if anything could knock romantic notions from a young lady’s head, it was the London marriage mart.
Still, itwasdreadfully tempting to see if she could manage the thing, but Lady Cora and Lord Barnaby weren’t chess pieces to be manipulated at her whim. “I wish Lord Barnaby good luck with his courtship, Lord Cross, but I can’t help you.”
She tried to duck around him, but he caught her wrist to stop her. “Not even if I give you the very thing you want most?”
“How presumptuous you are, to think you know what I want.” She glanced down at his hand. He wasn’t wearing gloves, and there was an ink stain on his index finger, the single, tiny blot disturbing his otherwise flawless appearance.
She couldn’t tear her gaze away from that blot—
“But Idoknow, Miss Templeton. You told me yourself.” His gaze followed hers to their joined hands, and when he raised his eyes to meet hers again, his had darkened to a deep, moody black.
“Told you?” Dash it, her voice had gone all low and husky, and her lips had just parted in invitation—er, that is, her mouth had fallen open in shock. Yes, that was a much better explanation. “Just, ah… just what is it I want, my lord?”
“Have you forgotten so soon, Miss Templeton? Why, it was only last night you were begging for my assistance with—”
“Begging? I’ve never begged you for anything in my entire—”
“Begging for my assistance in this prickly business between Melrose and your sister. Something about Miss Emmeline refusing Melrose’s suit on account of the scandal, I believe?”
“You mean to say if I agree to stay and assist you with your, er… matchmaking endeavors—” Dear God, even the words made her cringe— “you’ll help dispel the worst of the rumors?”
“I’m proposing an exchange of favors, yes.”
“How shameless you are, Lord Cross.” She jerked free of his grasp. “To demand an exchange of favors for a service you should do out of the goodness of your heart, in order to help your friend, Lord Melrose.”
He gave her a careless shrug. “I don’t have a good heart, Miss Templeton. Ask anyone.”
No heart? Was that how he saw himself? He’d acted a perfect beast since she’d arrived at Steeple Cross, yes, but she didn’t doubt the goodness of his heart—
“As fate would have it, Miss Templeton, we’re in a unique position to help each other.”
Was it fate that had a hold on them, or a curse? Was there even a difference between the two, and if not, did it matter? Lord Cross was offering her what may well be a last chance to help Emmeline find happiness.
What choice did she have, but to take it?
Lord Melrose may yet persuade Emmeline to become his countess, regardless of the vicious gossip, but Emmeline had been adamant in her refusals when he’d offered for her in London. And surely one of her sisters would have written her by now, if there were any welcome news? The silence from that quarter was a bit worrying—
