He took another step, then another until he was close enough she might have reached out a touched him.
She didn’t. But neither did she retreat. She’d made a promise to Lady Fosberry, and she wouldn’t break it. “The London Horticultural Society is having a lecture series next week. Are you aware of that, my lord?”
“The London Horticultural Society,” he repeated flatly. “You’ve come all the way from Kent to hear a lecture?”
“Notalecture, but a series of lectures. Sir Joseph Banks is meant to speak on his improvements to Kew Gardens. I daresay it will be fascinating.”
It took everything in her not to squirm as he scrutinized her face. She’d never lied to Cass before, and already she could feel a guilty flush heating her cheeks.
“You’re a dreadful liar, Lady Harriet. Now, have you, or have you not come for the season? You seem reluctant to answer my question. I wonder why that is?”
“Perhaps it’s because you have no right to ask it. My plans are no concern of yours, Lord Windham.”
He flinched slightly at her use of his title, and a surge of satisfaction swept through her, only to dissipate at once in a hot rush of shame. Since when had she ever taken pleasure in hurting Cass? “As I told you, we’ve come to London to hear the London Horti?—”
“And as I told you, I believe you’re lying. If you have come for the season, I advise you to return to Kent at once. I insist upon it.”
She stared at him. What was happening right now? Was Cass truly standing here in front of her after all this time, his dark eyes as cold as stone, ordering her to leave London? “I don’t understand. Why should we?—”
“The sooner you take your leave, the better. Preferably before Lady Dumfries’s ball next week. Atonballroom is no place for naïve young ladies from the country.”
She wasn’t quick-tempered, but at his dismissive tone the first pangs of anger began to stir in her breast, and she raised her chin. “Are you ordering me out of London, Cass?”
Something flashed across his face then—hesitation, or shame, perhaps—but it was gone so quickly she couldn’t be certain, and then he straightened his shoulders and met her eyes. “Yes. You shouldn’t be here. You’re not fit for a London season, Lady Harriet.”
Not fit! Was he saying she wasn’t worthy of a season? Why, how dare he? That shehadn’tcome for the season—and indeed, there were very few things less appealing to her than a London season—utterly slipped her mind in that moment.
“Have you forgotten that the Earl of Melrose is my brother? I’m the sister of a respectable earl, Lord Windham. The season was invented for aristocratic young ladies just like me.”
He was unnaturally still, his shoulders rigid. “For aristocratic young ladies, yes, but not foryou, Lady Harriet. You haven’t the first idea how to manage thetonunder the best of circumstances, much less during a season.”
It was true. There were dozens of rules young ladies were meant to follow during the season—hundreds of them—and she hadn’t the first idea about any of them. Johnathan and Emmeline didn’t care for London or thetonand assiduously avoided the season.
The cowardly part of her that always seemed to be lying in wait came lurching to the fore, and for a shameful moment she wanted more than anything to fly back to Kent and leave London far behind.
But she would not be bullied, not even by Cass.
She straightened her shoulders. “Lady Fosberry thinks otherwise. So, while I thank you for your concern, Lord Windham, where I choose to spend my time is no concern of yours.”
“Do you have any idea what sort of scoundrels come to London for the season, Lady Harriet? The worst sort of fortune-hunters, gamblers and rakehells. Do you suppose you can tell the difference between a gentleman and a rogue? I think not.”
Did he think her an utter simpleton? It was true she hadn’t spent much time away from Kent, but she wasn’t so dimwitted she couldn’t tell the difference between a villain and a proper gentleman.
Anger swelled inside her, sudden and searing, and before she could think better of it her mouth was opening, and words were tumbling from her lips.
No, not just words.Lies.
“I’m sorry you think so, my lord, but we’re here now, and we have indeed come for the season.”
God above, those were not words she’d ever imagined would fall from her lips, but they were out there now, and there was no taking them back. Even if she could, she wouldn’t. Cass—that is, Lord Windham—had no business ordering her about.
She’d do as she pleased, just as she’d told him she would. Not that a season was at all likely to please her, but the thing was as good as done, now.
Cass’s hands clenched. “You’re making a mistake, Lady Harriet. You have no idea what you’re getting yourself?—”
“As I said, my lord, I thank you for your opinion, but I will do as I please. Lady Fosberry has agreed to sponsor us, and we’ll be attending Lady Farthingale’s garden party tomorrow morning.”
He took another step toward her, his long shadow swallowing her, and to her everlasting humiliation, she took asmall step backwards. Dear God, but he seemed utterly gigantic here in this diminutive garden.
