She appeared not to hear him. A moment later, she set her cutlery aside, squared her shoulders, and faced him, her expression resolute. “Lord Randall, I’ve come to a decision.”
“Oh? What is that?”
“I shall return to London.”
“Of course, in due time, when your chaperone arrives.”
“I think it best if I depart sooner. I wonder,” she mused aloud, narrowing her eyes in a contemplative manner, “if perhaps Babette could fashion a netted cap for me.”
Somehow, he’d lost the thread of the conversation. “I beg your pardon?”
“A black netted cap would conceal my identity, should anyone happen to notice me.”
He frowned at her. What was she playing at now?
She picked up her fork and resumed eating, if one could call it that. His mother would call it playing with one’s food.
“Do you not care for the breakfast?”
Her hand stilled. “It’s more than adequate.”
“Then, I wish you would eat some of it.”
Her delicate brows furrowed into a bemused frown. She forked up a bite of eggs, chewed, and swallowed with a slight grimace. “Satisfied?”
“For starters. As for your outlandish notion—”
“I see nothing outlandish in the notion so long as I draw no attention to myself in the process.”
As if a world existed where she would not draw attention,
“I am perfectly capable,” she went on, warming to her idea. “I practically traveled here on my own. It’s merely society that prevents me from—”
“Out of the question,” he cut in.
Because it was. Never mind two days earlier he’d all but insisted she take herself off and cease darkening his door. But that had been when she had the benefit of a chaperone.
By God, she knew the risks. Why the sudden urge to leave? Unless…
“Lady Annabelle, perhaps I should ask if there is…er…a particular reason you feel you can no longer await your chaperone. Something which has caused you undue discomfort?” A distinct warmth crawled up his neck.
Confusion lit her gaze. “Discomfort, my lord?”
Damn it to hell.“Lady Annabelle, do you consider my behavior toward you, particularly myrooftopbehavior, to have been grossly dishonorable?”
A lovely shade of pink flooded her cheeks. “No,” she answered, very definitively. “I merely looked at the situation from your point of view and realized…” She swallowed. “Well. My being here is not precisely fair to you, is it, my lord?”
The chit was using his own argument against him.
No, notagainsthim, damn it. How did she keep scrambling his thought processes? He was not trying tomakeher stay. He wasallowingher to stay for her own safety.
Chip appeared in the entrance. “I beg your pardon, milord.”
“Yes, what is it, Chip?”
The footman eyed Annabelle. “A matter of some…delicacy, my lord.”
He was not relieved by this interruption, he told himself. He shoved back from the table and rose. “Please, excuse me, Lady Annabelle.”
