Page 19 of His Sinful Touch

“Now, dear...” Kyria turned to Sabrina. “Alex told me about your problem. Such a curious thing. I do wish I could help.” She studied Sabrina for a long moment, then sighed. “I’m sorry, but I don’t recognize you at all.” She turned toward her brother. “She’s not one of the current crop of young girls making their come-out or any from the last several years.” She held up a finger when Alex started to speak. “It’s no use arguing. Trust me, Sabrina is far too lovely for me not to remember her.”

“Then you think she’s not from London?”

“I’m sure I wouldn’t move in the same circle as Lady Kyria,” Sabrina ventured.

“Oh, I have a very wide circle—or perhaps I should say a large number of them.” Kyria smiled. “Still, you’re right, I can scarcely know every young gentlewoman in London. But you mustn’t worry, dear. Alex will help you straighten it out.”

“There are one or two avenues still to explore,” Alex assured her. “Megan asked some fellow reporters yesterday, but she hasn’t even started on her various contacts. If there’s gossip in the taverns, Tom will find it.”

Kyria linked her arm through Sabrina’s and steered her toward the table. “Now, you must put it out of your mind. You know, when you stop thinking about where something is, you find it right off. Give it a little time. Have you met Theo yet?”

Theo, it turned out, was the black-haired man Sabrina had seen talking to Alex when she first walked in. It wasn’t hard to see he was kin to Alex. Though obviously several years older than Alex and a little more fleshed out, his eyes were the same leaf green, and his hair was as thick and dark. There was about him a more rough-and-tumble look than she would have expected in a future duke.

“Come, let me introduce you to my husband, Rafe.” Kyria led Sabrina toward a blond-haired man chatting with Uncle Bellard. Sabrina was surprised to see the diminutive, hunch-shouldered Bellard talking so volubly to anyone.

As if sensing her thoughts, Kyria said, “Rafe and Uncle Bellard are good friends. People are always surprised. They assume that Rafe’s so handsome and charming that he’s empty-headed, or that because he’s an American, he’s rather primitive—of course, that could also be because he has a sad tendency to settle things with his fists. But he and Uncle share a love of history.” She smiled fondly. “Don’t get caught in one of their conversations or you’ll soon be struggling to keep your eyes open.”

Both men stood as Kyria and Sabrina approached, Rafe’s gaze resting on his wife with such warmth and love it was almost too intimate for company. It was easy to see why he was labeled handsome and charming. The sprinkling of gray in his hair mingled unobtrusively with the pale gold strands, and his eyes were a bright blue. A neatly trimmed Vandyke beard kept his even features from being too perfect.

When Kyria introduced him, McIntyre gave Sabrina a slow smile that lit his face, then he bowed gracefully over her hand and said, “Pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”

His voice was rich and thick, like honey, with a faint slur that made it as lazy and warm as his smile. Sabrina imagined that a good number of women would not look past the charm to see the intelligence beneath. But Sabrina caught the shrewd expression in those vivid eyes, as wary as Megan’s had been, and she knew that he, too, was suspicious of her.

“Sit down and eat,” Kyria said, tugging Sabrina down into the seat beside her. “Alex, get the girl some breakfast.”

“I can do it,” Sabrina began, starting to rise.

“No, no, let Alex,” Kyria said lightly, placing a hand on her arm, and though she smiled, Sabrina wondered if Kyria, too, held some suspicions about her. “I’m so eager to chat with you, and Mother and Megan and I must be leaving soon.”

“You are going shopping?” Sabrina asked. Surely it was too early for making calls.

“Shopping?” Kyria laughed, exchanging a glance with Megan, who also seemed amused. “No. We’re going to a gathering in Downing Street.”

“Gathering?”

“Yes, it’s a little impromptu demonstration that we’ve been planning for days.” Kyria’s eyes twinkled.

“What are you demonstrating?”

“Our support for women’s suffrage,” the duchess declared. “We want to show the prime minister that we will not be put off. No matter how long it takes, we will continue to fight.”

“Mother is hoping we’ll get arrested.”

“Arrested?” Rafe turned to his wife with alarm. “You’re going to jail? Kyria... No. You can’t.”

“I can’t?” Kyria cocked an eyebrow at him.

He changed tactics, his voice turning to a wheedling tone. “Be reasonable, darling. I can’t let you rot in a cell. I’d have to break you out, and then I’d wind up there myself. What are our children going to do with two prisoners for parents?”

Kyria chuckled and patted his arm. “Don’t worry, they won’t arrest us.”

“The prime minister is terrified of the duchess,” Megan explained.

“Salisbury,” the duchess said, her mouth turning down in disgust. “That dreadful man. His beard is bigger than his brain. And his spirit is smaller than either.”

“You’ll never sway Salisbury,” Uncle Bellard told her, shaking his head. “He didn’t even want to give workingmen the vote.”

“No, of course not.” She sighed. “Still, one has to forge ahead. Someday we’ll manage to get their attention.”