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Fiennes had had enough. “So did you, although in your case, your father did the work for you. He sheltered your dowry from the atrophy of the estate.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” she said shrilly. “I could have any man whom I wished.”

She apparently caught a trace of derision in his expression. She leaned across the table and added with emphasis, “Any man I wanted in all London.”

Her bodice gaped, giving Fiennes a clear glimpse of not very much.

“That boast was not ladylike, Regina,” he said, not bothering to hide his amusement. “Are you expecting me to fall about with gratitude at being the chosen one?”

Regina drew in a sharp breath. “You asked me to marry you!”

“Our fathers reached that agreement, as you know. Now I’m wondering whether I made a mistake in complying.”

“You daren’t say that to me!”

“You are attracting attention,” Fiennes advised, feeling a pang of pity. The girl would never get a husband if society discovered her temper. His own mind was made up. He loved his father, but not enough for this.

“You!” Regina hissed.

He raised an eyebrow.

“I wouldn’t marry you if you were—”

“The last man on earth?” Fiennes finished her cliché since anger seemed to have stifled her voice.

“I’ll marry someone much better than you!”

“I don’t doubt it. Why don’t you keep the ring?” Hopefully, his voice wasn’t too cheerful. Of course, now he’d have to find another noblewoman, a prospect that made his heart sink. Just look at Miss Valentine; a banker’s daughter would make a better spouse.

Regina began hauling at the diamond ring, trying to pull it over her bunched-up glove. “Take this back, you, you reprobate!” She managed to remove the diamond ring and fling it at him. It bounced on the table and landed in a glass of lemonade.

Regina burst out laughing, shrill notes that attracted attention from every table that wasn’t already eagerly watching the spectacle. “I lowered myself to marry you,” she cried. “You, whose father smells of the shop!”

Pure rage poured into Fiennes’s veins. He wasn’t easily angered, but his family was his soft spot. His father had sent him off to Eton at the age of seven, and scarcely allowed him to come home for fear that his son would be contaminated by the “smell of the shop,” as Regina put it. But Fiennes loved him.

His muscles went rigid, outrage sinking into his bones. “My father is not a subject for casual conversation.”

“I should say not!” Regina tossed her head again. “No one would wish to discuss your mother’s disgrace, running away to marry a merchant! Your pedigree was a concern when I agreed to marry you, and I should not have overlooked it.”

Fiennes gave her a deliberately insolent smile. “Your temper would have been a concern, had I known you better.”

She leaned forward over the table, her eyes livid. “I warn you, Lord Peregrine.”

He shot her an incredulous glance. “Warn me of what?”

“I shall ruin you,” Regina hissed. “You’ll have to settle for a grocer’s offspring, the way your mother did.”

He burst out laughing.

In one swift movement, he upended the glass of lemonade on the wilted sandwiches, plucked up his diamond, and dried it with his napkin. He stuck the ring in his pocket, knowing that every eye in the room was on him.

Then he moved back a step and bowed. “Good evening, Lady Regina.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

Miss Valentine—or Beatrice, as he thought of her—had indicated a wish to visit the ladies’ retiring room, so Jonah escorted her out of the dining room. “If you could be anywhere in the world right now, where would you like to be?” he asked, as they walked.

It was a foolish question, not the sort of thing one asked a young lady.