Page 2

“Yes! Are those whiskers made of wire? Because something just poked me in the leg.”

Clara started pulling the whiskers straight. “They keep getting bent and tangled, especially when I dance. You changed the subject, Torie.”

Torie didn’t want to talk about books or gossip columns. “Kelbourne showed no signs of infatuation at dinner last night. As for my sister, I assure you that Leonora sees him as a heap of sovereigns topped by a coronet.”

“I would give anything to marry him,” Clara sighed.

“The viscount is haughty—and bad-tempered. He would squish you like a bug. At dinner, he spoke of nothing other than some bibble-babble going on in the House of Lords.”

“Bibble-babble!” Clara repeated, giggling. “Torie, he probably spent the day rewriting the laws of the land.”

“I don’t care. He’s boring. And old.”

“Not old,” Clara protested. “He was at Eton with my brother, so he’s not yet thirty. Twenty-seven at most.”

“That’s old,” Torie said dispassionately. “Anyway, you can’t tell me Kelbourne was more charming when he was young.”

Clara opened her mouth, but Torie interrupted her. “Perhaps he cares for Leonora as much as he’s capable. If you ask me, they are like two fish swimming along side by side and deciding to mate. You don’t see a romantic twinkle in the eye of a trout, do you?”

Clara turned red, and a peculiar sound escaped her mouth.

“Drat.” Torie willed herself not to blush as she turned about. “Didn’t your nanny tell you that eavesdroppers never hear good things about themselves?”

“I’m fond of fish, so I take your remark as a compliment,” Viscount Kelbourne said. “Though I agree that the eight years between us might make me appear old, or conversely, you infantile.”

His expression was so daunting that Clara squeaked, bobbed a curtsy, and ran away.

Chapter 2

Torie had the refreshing thought that Leonora’s betrothal meant there was at least one man in London whom she had no need to please. That would be her sister’s task from now on.

If Leonora bothered.

“Your frown chased off my best friend,” she observed.

“I gather that you rate yourself above a trout,” his lordship said.

“Actually, I don’t rate myself very high,” Torie told him. “The problem is that I have resolved to marry for more than my market value.”

He looked gratifyingly surprised. “You are beautiful, charming, and well-bred.” One side of his mouth quirked up. “I would rate you a luxury commodity.”

Torie gave him a twinkling smile. “I wasn’t fishing for a compliment.”

He rolled his eyes.

“True, I am very extravagant,” Torie said, thinking that Kelbourne was ten times more handsome when he was surprised out of his haughtiness. “Just look at my fichu, for example.”

“If I am correct, a fichu is a piece of lace that circles a woman’s neck. You are not wearing one.”

“Precisely! The modiste delivered this gown with an elegant piece of Alsace lace, which as you can see I promptly discarded.”

Then she winced. Somehow, she’d come close to flirting with her future brother-in-law, though his eyes didn’t drop to her admittedly low neckline.

“May I escort you to supper, Miss Victoria?”

“Oughtn’t you to be escorting my sister?”

“Miss Sutton plans to accompany your father, Sir William. You and I shall dine with them.”