Page 8

“Was his absence significant to you as a child?”

She glanced over her shoulder, and then quickly turned her head forward again. Kelbourne was altogether too handsome for normal life. His profile belonged on a Greek coin. “A father’s attention would have been helpful. Our nanny was as cuddly as your Nanny Bracknell.”

“No nanny is cuddly,” his lordship said.

They reached the landing. Generous corridors stretched left and right, caramel-colored floorboards shining in the afternoon sunshine. The wallpaper featured brilliantly colored, improbable birds.

“I adore this paper,” Torie commented, stopping to admire it. “Peacocks and parrots!”

“My sister chose it just before she left the house to marry.” His voice softened. “Hand-colored and a ridiculous expense for a mere corridor. Letitia was extravagant.” He glanced down at Torie but held his tongue.

“A ‘luxury,’ like myself?”

Kelbourne’s eyelashes flickered. Torie let her smile widen. She always enjoyed it when she could interpret her acquaintances. Clara bounced on her toes when she was excited. Her future brother-in-law’s eyelashes fluttered when he was irritated.

“I particularly like these cranberry-colored birds,” she told him, tapping one. “I would like a reticule in precisely that color.”

He frowned at the wall. “The red ones?”

“They’re not red!” Torie protested.

“They look red to me.”

She held out her skirts. “I suppose you think that my gown is merely black?”

He looked at the fabric she was holding up. “You must be jesting.”

“I spent the best part of a day in Partlet’s Emporium finding just the right shade of mourning bombazine,” she told him. “This black has a touch of silver that complements my hair.”

His gaze went from her hair to her skirts and back.

“Don’t you dare look disdainful,” Torie cried. “The silver streaks in my hair would be garish against matte black. You’re going to be my brother, so you’ll have to trust my opinion.”

His eyes returned to her face. “Are you sure you want a brother? Your sister exhibits a remarkably dismissive opinion of your worth.”

When Leonora’s feelings were ruffled, she lost her temper and got snappy, but her sister never meant it. “That’s merely Leonora’s way,” Torie said airily. “I don’t take it seriously.”

His eyes were blue-gray with a black rim around the irises. “Is it merely your father’s way to compare you to an opera-singing pig?”

Torie cleared her throat. “Sir William loves me, if that’s what you’re wondering. As does Leonora.”

“Hmmm.”

She fidgeted, fluffing her skirts. “Shall we continue?”

“Why is your sister so brusque with you?”

“Leonora thinks . . . no, she is right. I am flighty and frivolous. I truly can’t read or write, which makes me fairly useless. I can count, but calculations are above me. I have a veritable passion for expensive silks; if I were Eve, Adam would likely scold me for overindulging in fig leaves and leaving none for his breeches.”

He took her hand in his. “I don’t think you’re flighty. You seem loyal and kind.” Warmth spread through her body from the large fingers wrapping around hers.

“I don’t mind the word,” she said, summoning up a smile. “We can’t all be in the House of Lords. I may be useless, but I am very ornamental. Rather like this wallpaper.” She was rattled—she shouldn’t be holding hands with her sister’s fiancé!—and so the next sentence just rolled out of her mouth, unprovoked.

“Or your mistress.”

Chapter 5

Dominic could scarcely believe his own ears. He dropped Torie’s hand and said sharply, “My mistress?”