“Coffee?” James asked. It wasn’t yet nine in the morning.
In extraordinarily quick order, a steaming cup of dark coffee and a snifter of brandy were settled in front of them by a youthful waiter.
“You approached as if you wished to impart something, Lord Rossbury. Was it simply the news of your uncle’s passing?”
“No, my lord.” James sipped his coffee, burned his tongue, and wondered how to say all that he needed to and not bungle everything.
“Then my curiosity is piqued.”
“It’s about your daughter, Lady Lucy.” Just straight into the fray was really the only way James knew, and, in fairness, it seemed to be Lucy’s modus operandi too.
Hallston’s expression went from amused surprise to distinctly alarmed in two heartbeats.
“Are you the reason she cut her trip to Scotland short?”
“In a manner of speaking, I am.”
Hallston leaned forward, broad shoulders hunched near his ears, and his friendly expression turned to something much fiercer. “I’ll thank you not to prevaricate, Rossbury. What is between you and my daughter?”
Before James could form a reply, Hallston settled back again and scrubbed a hand over his face. “My god, this is all down to that woman, isn’t it? She’s my wife’s sister, I’ll allow, but by the devil, we should have never let Lucy go.”
James chuckled at that. He couldn’t help it. The sound burst out of him.
“Is something funny?” Hallston’s tone dripped with irritation and disdain.
Good god, this was going wrong. All wrong.
“Forgive me, my lord. I assure you I wasn’t laughing at you.” Technically untrue, but he had to save this somehow. “Just the notion.”
“The notion?” Hallston’s tone was beginning to rise, not to mention his volume. A few gentlemen nearby turned their heads.
James lowered his voice and tried for a light tone. “The idea of keeping Lady Lucy from doing anything she set her mind on seemed amusing.” James smiled. He tried for the charming one. “But perhaps you do not find the humor in it. And for that, I’m sorry.”
“Stop apologizing.” Hallston narrowed one eye, his dark brow dipping down precipitously. “How long have you known Lucy? I don’t recall seeing you at any events.”
Oh, this was a bad idea. Dreadful.
“A week.” More or less.
“This has something to do with Scotland and Cassandra. I want you to tell me quickly and quietly before I lose my temper and thus my membership in this esteemed club.”
If James were one to quibble, he’d point out that the man had already lost his temper. But he knew it was his job to lower the temperature of the conversation and try, though it seemed improbable now, to earn a bit of the man’s respect.
“It does have to do with Scotland. I met Lady Lucy on the journey to Edinburgh. And then we met again at Invermere.”
Hallston narrowed both eyes now. “Youfollowedmy daughter to Invermere?”
“No, I did not.” Definitely not the time to mention that Lucy had arrived after him. Neither of them had followed each other, regardless. “It was a coincidence.”
“Why were you there?”
Not until that moment—very late, in other words—did James realize that there truly was no way to recount the story of how he and Lucy had met, and then remet, and then spent days alone together without it all sounding scandalous.
But he couldn’t very well begin a relationship with the man by lying.
“I own Invermere. It was my uncle’s, you see. And he gave leave for Lady Cassandra to reside there.”
“She was his tenant?”
