least she assumed it was she who’d made that shocked sound. Lady Westcott merely stared at her coldly furious grandson without so much as blinking an eye.
“I believe we’ve had this conversation previously. As I told you then, I will not be put out of my own home. You, however, are free to leave, if that is your desire.”
“My desire,” he snarled, glaring at the dowager countess with eyes as frigid as the winter sky. “My desire is to never lay eyes on you again.”
Lady Westcott stiffened. It was only the tiniest of gestures, but Lucy saw it, and her heart broke for the frail old woman. She forced her frozen limbs to life.
“How impossibly rude you are,” she snapped, moving to stand beside her hostess. “Lady Westcott has had a long and tiring day. The last thing she requires is to be set upon, and in her own private quarters. Did no one ever teach you to knock?” she finished in her sternest governess tones.
The unconscionable rogue did not do her the decency of even transferring his glare from his grandmother to her. Nor did he in any other way acknowledge that he’d heard Lucy’s indignant words. “I am entertaining guests,” he continued in the same insulting tones, “none of whom are of the sort you are wont to mingle with. Nor are you their sort,” he added, with a mocking twist to his lips.
“I have no intention of greeting your guests,” Lady Westcott retorted, holding firm to her position. Still, Lucy detected the hurt in her voice and she sprang once more into the fray. How dare he attack an old woman this way, his own grandmother! And how dare he ignore her as if she did not even exist!
This time she stepped in front of the countess, forcing him to recognize her presence. “I’ll thank you to depart these apartments. Now,” she added. “Right now!”
The glacial stare focused on her. The mocking smile thinned. The furious voice turned low and dangerous. “Unless you are here for some useful purpose, it would be better if you remove yourself from this discussion.”
“I am here for a … for a very useful purpose,” she sputtered. If a body could burn with outrage and yet freeze with unreasonable fear, hers did both. “I am a guest of Lady Westcott’s and I—”
“This is my house, not hers. The only guests I will allow are my own.” The frosty glare moved over her, head to toe, taking a swift yet alarmingly thorough appraisal of her appearance. Then those bitter blue eyes met hers again. “Dare I hope your purpose here is carnal? And that it involves me?”
She slapped him.
It came out of nowhere. Certainly she did not plan it. But in the ringing silence left in its aftermath, she was not sorry. He deserved it. It remained now only to see how he responded. There was no predicting what a man as cruel and hateful as he might do in retaliation.
He raised a hand to his offended cheek and despite Lucy’s intentions to be brave she took an involuntary step backward.
The room shuddered with the silence. From somewhere far off in another wing of the house she heard the faint echoes of music, of a pianoforte playing and a woman singing. But in this particular chamber there was no sound at all.
Then the earl took a breath and Lucy braced herself for the worst.
Instead of lunging at her, however, he bowed—a very correct though abbreviated bow. Lucy blinked in disbelief, then stared warily at him. What was he up to?
His expression told her nothing, for he’d wiped his face clean of any telltale emotion. His voice, when he spoke, was equally unemotional.
“My apologies, madam. I more than deserved that. I only hope you will find it in your heart to overlook my unfortunate behavior.”
It took Lucy a moment to collect her wits. An apology was the last thing she’d expected from this man, this Gypsy earl who was as handsome as sin. She was certain, however, that it was just about as sincere as Stanley’s and Derek’s apologies to each other usually were.
She drew
“I believe we’ve had this conversation previously. As I told you then, I will not be put out of my own home. You, however, are free to leave, if that is your desire.”
“My desire,” he snarled, glaring at the dowager countess with eyes as frigid as the winter sky. “My desire is to never lay eyes on you again.”
Lady Westcott stiffened. It was only the tiniest of gestures, but Lucy saw it, and her heart broke for the frail old woman. She forced her frozen limbs to life.
“How impossibly rude you are,” she snapped, moving to stand beside her hostess. “Lady Westcott has had a long and tiring day. The last thing she requires is to be set upon, and in her own private quarters. Did no one ever teach you to knock?” she finished in her sternest governess tones.
The unconscionable rogue did not do her the decency of even transferring his glare from his grandmother to her. Nor did he in any other way acknowledge that he’d heard Lucy’s indignant words. “I am entertaining guests,” he continued in the same insulting tones, “none of whom are of the sort you are wont to mingle with. Nor are you their sort,” he added, with a mocking twist to his lips.
“I have no intention of greeting your guests,” Lady Westcott retorted, holding firm to her position. Still, Lucy detected the hurt in her voice and she sprang once more into the fray. How dare he attack an old woman this way, his own grandmother! And how dare he ignore her as if she did not even exist!
This time she stepped in front of the countess, forcing him to recognize her presence. “I’ll thank you to depart these apartments. Now,” she added. “Right now!”
The glacial stare focused on her. The mocking smile thinned. The furious voice turned low and dangerous. “Unless you are here for some useful purpose, it would be better if you remove yourself from this discussion.”
“I am here for a … for a very useful purpose,” she sputtered. If a body could burn with outrage and yet freeze with unreasonable fear, hers did both. “I am a guest of Lady Westcott’s and I—”
“This is my house, not hers. The only guests I will allow are my own.” The frosty glare moved over her, head to toe, taking a swift yet alarmingly thorough appraisal of her appearance. Then those bitter blue eyes met hers again. “Dare I hope your purpose here is carnal? And that it involves me?”
She slapped him.
It came out of nowhere. Certainly she did not plan it. But in the ringing silence left in its aftermath, she was not sorry. He deserved it. It remained now only to see how he responded. There was no predicting what a man as cruel and hateful as he might do in retaliation.
He raised a hand to his offended cheek and despite Lucy’s intentions to be brave she took an involuntary step backward.
The room shuddered with the silence. From somewhere far off in another wing of the house she heard the faint echoes of music, of a pianoforte playing and a woman singing. But in this particular chamber there was no sound at all.
Then the earl took a breath and Lucy braced herself for the worst.
Instead of lunging at her, however, he bowed—a very correct though abbreviated bow. Lucy blinked in disbelief, then stared warily at him. What was he up to?
His expression told her nothing, for he’d wiped his face clean of any telltale emotion. His voice, when he spoke, was equally unemotional.
“My apologies, madam. I more than deserved that. I only hope you will find it in your heart to overlook my unfortunate behavior.”
It took Lucy a moment to collect her wits. An apology was the last thing she’d expected from this man, this Gypsy earl who was as handsome as sin. She was certain, however, that it was just about as sincere as Stanley’s and Derek’s apologies to each other usually were.
She drew
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