herself up, tugging angrily at the waist of her wrinkled traveling suit. “I have never—never!—been so rudely treated in my entire life!”
His face remained impassive. But at least he was looking at her now instead of glowering at his exhausted grandmother. It occurred to Lucy that Lady Westcott remained uncharacteristically quiet, but she was not about to give ground by breaking eye contact with the earl. If she was to be dealing with him as often as Lady Westcott had indicated, it was critical that she establish the boundaries of their relationship right now.
As their locked gazes held, his lips curved up ever so slightly. Or at least she thought they did. “Might I inquire who it is that I have treated so rudely?” he asked, one dark brow arched in question.
Lucy assumed the countess would introduce her. After all, it was only proper. When she did not, however, Lucy let out an exasperated breath. “I am Miss Lucy Drysdale of Houghton Hall in Somerset.”
“Miss Lucy Drysdale,” he echoed, emphasizing the “miss.” Again his eyes flickered over her. But before she could take umbrage at his boldness, he executed another bow. “Allow me to introduce myself, Miss Drysdale. I am Ivan Thornton, Earl of Westcott, among other things.” He paused. “You said you had a useful purpose for being here?”
Once again one black brow raised in question, but this time Lucy could see the arrogant purpose lurking behind the bland expression he’d adopted. He was no more sorry for insulting her than she was sorry for slapping him, the wretched man!
“I am here to act as chaperone to Lady Valerie Stanwich for the season. Your cousin, I believe? To safeguard her from inappropriate suitors—”
“Like myself, perhaps?” He grinned then, and in that one isolated moment Lucy had a terrible revelation about herself. For with that easy grin, that tiny movement of flesh over teeth—beautiful, strong, white teeth, as it happened—he deflated all her anger. Like a silly, smitten girl, she reacted to that smile, to the appeal his grandmother had alluded to. Her heart began a maddened pace, her cheeks began to heat. And all on account of a smile.
With a silent groan she ordered herself to cease such foolishness. She gave him a severe look. “If this is typical of your behavior, then yes, I would say you are entirely inappropriate for a proper young lady.”
This time he laughed, though she’d certainly not meant her statement to amuse him. Before she could muster an indignant response, however, Lady Westcott finally broke her silence.
“Do not bother to argue with my grandson, Miss Drysdale, for you will get nowhere at all with him. His greatest joy in life is baiting me. Since I refuse to participate in his game, I fear you may become his next target. I advise you to ignore him,” she finished.
Lucy had kept her eyes trained on the earl while his grandmother spoke and saw the quick veil of dislike that covered his face. When he responded to the countess’s comments, however, his words were directed at Lucy. “My grandmother may be right, Miss Drysdale. After all, she has known me longer than anyone else. Now, if the two of you will excuse me? I have a house full of guests. If I do not return to them they may come searching for me. I suspect you would not enjoy that.”
Without further excuse he left, and with him, it seemed, went all the vitality in the room. What an absurd idea, Lucy thought. And yet it was true.
Lady Westcott let out a long sigh, as if she’d been holding her breath. Lucy too exhaled, somewhat unsteadily. She looked over her shoulder at the older woman, who raised a hand, forestalling anything Lucy might have to say.
“You needn’t say a thing, my dear. I can see it in your face. He is not what you expected, is he?”
Lucy grimaced. “I would not state it quité so … so blandly as that. May I sit down?”
“By all means. I’ll ring for a tray. There’s nothing like a glass of cognac
His face remained impassive. But at least he was looking at her now instead of glowering at his exhausted grandmother. It occurred to Lucy that Lady Westcott remained uncharacteristically quiet, but she was not about to give ground by breaking eye contact with the earl. If she was to be dealing with him as often as Lady Westcott had indicated, it was critical that she establish the boundaries of their relationship right now.
As their locked gazes held, his lips curved up ever so slightly. Or at least she thought they did. “Might I inquire who it is that I have treated so rudely?” he asked, one dark brow arched in question.
Lucy assumed the countess would introduce her. After all, it was only proper. When she did not, however, Lucy let out an exasperated breath. “I am Miss Lucy Drysdale of Houghton Hall in Somerset.”
“Miss Lucy Drysdale,” he echoed, emphasizing the “miss.” Again his eyes flickered over her. But before she could take umbrage at his boldness, he executed another bow. “Allow me to introduce myself, Miss Drysdale. I am Ivan Thornton, Earl of Westcott, among other things.” He paused. “You said you had a useful purpose for being here?”
Once again one black brow raised in question, but this time Lucy could see the arrogant purpose lurking behind the bland expression he’d adopted. He was no more sorry for insulting her than she was sorry for slapping him, the wretched man!
“I am here to act as chaperone to Lady Valerie Stanwich for the season. Your cousin, I believe? To safeguard her from inappropriate suitors—”
“Like myself, perhaps?” He grinned then, and in that one isolated moment Lucy had a terrible revelation about herself. For with that easy grin, that tiny movement of flesh over teeth—beautiful, strong, white teeth, as it happened—he deflated all her anger. Like a silly, smitten girl, she reacted to that smile, to the appeal his grandmother had alluded to. Her heart began a maddened pace, her cheeks began to heat. And all on account of a smile.
With a silent groan she ordered herself to cease such foolishness. She gave him a severe look. “If this is typical of your behavior, then yes, I would say you are entirely inappropriate for a proper young lady.”
This time he laughed, though she’d certainly not meant her statement to amuse him. Before she could muster an indignant response, however, Lady Westcott finally broke her silence.
“Do not bother to argue with my grandson, Miss Drysdale, for you will get nowhere at all with him. His greatest joy in life is baiting me. Since I refuse to participate in his game, I fear you may become his next target. I advise you to ignore him,” she finished.
Lucy had kept her eyes trained on the earl while his grandmother spoke and saw the quick veil of dislike that covered his face. When he responded to the countess’s comments, however, his words were directed at Lucy. “My grandmother may be right, Miss Drysdale. After all, she has known me longer than anyone else. Now, if the two of you will excuse me? I have a house full of guests. If I do not return to them they may come searching for me. I suspect you would not enjoy that.”
Without further excuse he left, and with him, it seemed, went all the vitality in the room. What an absurd idea, Lucy thought. And yet it was true.
Lady Westcott let out a long sigh, as if she’d been holding her breath. Lucy too exhaled, somewhat unsteadily. She looked over her shoulder at the older woman, who raised a hand, forestalling anything Lucy might have to say.
“You needn’t say a thing, my dear. I can see it in your face. He is not what you expected, is he?”
Lucy grimaced. “I would not state it quité so … so blandly as that. May I sit down?”
“By all means. I’ll ring for a tray. There’s nothing like a glass of cognac
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