Duel of Hearts by Anita Mills Page A

stairs, I fear,” she responded acidly. “Indeed, I should relish the task.” Her hand still on the railing, she negotiated the last few steps, being careful to balance her outlandish headdress.
    â€œI am quite sorry, you know,” he murmured, now fighting to suppress an outright grin. “I can see now that I quite mistook the matter. I—”
    â€œI assure you there is no need for this, my lord,” she cut in abruptly.
    â€œThen you will forgive me?”
    â€œNo. But that is quite beside the point. Nothing you could say would convince me that your opinion of me has changed for any reason other than the discovery that I am the daughter of a wealthy man—a wealthy Cit, to be exact, Lord Lyndon.” She used the word “Cit” rather than “merchant” openly, almost challenging him to dispute it. “That is what people of your class call us, is it not?”
    â€œMiss Cole—”
    Her hand went up to steady her hair. “Do you like it?” she asked archly. “ ’Tis the latest in Cit fashion, you know.”
    â€œ ’Tis charming—particularly the cut of the gown.” Bending over her hand gallantly, he sought to kiss her fingers.
    Clearly he was not recoiling as she had hoped. Snatching her hand back quickly, she tried again to give him a disgust of her. “Lord Lyndon, let us not play games with each other when plain speaking will serve us best. I quite know why you are here, and I intend to accept your suit—provided, of course, that you mean to take me to Almack’s and all of the other elegant places a fashionable lady is seen.” Pausing to inspect with studied insouciance a garish bracelet she’d borrowed from the belowstairs maid, she added coquettishly, “You do mean to introduce me to the swells, do you not? That is, I shall expect it.” Leaning backward to flutter her soot-blackened eyelashes at him, she lost part of the effect when two of the teetering plumes chose to fall out.
    He bent to pick them up and his eyes traveled from her toes to her face slowly, bringing a blush in their wake. “Miss Cole, you seem to be laboring under a misapprehension that I have made you an offer.”
    She stared blankly for a moment, unable to believe the relief she felt. “You mean you have not?”
    â€œNo. I have made no offer of marriage, Miss Cole—not to you or anyone. ’Twas my belief that your father invited me to dine.”
    â€œOh, but …” For a moment she was nonplussed, feeling like the veriest fool. “But I thought … I mean, did he not offer you money to take me?”
    â€œThere was some mention of it, I believe, but I did not commit to the offer. My title, Miss Cole, is not for sale.” He watched her, enjoying her discomfiture immensely, taking in the parade of dismayed emotions that crossed her painted face.
    â€œAh, there you are, my lord. Cozy little t ê te- à -t ê te with m’daughter, eh? Taking little thing, ain’t she?” Jeptha Cole boomed from the hall above them.
    â€œI cannot say the discourse between Lord Lyndon and myself has been of a particularly friendly nature, Papa,” Leah replied.
    â€œStill up on your high ropes, eh?” the old man observed imperturbably. “Well, you’d best come down from ’em, ’cause m’mind’s settled in the matter. It ain’t like I brought home a man-milliner or one of them fops you see parading Bond Street in the afternoon, is it? There,” he managed as he executed the last step and stopped to mop his brow. “Got to catch m’breath—your pardon, my lord. Egad, girl!” he choked when he actually saw her. “What is the meaning of this? Cover yourself!” Turning quickly to Lyndon, he sought to smooth over the effect of her garish appearance. “My lord—”
    â€œPapa, Lord Lyndon assures me that he has not the least desire