Lady Be Good by Meredith Duran Page A

call when you need me.”
    He offered her a beautiful smile. “Take heart. It’s a rare occasion when I do. And bound to grow rarer, now you’ve lost your talent and been swindled by a nob.”
    Despair leached through her. “What shall I do, then?”
    “Find a way to get those notes back,” he said with a shrug. “I’ll be needing them by the last week of June. No later. Otherwise those toffs will have the truth from me.”
    “You’ll enjoy that,” she said dully.
    He snorted. “Won’t be my doing when they sack you. But no doubt it will make a fine lesson, to learn how your
betters
care for a girl named Lily Monroe.”
    “Please lower your voice. And stop that pacing! For heaven’s sake, Kit. Melanie is right; you’re not yourself lately.”
    Christian pivoted. Across the broad span of the foyer’s checked tiles, his mother stood, one hand perched dramatically at her brow, her face a mask of bewildered hurt.
    “I was not yelling.” He was certain of it. But he had not arrived with the intent of charming and delighting her, either. There was the rub. It had always fallen to his brother—and their father before him—to be the serious ones. Christian’s purpose was to entertain and amuse.
    But his mother’s telegram this morning had left him in no mood to entertain her. She had decided not to board the ship to New York. Instead, she and Melanie had turned back for Susseby, the seat of the viscountcy. The whole country knew where to find them now.
    Astonishment washed over him anew. “I thought you understood. You cannot remain here.”
    “Yes, yes.” She cast an impatient look toward the front door. “Quigley, at least take his hat and gloves. Let him lecture me in comfort.”
    He held up a hand, halting the butler in his tracks. Taking her elbow, he led her out of the servant’s earshot, into the nearby morning room.
    Inside, she drew away to yank the bell pull. “Watch the carpet,” she said. “You’ve mud on your boots.”
    Indeed, God forbid. He took a long breath. This was not the first time he’d had cause to restrain his temper in this room. She worried far more for the carpets than herself. “I am rebooking your passage,” he said. “I will personally escort you onto the ship.”
    The door opened. “Tea,” his mother instructedthe footman. “And perhaps a heartier repast for Lord Palmer.”
    The man bowed and shut the door again.
    “Poor dear,” she continued, “you do look famished. Did you ride straight through the rain? How awful the roads are. It must have taken the whole morning!” She lowered herself to the settee, readjusting her fine jemadar shawl about her shoulders. “I
am
sorry,” she added with a bright smile. “I would have enjoyed New York, but your sister has a point. At Melanie’s age, one must be marriage-minded. Missing a season in town means risking her chance at—”
    His patience snapped. “There will be no marriage if she’s killed.”
    “Kit!” On a sharp breath, his mother reached for the jet cross at her throat.
    She still wore half-mourning for Geoff. The dark wool did not suit her blond coloring, but he knew that part of her pallor, at least, was owed to him. No doubt his words were cruel. But if she did not wish to enter full mourning again, she had no choice but to listen.
    He took the seat beside her. How would Geoff have conducted this conversation? Somberly, brooking no opposition. “I do not like to say it. But you must face facts. Geoff’s death was no accident.”
    “Stop it.” She turned her face away, showing the elegance of her profile, the high cheekbones and swanlike neck that by all accounts had struck men dumb in her youth. “I won’t listen to this again.”
    Christian’s brother had not believed in involving her in unpleasant business. But there was no choice for it. Ignorance would only endanger her. “Be angry with me, if you must. Had I not crossed paths with a madman,Geoff would still be alive.” The words tasted