No Man's Mistress by Mary Balogh Page A

greet her return, or else she had brought people back with her. At almost midnight?
    His first impulse was to stay where he was until they were all gone. But that butler fellow knew he was in here, and a Dudley could not have it said that he had skulked out of sight rather than establish from the outset that he was master of his own domain. He trod purposefully across the library and opened the door.
    There were five persons standing in the hall—Jarvey, a small, plumpish woman who looked like a maid, Viola Thornhill, and two strangers, a man and a woman. The man was not entirely a stranger, though. He was the dry stick who had given it as his opinion yesterday that wagering was inappropriate to a church fête.
    They all looked his way. Viola Thornhill herself did so by glancing over her shoulder at him, her eyebrows raised, her lips slightly parted. She was wearing a green silk opera cloak, the wide hood spread becomingly over her shoulders, her head with its high coronet of dark red braids bare of any covering or adornment.
    Damn! Where the devil had he seen her before this trip to the hinterlands?
    “Good evening.” He stepped into the hall. “Will you present me, Miss Thornhill?”
    The maid disappeared upstairs. The butler melted into the background. The three remaining people all gazed at him with undisguised hostility.
    “This is Miss Claypole,” Viola Thornhill said, indicating the tall, thin woman of indeterminate age. “And her brother, Mr. Claypole.”
    She did not introduce him to them. But then, it was probably unnecessary. He had doubtless formed the chief topic of conversation for the evening. Ferdinand bowed.
    Neither visitor veered from the upright.
    “This will not do, sir,” Claypole said with pompous severity. “It is extremely improper for you, a single gentleman, to be occupying the home of a single, virtuous lady.”
    Ferdinand's right hand found the gilded handle of his quizzing glass and raised it to his eye. “I agree with you,” he said curtly after a significant pause. “Or would ifyour facts were correct. But they are topsy-turvy, my good fellow. It is the single, virtuous female who is occupying
my
home.”
    “Now, see here—” Claypole took one aggressive stride toward him.
    Ferdinand dropped his glass on its ribbon and held up his hand. “Take a damper,” he advised. “You do not want to go that route, I do assure you. Certainly not in the presence of ladies.”
    “You have no need to rush to my defense, Mr. Claypole,” Viola Thornhill said. “Thank you both for escorting me home in the carriage, but—”
    “You will but me no buts, Viola,” Miss Claypole said in strident tones. “This scandalous situation calls for an act of demonstrable propriety. Since Lord Ferdinand Dudley has chosen to remain at Pinewood instead of removing decently to the inn, then I will remain here as your chaperon. Indefinitely. For as long as I am needed. Humphrey will have a trunk of my things sent over in the morning.”
    Some of the tension had drained out of Claypole's body and flushed face. He had clearly realized how foolhardy it would be to come to blows. Ferdinand turned his attention to the sister.
    “I thank you, ma'am,” he said, “but your presence here will be quite unnecessary. I cannot answer for Miss Thornhill's reputation, but I can answer for her virtue. I have no intention of having my wicked way with her as soon as we are alone together—alone except for a number of servants, that is.”
    Miss Claypole appeared to add an extra couple of inches to her height as she inhaled audibly.
    “Your vulgarity is boundless,” she said. “Well, sir, I am here to guard Miss Thornhill's reputation as well as hervirtue. I would not trust you one inch farther than I could see you. We have been informed today—my mother, my brother, and I—that you forced her to dance
about the maypole
with you last evening. Do not think to deny it. There were any number of