Not Quite a Lady by Loretta Chase

She took a steadying breath and willed her hands not to tremble.
    She had not heard him coming up behind her. She did not exactly hear him now. She felt his voice vibrating along her spine. The skin on the back of her neck prickled as though he’d touched it.
    “That would be discourteous,” she said. She continued walking. The rector’s wife, Mrs. Badgely, sat at the other end of the drawing room near the fire, which burned solely for her on this warm June evening. Mrs. Badgely was crippled with arthritis. Even if she hadn’t been Papa’s cousin, one must see to her comfort. One must always see to the comfort of one’s guests.
    Except for this one. There was a limit, after all, to what even the most dutiful of daughters would do.
    “Strangling is discourteous,” he said. “That is an interesting viewpoint. I suppose I cannot accuse you of discourtesy in leaving me to have my ears talked off.”
    She glanced at his too-handsome profile. “Please do not trouble yourself on that account. Your ears appear to be firmly attached to your head.” She wished they’d been the sticking-out kind of ears. She wished she could find something wrong with him that showed. Providence was not at all fair in that way. What it ought to do was leave an indelible mark on wicked men. Preferably a scarlet A on their foreheads.
    But no, he was unblemished, unmarked. She had searched in vain for a physical flaw. She would be happier with herself if she could stop looking…and if her breathing would return to normal.
    “Then they remain in spite of Mrs. Steepleton’s best efforts,” he said. “She commenced talking the instant you concluded the introductions. She continued until dinner was announced. At dinner—and why does this fail to surprise me?—I found myself seated next to her.”
    Charlotte had tried not to look that way, but it was difficult, because he sat directly opposite her. At one point, he’d caught her eye and shot her an accusing look, followed by a martyred one, hastily erased when Mrs. Steepleton reclaimed his attention. Charlotte had wanted to laugh. She had found it unusually difficult to maintain a politely blank expression. She’d found it almost impossible to concentrate on the conversation about her.
    “She talked,” he went on, “throughout dinner. She did not stop until Lady Lithby signaled the ladies to leave the table.”
    “Think of the trouble she saved you,” Charlotte said. “You were not obliged to devise clever things to say. All you had to do was appear attentive.”
    “I don’t devise clever things to say, Lady Charlotte,” he said. “I usually say what comes into my head. It makes life less complicated, I find.”
    “Less complicated for you, perhaps,” she said. “You are a man.”
    “You are most observant,” he said.
    “Men seem to like candor in their own sex,” she said. “They are not so enamored of the trait in women, I have noticed.”
    “Close-minded men don’t like it, perhaps.”
    Charlotte smiled. If he liked candor in a woman, he was headed in the right direction.
    They’d reached the fire, and the rector’s wife. Charlotte turned her warmest smile upon the neighborhood’s most feared harridan.
    “Ah, Lady Charlotte, here you are,” said Mrs. Badgely. She was tall and portly, with a correspondingly large voice. “I hoped you were only temporarily distracted and hadn’t forgotten me altogether.” She eyed Mr. Carsington. “Yet it’s no small distraction, I admit.”
    Charlotte delivered the tea. “Mr. Carsington very kindly accompanied me,” she said. “It is not difficult to guess why he wishes to further his acquaintance with you. Being observant, he noticed your discomfort. Naturally he wishes to employ his vast knowledge in helping you. But first he will need information. I know he will wish you to describe, in detail, all of your symptoms.”
    She beamed at Mr. Carsington.
    He blinked once. Then his golden eyes narrowed.
    “You are an expert