The Bridal Quest by Candace Camp Page A

could not forget that look of surprise on Maura's face when Francesca had taken Irene away from them. Surely Maura was not
that
good at dissembling.
    But that left the question of why Francesca had sought her out. Irene was not naive enough to think that it was simply because she was interested in Irene's company.
    "Lady Haughston ..." Irene said abruptly, breaking into the amusing little
on dit
that Francesca was relating.
    Francesca looked at her, somewhat surprised, and Irene realized that she had probably been rude again. It was a fault of which she was frequently accused.
    "I beg your pardon," Irene said. "I should not have interrupted you. But you have known me long enough to know that I believe in straight dealing. I cannot help but wonder why you asked me to promenade with you about the room."
    Francesca let out a little sigh. "I am aware of your preference for plain speaking. And while I am in general of the opinion that it is as easy to employ tact as to be blunt, I, too, find truth to be the best course. I asked you to accompany me because a longtime friend of my family asked me for a favor. I was asked to introduce you to someone who wishes to make your acquaintance."
    "What?" It was Irene's turn to look astonished. "But who— Why—"
    "I can only assume it is because he admires you," Francesca answered, and smiled in that small catlike way she had, a little secretive and yet at the same time alluring.
    Her words so took Irene aback that for a moment her mind was blank. Finally she rallied enough to retort, "Really, Lady Haughston, I am not fresh from the country. Do you expect me to believe that?"
    "I see no reason why you should not," Francesca responded, widening her eyes. "I do not know his reasons, of course. I did not think it my place to quiz him regarding his motives. However, I find that is commonly the reason why a gentleman wishes to meet a certain lady. Surely you do not count yourself so low that you think no man would find you worthy of his notice."
    Irene regarded Francesca thoughtfully. Lady Haughston had rather neatly boxed her in. Finally she said, "'Tis not false modesty. It is more that I have found I have a certain reputation among the
ton
that makes gentlemen disinclined to pursue my acquaintance."
    Francesca's eyes danced with amusement, and her smile broadened. "A reputation, Lady Irene? Indeed, I cannot imagine what you mean."
    "I thought you believed truth was the best course," Irene shot back. "We both know that I am regarded as something of a shrew."
    Francesca shrugged. "Ah, but while you are not fresh from the country, this gentleman is."
    "What?" Irene, puzzled, started to say more, but Francesca's attention had focused on something over Irene's shoulder, and she smiled. Irene dropped the rest of her words as she turned to see what had claimed Francesca's attention.
    It was a man. Tall and broad-shouldered, he strode toward them with purpose, and it seemed to Irene that those around him were dwarfed in comparison. It was not that he was so much larger than the other men, but there was a certain aura about him, a sense of toughness and strength, that set him apart.
    His hair was jet-black, thick and a trifle long, giving him the faint look of a ruffian, despite the quality and cut of his clothes. His face was all angles and lines, with high, sharp cheekbones and a firm chin. The straight slashes of his eyebrows were as dark as his hair, and the eyes below them were an intense green.
    She did not recognize him and yet there was something about him that tugged at her, some sense of familiarity that she could not place. Irene was aware of a peculiar sensation inside her, a dancing of nerves through her midsection that seemed both excitement and trepidation, mingled with another, unknown feeling that coiled down into her abdomen, hot and disturbing.
    Who was this man ?
    "Ah, Lord Radbourne," Francesca said, holding out her hand in greeting.
    "Lady Haughston." He bowed perfunctorily over