threatened with blackmail by the very best in the world, Mrs. Alastair. Some of them I even let leave with their fingers.”
She stared in astonishment. “Blackmail? Why on earth should I blackmail you?”
He held the list before her. “Tell me what this is.”
His look was fierce, but the truth was so ridiculous. On the other hand, if she did lie to him—and her honesttongue would trip over a lie—what would he do? Throw her through the window? He was certainly strong enough to do so. Or would he—
Their fingers? She curled hers protectively inward.
She drew a breath. If she said it in a rush, maybe it would not sound so silly. “It is a list of potential husbands. Gentlemen who might be interested in marrying me. And whom I would consider marrying.” There. She’d said it.
Chapter Seven
Grayson stared at her. He was so used to deviltry and treachery that for a few moments his mind did not grasp what she had said. “Husbands?”
She flushed from the tip of her chin to the line of her hair. “We have narrowed it to seven—er, eight—and plan to pare the list down further by the end of summer.”
Honesty sparkled in her eyes, honesty that went all the way down to her lovely, lovely soul. In Grayson’s life, he had met many liars. He could count on one hand those he knew who were honest through and through. Ian O’Malley, for instance, never hid his inner self. Neither did Oliver, though the man was naturally taciturn. And now Mrs. Alastair. Delightful Mrs. Alastair, who had rushed to his rescue.
But why did her list contain his name? And the name of the Duke of St. Clair and the name of one of the most fearsome villains who had ever walked the earth? The man was supposed to be dead. Ardmore said he’d killedhim, and Ardmore was not an idle boaster. Bloody hell.
He released her. She bit her lip, watching him in trepidation.
A list of gentlemen this beautiful creature would consider marrying, with his name by itself at the very bottom. Grayson Finley, Viscount Stoke. Followed by a query mark.
A part of him wanted to laugh. There was merriment in this situation, a veritable chance to tease and play with his lady. At the same time, indignation rose within him. Could she not see he belonged at the top of the list, and all these other callow gentlemen below him?
He laid the paper on the writing table and bent over it. “What are all these stars and crosses and exclamation marks?”
He became aware of her agitated breath on his cheek, of the shimmering curls that just brushed his shoulder. “Nothing, really. They are not important.”
He glanced at her sideways. “I had just decided you were one of the few honest souls I had ever met. Do not try to lie.”
Her face went crimson. “They mean certain things we know about each gentlemen.”
“We?”
“Lady Featherstone and I. The list was more or less her idea.”
He exhaled slowly. He imagined Mrs. Alastair and her cohort sizing up the ranks of London’s bachelors and quietly discussing their attributes. He was not certain whether the vision pleased or frightened him. He pointed to the name Sir Henry Berkeley. “Why does he have two stars?”
“Stars mean children,” she said. “Sir Henry has two. A boy and a girl, ages five and seven. A ready-made family.”
The thought seemed to cheer her. Grayson firmly took up the pen that had rolled to the edge of the table and seated himself. He uncapped the ink pot, dipped the pen, and made a neat star next to his own name. “I have a daughter. Another ready-made family.”
She watched him worriedly, still nibbling on her lip. She was most fetching when she did that.
He touched the pen nib to the paper. “What do the exclamation marks mean?”
Her flush deepened. “It means—that the gentleman is particularly handsome.”
The duke had an exclamation mark. So did, God help him, Zechariah Burchard. But he would get to that.
He drew a careful exclamation mark on the line next to his name. “I
She stared in astonishment. “Blackmail? Why on earth should I blackmail you?”
He held the list before her. “Tell me what this is.”
His look was fierce, but the truth was so ridiculous. On the other hand, if she did lie to him—and her honesttongue would trip over a lie—what would he do? Throw her through the window? He was certainly strong enough to do so. Or would he—
Their fingers? She curled hers protectively inward.
She drew a breath. If she said it in a rush, maybe it would not sound so silly. “It is a list of potential husbands. Gentlemen who might be interested in marrying me. And whom I would consider marrying.” There. She’d said it.
Chapter Seven
Grayson stared at her. He was so used to deviltry and treachery that for a few moments his mind did not grasp what she had said. “Husbands?”
She flushed from the tip of her chin to the line of her hair. “We have narrowed it to seven—er, eight—and plan to pare the list down further by the end of summer.”
Honesty sparkled in her eyes, honesty that went all the way down to her lovely, lovely soul. In Grayson’s life, he had met many liars. He could count on one hand those he knew who were honest through and through. Ian O’Malley, for instance, never hid his inner self. Neither did Oliver, though the man was naturally taciturn. And now Mrs. Alastair. Delightful Mrs. Alastair, who had rushed to his rescue.
But why did her list contain his name? And the name of the Duke of St. Clair and the name of one of the most fearsome villains who had ever walked the earth? The man was supposed to be dead. Ardmore said he’d killedhim, and Ardmore was not an idle boaster. Bloody hell.
He released her. She bit her lip, watching him in trepidation.
A list of gentlemen this beautiful creature would consider marrying, with his name by itself at the very bottom. Grayson Finley, Viscount Stoke. Followed by a query mark.
A part of him wanted to laugh. There was merriment in this situation, a veritable chance to tease and play with his lady. At the same time, indignation rose within him. Could she not see he belonged at the top of the list, and all these other callow gentlemen below him?
He laid the paper on the writing table and bent over it. “What are all these stars and crosses and exclamation marks?”
He became aware of her agitated breath on his cheek, of the shimmering curls that just brushed his shoulder. “Nothing, really. They are not important.”
He glanced at her sideways. “I had just decided you were one of the few honest souls I had ever met. Do not try to lie.”
Her face went crimson. “They mean certain things we know about each gentlemen.”
“We?”
“Lady Featherstone and I. The list was more or less her idea.”
He exhaled slowly. He imagined Mrs. Alastair and her cohort sizing up the ranks of London’s bachelors and quietly discussing their attributes. He was not certain whether the vision pleased or frightened him. He pointed to the name Sir Henry Berkeley. “Why does he have two stars?”
“Stars mean children,” she said. “Sir Henry has two. A boy and a girl, ages five and seven. A ready-made family.”
The thought seemed to cheer her. Grayson firmly took up the pen that had rolled to the edge of the table and seated himself. He uncapped the ink pot, dipped the pen, and made a neat star next to his own name. “I have a daughter. Another ready-made family.”
She watched him worriedly, still nibbling on her lip. She was most fetching when she did that.
He touched the pen nib to the paper. “What do the exclamation marks mean?”
Her flush deepened. “It means—that the gentleman is particularly handsome.”
The duke had an exclamation mark. So did, God help him, Zechariah Burchard. But he would get to that.
He drew a careful exclamation mark on the line next to his name. “I
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