see you two are acquainted,” he pressed.
Mazie’s eyes strayed to the scratches on his face before she looked away, toward Cat, and forced a tight smile. “We met a long time ago, in what feels like a different lifetime.”
“Yes, it has been ages. I almost did not recognize you, Lady Margaret.” Cat laughed, but it sounded stiff, unnatural.
“How interesting.” Trent pretended polite interest when in truth he wanted to wring Mazie’s neck. The relentless midsummer sun, beating down with pulses of heat, did little to help his anger.
A tendril of dark hair blew across Mazie’s cheek as she darted a glance over her shoulder toward the estate. It was a look he knew well—the blank expression of the mouth, the heightened focus in the eyes. He saw it often in the House when his peers realized the futility of their arguments.
She wanted to flee.
“How did you make one another’s acquaintance?” He wouldn’t let her away so easy.
Cat gave him a half smile. “Why, I think it was at St. James Palace, when we made our bow to the Queen. Lady Margaret and I were blushing debutants together.”
He felt his eyebrows fly upward. A blushing debutant. In front of the Queen . No, he couldn’t picture it.
“Lady Margaret had the most beautiful gown.” Cat’s attention vacillated between him and Mazie. “White and silver, it absolutely sparkled.”
“Did it?” he could think of nothing else to say. Good Lord, Mazie had tricked the Queen. She would hang with her lover the highwayman.
Unless? No, it couldn’t be possible. She couldn’t be a daughter of the aristocracy.
Cat looked the picture of the gentle country lady in her blue walking gown, her blonde hair done up in curls beneath her bonnet. She wore gloves—clean gloves—and held a small parasol over one shoulder.
Mazie, on the other hand, was attired in some old riding habit, though it did hug her curves in the perfect places. She wore a hat for once, but her hair was already falling loose. Her skin was darkened from the sun, she wore no gloves and just the way she held her wide, sensual mouth spoke a challenge.
She did not look like any lady he had ever met.
Her posture though, her speech and the regal way she held her head, those did speak of training in the social graces. He should have noticed it before. There was more to her beauty than just her dark eyes or the shape of her face.
But a lady?
He glared at her without mercy, but she refused to meet his gaze, simply kept an inane smile plastered to her face. “I cannot believe you remember my dress, Lady Catherine.”
“But it was so unusual. So elegant.”
“My—” Mazie cleared her throat. “My mother designed it.”
“Oh, your mother.” Cat sighed. “She had the most enviable wardrobe.”
Ridiculous. Only women would talk of dresses at a time like this.
Dresses…mothers…the Queen… Trent froze. A trickle of cold sweat slid down his back.
A lady. He had a goddamned lady locked up in his house.
Mazie cast him a sly glance from the corner of her eye, perhaps gauging his reaction. Perhaps enjoying his befuddlement. Whatever she saw caused her to bite her lip and drop her brown eyes to the earth.
Guilty. She looked guilty.
Hours of interrogation, a searing kiss and a bloody altercation in the woods—never once had Mazie looked as abashed as she did now.
He clamped his jaw closed. The stableyard was not the appropriate place to yell at Mazie, Lady Margaret, whoever the hell she was.
Later. He would deal with her later. In private.
She lifted her chin and cleared her throat. Looked at Trent then glanced away. Cleared her throat again. “And you, Lady Catherine, hooked the bachelor of the Season.”
“Yes, quite the match.”
If Mazie noticed the irony in Cat’s tone, she did not acknowledge it. “And how is His Lordship? Is he here with you today?”
“No, he’s not. You’ve not been in London for many years.” Cat turned the topic back to Mazie. “Do you have
Mazie’s eyes strayed to the scratches on his face before she looked away, toward Cat, and forced a tight smile. “We met a long time ago, in what feels like a different lifetime.”
“Yes, it has been ages. I almost did not recognize you, Lady Margaret.” Cat laughed, but it sounded stiff, unnatural.
“How interesting.” Trent pretended polite interest when in truth he wanted to wring Mazie’s neck. The relentless midsummer sun, beating down with pulses of heat, did little to help his anger.
A tendril of dark hair blew across Mazie’s cheek as she darted a glance over her shoulder toward the estate. It was a look he knew well—the blank expression of the mouth, the heightened focus in the eyes. He saw it often in the House when his peers realized the futility of their arguments.
She wanted to flee.
“How did you make one another’s acquaintance?” He wouldn’t let her away so easy.
Cat gave him a half smile. “Why, I think it was at St. James Palace, when we made our bow to the Queen. Lady Margaret and I were blushing debutants together.”
He felt his eyebrows fly upward. A blushing debutant. In front of the Queen . No, he couldn’t picture it.
“Lady Margaret had the most beautiful gown.” Cat’s attention vacillated between him and Mazie. “White and silver, it absolutely sparkled.”
“Did it?” he could think of nothing else to say. Good Lord, Mazie had tricked the Queen. She would hang with her lover the highwayman.
Unless? No, it couldn’t be possible. She couldn’t be a daughter of the aristocracy.
Cat looked the picture of the gentle country lady in her blue walking gown, her blonde hair done up in curls beneath her bonnet. She wore gloves—clean gloves—and held a small parasol over one shoulder.
Mazie, on the other hand, was attired in some old riding habit, though it did hug her curves in the perfect places. She wore a hat for once, but her hair was already falling loose. Her skin was darkened from the sun, she wore no gloves and just the way she held her wide, sensual mouth spoke a challenge.
She did not look like any lady he had ever met.
Her posture though, her speech and the regal way she held her head, those did speak of training in the social graces. He should have noticed it before. There was more to her beauty than just her dark eyes or the shape of her face.
But a lady?
He glared at her without mercy, but she refused to meet his gaze, simply kept an inane smile plastered to her face. “I cannot believe you remember my dress, Lady Catherine.”
“But it was so unusual. So elegant.”
“My—” Mazie cleared her throat. “My mother designed it.”
“Oh, your mother.” Cat sighed. “She had the most enviable wardrobe.”
Ridiculous. Only women would talk of dresses at a time like this.
Dresses…mothers…the Queen… Trent froze. A trickle of cold sweat slid down his back.
A lady. He had a goddamned lady locked up in his house.
Mazie cast him a sly glance from the corner of her eye, perhaps gauging his reaction. Perhaps enjoying his befuddlement. Whatever she saw caused her to bite her lip and drop her brown eyes to the earth.
Guilty. She looked guilty.
Hours of interrogation, a searing kiss and a bloody altercation in the woods—never once had Mazie looked as abashed as she did now.
He clamped his jaw closed. The stableyard was not the appropriate place to yell at Mazie, Lady Margaret, whoever the hell she was.
Later. He would deal with her later. In private.
She lifted her chin and cleared her throat. Looked at Trent then glanced away. Cleared her throat again. “And you, Lady Catherine, hooked the bachelor of the Season.”
“Yes, quite the match.”
If Mazie noticed the irony in Cat’s tone, she did not acknowledge it. “And how is His Lordship? Is he here with you today?”
“No, he’s not. You’ve not been in London for many years.” Cat turned the topic back to Mazie. “Do you have
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