depart earlier than planned. They didn’t live far from the Dunwoodys; if Lady Pleinsworth was not ready to leave, it should not prove difficult for the Pleinsworth carriage to transport Sarah home and then return for her mother.
Five minutes of searching did not reveal Lady Pleinsworth’s whereabouts, however, and soon enough Sarah was muttering to herself as she tromped down the corridor to where she thought the Dunwoodys had a gaming room.
“If Mama is playing cards . . .” Not that Lady Pleinsworth couldn’t afford to lose a guinea or two in whatever it was that matrons played these days, but still, it seemed rather unfair that she’d be gambling away while Sarah was saving the family from utter embarrassment.
Caused by her cousin, while he’d been gambling.
“Ah, irony,” she murmured. “Thy name is . . .”
Thy name was . . .
Thy name could be . . .
She actually stopped walking as she frowned. Apparently irony’s name was some word she couldn’t think of.
“I am pathetic,” she muttered, resuming her search. And she wanted to go home. Where the devil was her mother?
Soft light shone from a partially open doorway just a few feet ahead. It was rather quiet for a card game, but on the other hand, the open doorway would seem to indicate that whatever Sarah walked in on, it would not be too inappropriate.
“Mama,” she said, walking into the room. But it wasn’t her mother.
Irony’s new name was apparently Hugh Prentice.
She froze in the doorway, unable to do anything but stare at the man sitting by the window. Later, when she was reliving every awful moment of the encounter, it would occur to her that she could have left. He wasn’t facing her, and he didn’t see her; he wouldn’t see her unless she spoke again.
Which of course she did.
“I hope you’re satisfied,” she said coldly.
Lord Hugh stood at the sound of her voice. His movements were stiff, and he leaned heavily on the arm of the chair as he rose. “I beg your pardon?” he said politely, regarding her with an expression that was completely devoid of emotion.
He did not even have the decency to appear uncomfortable in her presence? Sarah felt her hands turn to rocky little fists. “Have you no shame?”
This elicited a blink, but little else. “It really depends on the situation,” he finally murmured.
Sarah searched her repertoire for suitable exclamations of feminine outrage, finally settling on “You, sir, are no gentleman.”
At that, she finally gained his full attention. His grass-green eyes met hers, narrowing ever-so-slightly in thought, and it was then that Sarah realized—
He did not know who she was .
She gasped.
“Now what?” he muttered.
He didn’t know who she was. He had bloody well ruined her life, and he didn’t know who she was ?
Irony, thy name was about to be cursed.
Chapter Three
How They Met
(the way he remembers it)
I n retrospect, Hugh thought, he should have realized that the young woman standing before him was unhinged when she declared him no gentleman. Not that it wasn’t the truth; for all that he tried to behave as a civilized adult, he knew that his soul had been black as soot for years.
But really . . . “ You, sir, are no gentleman” directly following “ I hope you’re satisfied” and “ Have you no shame? ”
Surely no adult of reasonable intelligence and sanity would be so redundant. Not to mention trite. Either the poor woman had been spending too much time at the theater, or she’d convinced herself she was a character in one of those awful melodramas everyone was reading lately.
His inclination was to turn on his good heel and depart, but judging by the wild look in her eyes she’d probably follow, and he wasn’t exactly the speediest fox in the hunt these days. Best to tackle the problem head-on, so to speak.
“Are you unwell?” he asked carefully. “Would you like me to fetch someone for you?”
She sputtered and fumed, her cheeks
Five minutes of searching did not reveal Lady Pleinsworth’s whereabouts, however, and soon enough Sarah was muttering to herself as she tromped down the corridor to where she thought the Dunwoodys had a gaming room.
“If Mama is playing cards . . .” Not that Lady Pleinsworth couldn’t afford to lose a guinea or two in whatever it was that matrons played these days, but still, it seemed rather unfair that she’d be gambling away while Sarah was saving the family from utter embarrassment.
Caused by her cousin, while he’d been gambling.
“Ah, irony,” she murmured. “Thy name is . . .”
Thy name was . . .
Thy name could be . . .
She actually stopped walking as she frowned. Apparently irony’s name was some word she couldn’t think of.
“I am pathetic,” she muttered, resuming her search. And she wanted to go home. Where the devil was her mother?
Soft light shone from a partially open doorway just a few feet ahead. It was rather quiet for a card game, but on the other hand, the open doorway would seem to indicate that whatever Sarah walked in on, it would not be too inappropriate.
“Mama,” she said, walking into the room. But it wasn’t her mother.
Irony’s new name was apparently Hugh Prentice.
She froze in the doorway, unable to do anything but stare at the man sitting by the window. Later, when she was reliving every awful moment of the encounter, it would occur to her that she could have left. He wasn’t facing her, and he didn’t see her; he wouldn’t see her unless she spoke again.
Which of course she did.
“I hope you’re satisfied,” she said coldly.
Lord Hugh stood at the sound of her voice. His movements were stiff, and he leaned heavily on the arm of the chair as he rose. “I beg your pardon?” he said politely, regarding her with an expression that was completely devoid of emotion.
He did not even have the decency to appear uncomfortable in her presence? Sarah felt her hands turn to rocky little fists. “Have you no shame?”
This elicited a blink, but little else. “It really depends on the situation,” he finally murmured.
Sarah searched her repertoire for suitable exclamations of feminine outrage, finally settling on “You, sir, are no gentleman.”
At that, she finally gained his full attention. His grass-green eyes met hers, narrowing ever-so-slightly in thought, and it was then that Sarah realized—
He did not know who she was .
She gasped.
“Now what?” he muttered.
He didn’t know who she was. He had bloody well ruined her life, and he didn’t know who she was ?
Irony, thy name was about to be cursed.
Chapter Three
How They Met
(the way he remembers it)
I n retrospect, Hugh thought, he should have realized that the young woman standing before him was unhinged when she declared him no gentleman. Not that it wasn’t the truth; for all that he tried to behave as a civilized adult, he knew that his soul had been black as soot for years.
But really . . . “ You, sir, are no gentleman” directly following “ I hope you’re satisfied” and “ Have you no shame? ”
Surely no adult of reasonable intelligence and sanity would be so redundant. Not to mention trite. Either the poor woman had been spending too much time at the theater, or she’d convinced herself she was a character in one of those awful melodramas everyone was reading lately.
His inclination was to turn on his good heel and depart, but judging by the wild look in her eyes she’d probably follow, and he wasn’t exactly the speediest fox in the hunt these days. Best to tackle the problem head-on, so to speak.
“Are you unwell?” he asked carefully. “Would you like me to fetch someone for you?”
She sputtered and fumed, her cheeks
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