Undesirable Liaison by Elizabeth Bailey Page B

solicitude—if that is what
you intend. Speak to me as you will, but get to the point. I want
the truth, Miss Petrie, and immediately.’
    Considerably
taken aback, Florence stared up at him in gathering dudgeon. What
in the world did this mean? A glimmering of light fluttered at the
edge of her consciousness, but she was too put out to catch at it.
The burn in the man’s dark orbs provoked her into rising
impetuously from the little sofa and taking full advantage of the
permission granted to speak to him in any way she chose.
    ‘This is
intolerable, sir! You ask for my story, and then interrupt me with
accusations of—I don’t know of what, to be frank. I gather you had
no knowledge of your late wife’s demise, but that cannot be laid to
my account. Until last Friday, I knew nothing of her existence, let
alone yours, so—’
    ‘Ah, now we
come to it,’ he cut in, contempt entering his features. ‘Let us
pass over how the devil you came to know of my existence, but
having done so, I imagine I have not far to look for the reason you
sought me out, even to my private estates. What do you want, Miss
Petrie? Am I to recompense you handsomely for the information that
my wife is no longer an impediment? Though where you had your
information beats me. Or are you another of Bodicote’s doxies?
Perhaps this is his scheme, and you are merely the
instrument.’
    Too stunned and
bewildered to speak, Flo watched the hard line of his jaw tighten
the more, and with the fixated fascination one might hold upon the
eyes of an angry snake, she saw the molten brown gaze take
fire.
    ‘Know this,
Miss Petrie: I am no longer the guileless youth I once was to be
taken in by female stratagems. You will find me remarkably hard to
gull, and so I warn you.’
    Florence knew
not how to reply to such a speech. She was more than half inclined
to write Lord Langriville down as a lunatic. The only thing upon
which she could fasten with any certainty was that she had
inadvertently strayed into a situation fraught with dismaying
complications.
    Before she
could think how to disabuse his lordship’s mind of its false
assumptions, a welcome interruption came in the form of the butler,
armed with a tray, which he laid down upon a round table set
alongside the harpsichord. Lord Langriville’s smouldering gaze
encompassed the man’s actions, and Flo thought he was experiencing
extreme difficulty in holding his tongue. She was glad of the
respite, and accepted the glass of wine handed to her with real
gratitude, taking opportunity to reseat herself. A few sips served
both to warm her and to clear her head.
    ‘That will be
all, Fewston.’
    The tone was
curt and clipped, but Flo’s ear recognised the lessening of his
lordship’s rage. Waiting until the butler had left the room, she
cupped the wine glass in her hands and seized her chance.
    ‘Before you say
anything more, sir, pray hear me out.’
    The inflexible
look came over his countenance once more. ‘Well?’
    Florence drew
breath to steady herself and looked him in the eyes. ‘All I have
been able to ascertain from your diatribe, my lord, is that you
suspect me of an ulterior motive. I neither know nor care what
other ideas you may have in your head. In coming here, I have done
what I conceived to be a duty. If in doing so, I have raised
spectres from the past, for that, and for that alone, I can only
apologise, and protest it was not meant.’
    There was no
diminution of the dark suspicion in his eyes, but he did not speak.
She took a last sip of the wine and stood up, moving to place the
glass upon the mantel. Fishing inside the interior of her jacket,
she pulled out the pocket-handkerchief containing the precious gem.
It struck her as ironic that none in the household had required her
to produce the item that had sparked the whole unfortunate episode.
Unfolding the handkerchief with fingers that, despite all her
efforts at control, betrayed her with unstoppable tremors, Flo
extracted the