‘So, have you finished staring at me?’ he said, causing Iris to jump in her seat and her teacup to rattle in its saucer.
‘How did you...? I was not staring at you.’ She pulled her shoulders back in a demonstration of being affronted and placed the cup on the table with a defiant clink.
‘I might be blind, but I’m not an imbecile. What else would you be doing, sitting there in silence, not moving?’
‘I might have been staring into the fire? Or... Or...’ Iris looked around the room for inspiration.
‘Well, were you?’
She paused and turned back to face him. ‘If you’re so clever, can you tell what I am doing now?’ She poked out her tongue and glared at him.
‘No, but I suspect you are either pulling a rude face or making a rude gesture.’
‘I would never make a rude gesture,’ Iris said, completely taken aback.
‘A rude face, then. What was it? Did you cock a snook, poke out your tongue?’
Iris crossed her arms, determined not to answer him.
‘Well?’
‘I poked out my tongue, if you must know. But it was nothing less than you deserved.’
He swirled his brandy. ‘Is that always how you behave when someone takes you in out of the rain and gives you shelter? Or is it only when you’re in the company of someone who is blind?’
‘No, not usually,’ she shot back. ‘But it is how I behave when someone is rude to me.’
Iris wasn’t sure if that was entirely true. As a young lady who had been taught to always behave with impeccably good manners in every situation, she had never poked her tongue out at anyone before, ever. But then, she had never met anyone who was so rude to her. Every other man she met socially did the opposite, going out of his way to try and impress her, to show himself to be an amiable, likeable young man. Whereas the Earl seemed determined to make her dislike him. And in that he was succeeding.
She waited for him to say something, to explain himself, to put an end to this embarrassing situation, but he said nothing. He merely took another sip of his brandy, as if there was nothing more to be said on the subject, and they sank back down into an even more uncomfortable silence.
Iris suppressed an annoyed sigh and stirred another sugar cube into her tea. The fire crackling in the grate and the occasional growl from the dog as he slept were the only noises breaking the silence. If he was going to continue in this manner, either not speaking, or when he did speak being insufferably rude, it was going to be a very long evening indeed.
CHAPTER THREE
Theo ground his teeth together to stop a groan of exasperation from escaping. Having to spend the night in the company of this dizzy chatterbox was going to make this a very long evening indeed.
Not that all his evenings weren’t long, but at least they were quiet. Just as he liked it. He scratched Max’s head. The dog grunted his contentment. Max was all the company he needed. He did not need pretty young things coming into his home with their irritatingly sunny dispositions and mindless prattle.
He looked in the direction of the teaspoon clinking against the teacup. It was easy to tell that she was young and pretty. The swish of her skirts when she had first entered showed the quick, lithe movements of a young woman. And the tone in her voice was that of a woman who was used to being admired. It was obvious that when she spoke to a man she expected him to respond with rapt attention and flattery. Well, that was wasted on him. He had no time for young ladies who wanted men to shower them with compliments and fall under their spell every time they fluttered their eyelashes or pursed their pretty lips. The one good thing that had come from his injuries was that he would never again fall prey to such coquettishness.
‘What’s the dog’s name?’ she asked, her voice still holding that grating sing-song quality.
‘Max.’
At the sound of his voice, Max stirred and sat up.
‘Oh, aren’t you a beauty?’ Max’s head moved from under his hand, and his paws padded across the floor to Lady Iris. ‘Oh, yes, you are, you’re quite the beauty.’
To Theo’s disgust the traitorous Max’s tail started thumping on the floor, encouraging her in her flattery and caresses. Unlike himself, Max was not immune to the attentions of an attractive woman.
‘I’ve got a pug dog at home called Sookie. She’s lovely too. Isn’t she? Yes, she is. Oh, yes, she is. I think you and Sookie would be the best of friends, wouldn’t you?’
The childlike tone of her voice made Theo wince, but the dog’s yelp of encouragement and the increased vigour of his thumping tail suggested Max found nothing wrong with being doted on and spoken to as if he were a two-year-old child.
‘She’s a lovely, lovely dog...just like you, Maxie-Waxie.’
Theo clicked his fingers. ‘Heel, Max,’ he ground out. The dog was a noble Irish wolfhound, not a frivolous little pug dog, and should not be treated in a manner that undermined his dignity.
Maxie-Waxie, indeed.
Max slunk over to Theo and with a small groan of annoyance settled down at his feet. Theo scratched the dog’s head in consolation, wishing he could explain to the animal that pretty women who owned pug dogs were to be avoided at all cost. They were frivolous, flighty and not to be trusted with anyone’s heart, man or beast.
He also wished this damn storm would settle down so this Lady Iris Springfeld could be placed in a carriage and removed from his presence. But the howling in the trees, the scratching of the branches against the windows, and the persistent hissing of rain on the roof made it clear that the storm would not be over this night. He could only hope that tomorrow the roads would not be waterlogged and that she would not be forced to stay another day. Theo doubted if he could stand it.
A rhythmic tapping drew his attention back to Lady Iris. It seemed she was now drumming her fingers on the side table.
‘This really is a rather lovely room.’ He heard her stand up and move away. It was no longer the swish of a skirt that moved around the room, but the gentle rub of fabric from her trousers as she walked. When he had been standing beside her, he had estimated her height as about five feet six, so she must be swamped by his clothing. But the confident way she strode round the room suggested that she was not in the slightest bit embarrassed about being attired in such a manner. But then, there was no one to see her, was there? No real man to feel embarrassed in front of. No one whose opinion she should worry about. Only him, a man who was no threat to any woman.
He lifted his glass to throw back his drink but discovered the glass was empty. That irritating woman was driving him to drink, at least to drink even more than he usually did.
‘In fact, the whole house is rather splendid. When was it built?’ Her voice carried from across the room.
Was she taking an inventory? Weighing up his obvious disadvantages against what he was worth? If she was, she was wasting her time.
He drew in a deep breath before answering. ‘The original castle was built in the mid-fifteenth century, but it has been added to constantly over the years.’ Hopefully that would satisfy her.
‘Yes, I noticed the castle ramparts when I was coming up the driveway—very scary, especially in a storm.’ She gave an annoying little laugh.
Not scary enough to warn you off though, unfortunately, Theo wanted to add.
‘This room I would guess is early Georgian. Spacious, ornate ceiling, large floor-to-ceiling windows, and that chandelier is rather magnificent. I wonder what it looks like when it’s lit up.’
‘I wouldn’t know,’ he said, hoping his terse manner would make her be quiet.
‘No, I suppose not,’ she said, her voice gentle, causing a small spark of guilt to erupt deep inside him. Of course he knew what the room was like, knew exactly how magnificent the chandelier looked when it was fully lit. How it sent light sparkling round the room. Hadn’t he hosted many a so
cial event in this very room before his accident? Hadn’t he enjoyed seeing the house full of elegantly dressed people, all partaking of his hospitality? And hadn’t he, most of all, enjoyed seeing Estelle dressed in all her finery? His beautiful fiancée had always been the most attractive woman in the room. And hadn’t he relished the look of envy on every man’s face?
But that was before he knew what beautiful young women were really like. That was before the world had turned its back on him. He poured himself another brandy, and furiously swirled the aromatic drink round in the glass.
She returned to her seat and said nothing more. Perhaps now she was actually going to be quiet. But no. Within a matter of seconds the relentless drumming of the fingers started again, until it felt as if the noise was crashing into his skull and drowning out the sound of the raging storm.
He reached out to still the noise. His hand covered hers, the skin soft and warm against his palm. Momentarily he froze, his mind swamped by unwanted sensations, then his hand jerked back as if scalded.
‘Stop doing that. It’s annoying,’ he snapped with more force than he intended.
‘Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to... I, um... What exactly was I doing?’
Her constricted voice sounded as confused as he was feeling.
‘You were drumming your fingers on the table.’
‘Oh, was I? Sorry.’
Why did she have to make him feel like such a brute? He was in his own house. Surely if he didn’t want her making that infernal racket, he had every right to stop her. And why did touching her hand have such a profound and unexpected effect on him? He made a tight fist to try and crush the lingering imprint of her silken skin.
‘I’m surprised you could hear it above the sound of the wind.’ She gave another annoying little laugh, stood up and resumed walking round the room. He tried not to listen to the sound of the trouser legs rubbing against each other. The last thing he needed to think about was young women’s legs.
Fabric rustled loudly as she pushed back the curtains. ‘The rain’s coming down even heavier now and the wind is so strong the rain is almost horizontal. Thank goodness I found your house when I did. I’d hate to be still wandering around in this weather.’
She was doing it again. Making him feel like an inhospitable brute. But then, that was exactly what he was. He was inhospitable because he did not want guests in his house. And the accident had turned him into a brute, a man that Estelle couldn’t bear to look at.
But the unwelcome visitor was right. She had needed refuge from the storm and had not chosen to invade his privacy. Presumably if given a choice of where to take sanctuary it would not have been with him. He had no right to treat her like the enemy simply because circumstances had thrown them together. And tomorrow she would be gone. Then he could forget all about her. All he had to do was endure this one night and try and remember how he was supposed to behave when hosting a guest.
‘Yes, it was lucky you found this house,’ he said, trying to sound less irritated. ‘There are no other houses for miles around.’
The curtain rustled back into place as she dropped it and walked back to her chair. She emitted a small sigh, the leather creaking slightly as she sat down, then those fingers started drumming again. Theo clasped his hand tightly around his brandy balloon so he would not be tempted to touch her one more time.
‘Oh, sorry,’ she said. ‘I forgot. You don’t like that noise, do you? Well, if you don’t want me to keep annoying you by tapping my fingers, you’re going to have to make conversation.’
‘Am I?’ Theo was unsure which would be the greater annoyance.
‘Yes, you are. And if you don’t want to talk to me, then you’re going to have to listen to me talking to you. You’ve probably noticed that I’m not very good at keeping silent.’
‘Yes, I had noticed,’ he said, his voice bearing an uncanny resemblance to one of Max’s growls. But it did not have the intended effect. Instead of being cowed she gave another of those exasperating laughs.
‘So, shall I tell you all about myself and my family?’
He made no response.
‘All right, if you insist. As you know, my name is Lady Iris Springfeld. I have an older sister called Hazel, who is married to Lucas Darkwood. They have a beautiful little daughter called Lucy. I also have a younger sister called Daisy, and an older brother called Nathaniel.’
She stopped talking. Hopefully she had exhausted all she had to say. No such luck.
‘So, any questions so far?’
He made no response.
‘No? All right, then, I’ll continue. We live in London—Belgravia—but have a family estate in Dorset. My mother and I are visiting Lord and Lady Walberton for their house party. Lady Walberton is one of my mother’s oldest friends—well, I don’t mean she’s really old, but they’ve known each other for simply ages. Do you know them? The Walbertons, I mean.’
She waited for his response. ‘Yes,’ he finally said.
‘Oh, good. They’re rather delightful, aren’t they?’
Theo shifted in his seat. He had attended many parties at the Walberton estate. They were a regular part of the local social calendar and provided an opportunity for men who were seeking a bride to inspect what was on offer that Season. That had been where he had met Estelle.
He moved on his chair to try and find a more comfortable position and to drive out all thoughts of his previous life. ‘If they are so delightful, why did you decide to escape their house party and go wandering around the countryside on your own?’ Theo said, his annoyance directed as much at his memories as at this babbling young woman.
‘Hmm, well, that wasn’t because of Lord or Lady Walberton.’
‘Pray tell, what would be so dreadful as to send a young woman out into the wilds of Cornwall during a storm?’ He could hear the sarcasm dripping off his voice. Had she been trying to teach some besotted young man a lesson? Was she piqued because she wasn’t getting enough attention? Were there other young women at the party who were prettier than her, or had nicer gowns and she needed to draw attention back to herself?
‘Well, there wasn’t a storm when I set off and I didn’t realise the weather could get quite so wild, quite so quickly, but I suppose, well, I was a tiny bit bored. Balls and parties are such fun at the beginning of your first Season, but this is my fifth, and, as much as I like socialising, sometimes they can get tiresome.’ She released a small sigh. ‘When I was first presented at Court I had such romantic notions of what the Season would be like. It was like a dream, doing my curtsy in front of Princess Alexandra. She’s Queen Victoria’s daughter-in-law, you know.’
He said nothing. Of course he knew that, but he did not want to encourage her in her ramblings.
‘Then I attended my first ball and I loved every moment of it—it was like being in a fairy tale—but now, well, if I’m being terribly honest, it is starting to lose a bit of its sparkle.’
‘So why haven’t you married? Isn’t that what Seasons are for?’ he asked, then mentally castigated himself. He did not care one iota and had no desire to hear more of her relentless chatter.
It was her turn to remain silent. All he heard was the slight movement of clothing, as if she was shrugging a shoulder.
‘Whatever your reasons, you’re probably better off single,’ he said in consolation.
‘Like you,’ she said, then gasped. ‘Oh, sorry. That was rude and rather personal. You too probably have reasons why you’re not married that you don’t want to discuss with a stranger.’
He turned to face her. Was she as blind as him? Was the reason why he was single not staring her in the face? Could she not see his scars? Surely when she had scrutinised him earlier this evening she had not failed to notice just how disfiguring they were. She must realise that he had a deformity that would cause any sensible woman to immediately reject him.
&nb
sp; ‘My younger sister, Daisy, vows and declares she won’t marry either,’ she continued as if oblivious to his appearance. ‘Daisy says that marriage is enslavement for a woman. But Mother and Father are very happy together and no one would ever describe my mother as Father’s slave. If anything, it’s quite the reverse.’ She laughed at her joke. ‘And my older sister, Hazel, has never been happier since she married Lucas.’
He turned his face back to the fire, not wanting to hear about her family’s happy marriages.
‘But then, they all married for love.’
A contemptuous scoff was out of his mouth before he realised it. Love? That fickle emotion. Was that what she was waiting for? Was that why she was yet to marry? Well, she was in for some disappointments and harsh life lessons if she was pursuing that particular fantasy.
‘Now, don’t be like that. I saw how Hazel blossomed when she fell in love with her husband, and how happy she is. Real love is a wonderful thing.’
‘And how do you know if it’s real?’ he retorted. What on earth was he doing? Discussing absurd romantic notions with this vacuous young woman? He needed to stop this. Now.
‘I’m sure I’ll know when it happens.’
He shook his head in disbelief. ‘Pray tell, how are you going to know when it happens?’ This frivolous young woman knew nothing. Hadn’t he thought he had once been in love and been loved? And hadn’t he been wrong?
‘Well...’
She paused and he could hear a finger tapping, presumably on a chin or a cheek, as she contemplated the question. He should never have asked. He had no interest in this young woman’s opinion on anything, especially not love, but her optimism had angered him and he had spoken before thinking.
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