“They’re not all for me. Lady Norwood’s niece made a pleasing impression. And of course, Sally and Morwenna are lovely.”
“They are. But the night belonged to you.”
She tugged her hand free—he’d been in no hurry to release her—and fluttered her fingers in an unexpectedly dismissive gesture. One might imagine she wasn’t used to compliments. “You’re too kind. By the way, thank you for your lovely pink roses.”
He dipped his head in a brief bow. “I’m glad you like them.” He searched the room without seeing them. Were they somewhere else or, God forbid, had she thrown them out? “I called to see if you’d like to come driving. A lady who has made such a splash should confirm her conquest by gracing Hyde Park at the fashionable hour.”
He’d swear the bewilderment in her eyes was real—he’d seen enough false modesty in his time to know the difference. “That’s not until five o’clock.”
“I hoped you’d give me a chance for some private conversation first. There’s so much I want to know about you.”
“Pascal, good afternoon.” Sally appeared in the doorway and held out her hand.
He bowed over it politely, without any particular urge to lengthen the contact. “Sally, you’re looking lovely as ever.”
“Thank you.” Her perceptive green gaze shifted between him and Lady Mowbray. “You’ve not long missed the crowd. We’ve had callers all afternoon. Amy has caught society’s eye.”
“Twaddle.” Another of those damnably charming blushes. “Most of the callers were for Meg.”
Sally leveled a stern glance on her. “No, most of them were for you.” She paused. “Although I’m delighted that my niece has her admirers, too.”
“I’ve invited Lady Mowbray for a run in my curricle.” He’d deliberately left his call late to avoid tripping over every fop in London.
Sally subjected him to another of those assessing stares. He’d known her for years. They were the same age, and he’d danced with her at her first ball the year she married the fabulously wealthy Lord Norwood. “That would be an excellent idea. The approval of society’s darling will do wonders for Amy’s cachet.”
While Amy looked daunted, Pascal gave an amused snort. “I’m not escorting the lady for the benefit of those other blockheads. I want to find out more about her.”
Sally’s eyes narrowed. She would know, even if Amy Mowbray didn’t, that those words constituted a declaration of intent. He waited for her to comment, but she merely turned to Lady Mowbray. “I’ll keep Lord Pascal company while you run upstairs and fetch your bonnet and pelisse.”
When they were alone, Sally crossed to fill two glasses of brandy. She passed him one, took a sip from hers, then fixed an uncompromising stare upon him. “Amy is my friend.”
He arched his eyebrows, enjoying the unconventional sight of a woman drinking spirits. “Are you warning me away from her?”
Sally shrugged and wandered over to look out the window to where his groom held his fine bay horses. “No. But I’m saying if you hurt her, I’ll feed your liver to my foxhounds.”
“Ouch,” he said mildly. “I’m inviting her for a drive. We’re joining the fashionable throng in the park. She’ll enjoy that.”
“I’m sure she will. Didn’t I hear a rumor that you were about to offer for the Veivers chit?”
“You know how inaccurate gossip can be,” he said lightly, hiding a shudder.
“She’s rich and pretty.”
And as stupid as a bale of hay. In fact, in an intellectual contest, he’d back any bale of hay over Cissie Veivers. “So is Lady Mowbray.”
“Just don’t turn Amy’s head.”
He smiled. “Sally, you make a fine bulldog, protecting your charges. Your niece is only eighteen and needs you. Lady Mowbray is old enough to look after herself.”
To his surprise, Sally didn’t look convinced. In fact, this whole conversation was surprising. He was considered a catch. The estates might suffer a temporary cash flow problem, but the land was good, and his title was old and distinguished. And while he’d long ago become bored with praise for his looks, he knew he still set the ladies’ hearts aflutter.
“Remember—foxhounds,” she said darkly, as Lady Mowbray returned in a devilish stylish dark green pelisse and a military-style hat to match. His heart performed that strange somersault again. She wasn’t pretty in the classic style, but by God, she was as bright and vivid as a sunrise.
“You and Sally looked very serious,” Lady Mowbray said, as they rolled away from the front of the house. His groom was waiting for him back in Sally’s kitchen—Pascal didn’t want anyone overhearing this conversation.
“She was warning me to be careful with you.” Deftly he angled the light carriage between two heavy drays threatening to block the road.
Annoyance flashed in her hazel eyes, turned them a rich gold-green. “Did she indeed? I’ll have a word with her when I get home.”