Dealing with one wolf at a time seemed wise.
“Leonora!”
She turned, and smiled at Crissy Wainwright, a plump and these days somewhat buxom blond who had been presented in the same year she had. Crissy had quickly snared a lord and married; successive confinements had kept her away from London for some years. Crissy all but elbowed her way through the crowd. “Phew!” Reaching Leonora, she snapped open her fan. “It’s a madhouse. And here I thought I was wise coming up to town early.”
“Many had the same idea, it seems.” Leonora took Crissy’s hand; they pressed fingers, touched cheeks.
“Mama is going to be miffed.” Eyes dancing, Crissy glanced at Leonora. “She was all for stealing a march on all others with daughters to establish this Season—she’s got my youngest sister to puff off, and she’s set her sights on this earl who has to marry.”
Leonora blinked. “An earl who has to marry?”
Crissy leaned closer and lowered her voice. “It seems this poor soul has only recently inherited and has to marry before July or lose his wealth. But he’ll retain his houses and his dependents, neither of which would be easy to maintain on a pauper’s budget.”
A chill touched Leonora’s spine. “I hadn’t heard. Which earl?”
Crissy waved. “Doubtless no one thought to mention it—you’re not interested in a husband, after all.” She grimaced. “I always thought you were quite touched, being so set against marriage, but now…I have to admit there are times I think you had it right.” Her expression clouded briefly, but then brightened. “Indeed, I’m here determined to enjoy myself and not think about being married at all. If this poor earl is as hunted as it sounds he’ll be, maybe I’ll offer him a safe harbor? I’ve heard he’s astonishingly handsome—so rare when combined with wealth and title—”
“What title?” Leonora broke in without compunction; Crissy could ramble for hours.
“Oh—didn’t I say? It’s Trillingwell, Trellham—something like that.”
“Trentham?”
“Yes! That’s it.” Crissy swung to face her. “You have heard.”
“I assure you I hadn’t, but I do thank you for telling me.”
Crissy blinked, then studied her face. “Why, you sly thing—you know him.”
Leonora narrowed her eyes to slits—not at Crissy but at a dark head she could see tacking toward her through the crowd. “I do indeed know him.” In the biblical sense, what was more. “If you’ll excuse me…I daresay we’ll meet again if you’re to remain in town.”
Crissy grabbed her hand as she stepped out.
“Just tell me—is he as handsome as they say?”
Leonora raised her brows. “He’s too handsome for his own good.” Twisting free of Crissy’s slackening grip, she stalked into the crowd, on a direct collisio
n course with the earl who had to marry.
Tristan knew something was wrong the instant Leonora appeared abruptly before him. The daggers stabbing from her eyes were difficult to miss; the fingertip she jabbed into his chest was even more pointed.
“I want to talk to you. Now!”
The words were hissed, her temper clearly seething.
He consulted his conscience; it remained clear. “What’s happened?”
“I’ll be delighted to tell you, but I suspect you’d prefer to hear me out in private.” Her eyes bored into his. “What little nook have you found for us tonight?”
He held her gaze and considered the tiny servants’ pantry, which, he’d been assured, was the only possible venue for totally private engagements in Hammond House. Unlit, it would be dark and closed in—perfect for what he’d had in mind…“There is no place in this house suitable for any private conversation.”
Especially not if she lost her temper, the leash of which looked to be already fraying.
Her eyes snapped. “Now is the time to live up to your reputation. Find one.”
His talents swung into action; he took her hand, set it on his sleeve, somewhat relieved that she permitted it. “Where are your aunts?”
She waved to the side of the room. “In the chairs over there.”