She blushed. “Yes, of course, but he’s been dead for some years.”
“Indeed?” Torrington’s black eyes gleamed. “Might one inquire from what he died?”
“An inflamation of the lung,” she snapped, not at all sure to what in his question she was reacting. She looked away at the surrounding crowd, tried to realign her thoughts with the requirements of her charade. “It’s unkind of you to remind me, sir.”
After a moment came the dry comment, “My apologies, my dear, but you don’t appear to be a grieving widow.”
She made the mistake of glancing at him.
He caught her gaze, held it.
After a moment, she narrowed her eyes, then, deliberately, looked away.
Fought to ignore the soft, very masculine chuckle that fell, a distractingly warm caress over her senses.
“Tell me.” He’d lowered his voice and shifted closer; the deep rumble teased her ear. “Why aren’t you joining your sister in hunting for a husband?”
“I have other matters in hand, other responsibilities. I don’t need to add a husband to the list.”
She refused to look at him, but sensed she’d said something to make him pause.
Not for long. “Most ladies in your position would look to a husband to shoulder their responsibilities for them.”
“Indeed?” Still surveying the crowd, she raised her brows as if considering, then shrugged. “Perhaps, but I have no ambitions for myself in that direction. If I can see my sister comfortably established, married to a gentleman worthy of her, then I’ll retire from this Season well pleased.”
Glancing at Adriana’s court, she noted one particular gentleman who was making every attempt to monopolize her sister’s attention. The surprising thing was he appeared to be succeeding.
“Well pleased from a guardian’s point of view perhaps, but as a lady of some experience, a widow’s lonely existence can hardly be fulfilling.”
Distracted, she heard the deep, drawled words, but wasted no wit
on divining their meaning. Frowning, she turned to him. “Instead of twitting me, you might attempt to be useful—who is the gentleman with my sister?”
Tony blinked. Thrown entirely off his stride, he looked. “Ah… there’s at present seven gentlemen surrounding your sister.”
She made a frustrated sound—the sort that intimated he was being willfully obtuse. “The one with wavy brown hair speaking with her now. Do you know him?”
He looked, and blinked again. It was several seconds before he replied, “Yes. That’s Geoffrey Manningham, Lord Manningham.”
An instant later, his prey prodded his arm. “Well? What can you tell me about him?”
He glanced at her. Far from observing the stiff formal distance she’d been working to preserve between them, she’d shifted closer; he could smell the perfume wafting from her throat. If he shifted his head just an inch, he’d be able to touch his cheek to her hair.
She’d been staring, frowning, at Geoffrey; now she glanced up at him, pointedly opened her green eyes wide.
“His estate is in Devon. It shares a partial boundary with mine. If I know anything of Geoffrey, and I’ve known him since childhood, then his estate, houses, and finances will all be in excellent condition.”
Her green eyes narrowed. “You…” She glanced at Geoffrey.
“No.” It was comforting to be with a woman he could read so easily; she made very little effort to hide her thoughts. “Geoffrey didn’t send me to distract you so he could waltz your sister off from beneath your careful nose.”
She looked up at him, still suspicious. “And why should I believe that?”
He held her gaze, then caught her hand, lifted it to his lips. Kissed. “Because I told you so.” Her eyes flashed; he smiled, and added, “And because Geoffrey and I haven’t met in over ten years.”
Perfectly aware that with the simple caress he’d fractured her concentration, he gestured to the circle a few feet away. “Shall we join them?”
She gathered herself and managed a regal nod. Delighted, entranced, he tucked her hand in his arm and steered her to Geoffrey’s side.