So she had to forget Harry and last night, and pretend an affection for Lord Granville and not shudder at his touch. Although with Harry looming over the top of them and glaring balefully, that could be difficult.
“You’re Lord Granville?” Harry peered at Lord Granville.
Although Harry hadn’t offered it, Lord Granville grasped his hand and pumped it, a smile wreathing his face. “Yes, Mr. Windberry, I am, and I’m so pleased to meet you. Lady Jessica has been telling me how you defended her from the other, nefarious suitors who have been so crudely courting her.”
“Did she?” Harry clipped off the words with a show of white teeth.
What did he mean by such rudeness? She couldn’t contain the leap of hope in her bosom. Was he… did he feel some affection for her?
Granville began, “I would ask you to sit and dine with us, but—”
“Thank you. I’d be delighted.” Harry snatched up a chair from another, unoccupied table and scooted it close. Seating himself, he crowded his knees between the table legs and snapped his fingers at the wide-eyed innkeeper. “I’ll be taking breakfast with Lord Granville and Lady Jessica.”
The innkeeper bowed and hurried off, and Jessie experienced a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.
Head forward, eyes fixed on Lord Granville, and mouth smiling savagely, Harry was the picture of aggression.
Lord Granville seemed oblivious. Casting Jessie a rueful glance, he indicated she should seat herself.
Harry noted and came halfway to his feet again. “That’s right! Ladies sit first! Always forget these niceties! Please, Lady Jessica, sit down.”
She sat. She pulled her napkin into her lap. She wondered what in heaven’s name had possessed Harry. He was behaving like a yeoman at the squire’s table, forgetting his manners, speaking too loudly.
Lord Granville considered the rose Harry held in his hand. “Beautiful flower.”
Harry looked down at it as if surprised to see it there. “Yes.” He looked about as if needing somewhere to put it, then seated himself again and stuffed the stem into his buttonhole. “So, Granville, where’s your country seat?”
Appalled at Harry’s insolence, she said, “You know very well it’s—”
Harry interrupted. “Let him answer.”
Lord Granville seated himself also, and chuckled indulgently. He really was a pleasant-looking man. He had a little too much facial hair for Jessie’s taste, but compared to Mr. Murray or Lord Jenour-Redmond, he was a wonderful suitor.
She sneaked a peek at Harry as the innkeeper set a filled plate before him. Compared to Harry…but she shouldn’t compare Lord Granville to Harry. She should never again look at Harry, or desire would overcome good sense and she’d beg him to love her as she loved him. She had too much pride to beg… didn’t she?
“My country seat is in Somerset,” Lord Granville said. “After Lady Jessica and I have wed, Windberry, perhaps you’ll do us the honor of paying us a visit?”
“No!” Jessie said. Both men looked at her. She essayed a weak smile and pushed the points of toast about her plate with her finger. “I mean… we’ll want to be alone, surely?” She cringed at Lord Granville’s astonished expression.
“But, my dear, I thought that, during your visit at Wildbriar Inn, you and Mr. Windberry had grown to be very close friends.”
Did she imagine it, or was there an edge to Lord Granville’s voice?
Beneath the table, Harry bumped her knee with his—on purpose.
So he had noted Lord Granville’s tone also. Oh, dear. Her impulsiveness had landed her in a terrible jam.
But the next moment, Lord Granville patted her hand. “Don’t worry, little bride, we’ll have our time alone.”
With a grim set to his shoulders, Harry looked out the window. “It looks as if the fog will be closing in soon. The inn is so isolated, I hate to think how long we could be trapped here. Perhaps we should see if we can catch a ride inland.”
How odd. From what she’d seen of Harry, very little frightened him, so why was he talking about the fog as if it brought evil in its wake? For all that she’d given her body and her heart into his keeping, she still knew very little about the man.
Heartily, Lord Granville said, “A little fog never hurt anyone, and if we have to stay here for a few extra days, well”—taking her hand, he kissed her fingers—“I can’t imagine better company with whom to be trapped.”
He really was a fine-looking fellow, with dimples he flashed on every suitable occasion and a charm that would make him easy to face across the breakfast table. She cast a glance at Harry. Harry wasn’t nearly as likable, or as easy to get along with, or as handsome. In fact, right now he was looking querulous.
He said, “I hate to imagine what the atmosphere is like here when the fog blankets everything and one can’t see his hand in front of his face.”