“Pardon me,” a deep masculine voice cut in. All heads snapped to the doorway which, Jenny was horrified to see, had been left open. On the threshold was a man, a very tall man. Beside him, Brent, their footman, stood rigidly, his eyes wide with horror.
“Excuse me, madam. But the earl . . .” Brent trailed off, faltering under the tension. “The earl has arrived.”
The room fell into thick silence.
The earl stood perfectly still, a mild, lazy expression on his face. When he spoke, his voice was smooth and pleasant. “I fear I am intruding.”
He swept the room with a razor-sharp glance. When it momentarily touched Jenny, she flinched.
She could not tell if he were angry or insulted. He seemed calm, guarded. Perhaps even a bit amused. But he made her nervous nonetheless.
“Oh, no! We didn’t hear you!” Aunt Iris was flustered, and Jenny vaguely registered the familiar urge to rush to her aid, but she was stricken motionless as well as mute.
“Miles, forgive us. We were not speaking of you. How good it is to see you.” Iris rushed on, waving her hands as she smiled a desperate smile. “We have been awaiting you most anxiously. Come in, come in.”
He hesitated only a moment, then complied, filling the room with his masculine presence.
He was very broad in the shoulders, lean, well-proportioned. Everything from his shiny shoes and crisply pressed trousers to his black hair combed back off his face and tied into a short queue was perfection.
He paused, focused now on Aunt Iris. He gave a courteous bow. “I am delighted to see you again, cousin,” he said with impeccable manners.
“Miles, dear. Er . . . I mean Hatherleigh.”
“Miles will do. I detest formalities. Hatherleigh is a place. I am a man.”
From Cassandra’s direction came a soft, “Oh, my!”
Jenny glanced at her to see that her brow had smoothed and there was a rapt look on her face as she stared. It seemed that Cassandra had ceased being displeased with the earl’s sudden appearance.
It was obvious why. He was not only handsome but the epitome of the fashionable lord. His presence was felt as almost a physical thing, a prickling along the flesh.
She should be relieved Cassandra’s hysterics were at an end, but she could not relax. There was still the pulsing tension, and her aunt was quite upset.
Iris’s voice quavered. “I am afraid we were caught somewhat unawares, I admit. You see, your letter arrived late, and it was only yesterday I learned you were due.”
“Then I am intruding,” he said, a bit startled. But Jenny marveled as how smoothly he accomplished this, polite but uncompromising at the same time. “I should go ahead to my apartments. I’ve let a suite in St. James. I shall call on you later.”
Iris looked desperately at a loss. “Oh, please stay. I-I just rang for tea. Would you join us?”
He thought about this for a moment. “As you will.” He clasped his hands behind his back.
“Oh my, I’ve quite forgotten civility.” said Aunt Iris. “This is my daughter and your cousin, Cassandra Benedict.”
Cassandra folded into a deep curtsy, turning up her head and offering the prettiest display of fluttered eyelashes Jenny had ever seen her perform. To Jenny’s irritation, she noted Cousin Miles was not completely immune. The energy around him seemed to intensify as he looked over the feminine offering before him.
Cassandra’s beauty was at its best as she was now, with her huge dark eyes shining and a half-smile playing on her lips. Jenny knew she was taking in the stature of the man in front of her: his remarkable good looks, the title, the degree of relation far enough removed for there to be possibilities.
Abruptly Hatherleigh looked up, and his eyes rested on Jenny for the second time. She felt her skin prickle as reaction rolled through her. They were extraordinary eyes, very pale green, like jade. She forced herself not to fidget as he swept a bold, assessing glance from her inexpert coif down to her scuffed but very comfortable shoes. She pushed her glasses into place with nervous fingers.
“And who is this?”
She rose and met his eye, dipping into a brief curtsy. “Genvieve Alt, my lord.”
It was difficult to breathe, as if the air had suddenly lost its ability to nourish her. Her heart was pumping swiftly, but she pretended nothing was amiss as she offered a small, courteous nod she hoped appeared cool and unaffected.
“This is my niece, dear Jenny,” Aunt Iris murmured. “My sister’s child. She lives with us since the passing of her parents.”
“Your servant,” he said, and bowed slightly. Then he glanced away, dismissing her.