Sin With a Scoundrel (The Husband Hunters Club 4)

“Do you think so?” Tina was genuinely surprised. She’d been thinking Horace an annoyance, but now, thinking back, she realized that at dinner there had been a difference in the way he looked at her, the way he spoke to her. Was he more attentive? She knew she ought to be thrilled that her plan was finally working, not so full of her own concerns that she had hardly noticed.

“I have known Horace since I was a little girl,” she explained, aware of Lady Isabelle’s curious gaze. “He is almost like a-a brother to me.”

“He didn’t seem to be looking at you in a very brotherly sort of way.” Her hostess laughed.

“Oh.” The ironic notion came to Tina that perhaps Horace suddenly found her attractive because she had lost interest in him—that her being unattainable had changed him.

A servant came scurrying over and murmured something to Lady Isabelle. Her face lit up. “Yes, yes, bring him in,” she said breathlessly. Her eyes slid to Tina, and their pupils seemed enormous. “I have arranged for Signor Veruda to sing for us. He is a famous baritone. From Rome. We are very privileged to have him here at Arlington Hall.”

Just then a dark-haired man came saunter

ing into the room, and not long afterward, he was followed by Sir Henry and the other dawdling gentlemen. Tina’s eyes went straight to Richard, and she admitted with an awareness of regret that she was hunting the wrong man.

Signor Veruda came over to take Lady Isabelle’s hand, his black eyes delving so shockingly into the shadows of her décolletage that Tina had to turn away. “My dearest lady, I have missed you unbearably. But I am here now, and I will sing to you.”

“Yes, please do sing to me.” Lady Isabelle placed her fingers in his and allowed him to lead her to the pianoforte. The pianist was Cousin Edith, who did have another talent besides watching birds.

With the chairs arranged and everyone seated, the music began. Vincenzo Veruda was not a tall man, and his middle was a little more rounded than it should be, but he would never go unnoticed among all these Englishmen. His dark eyes sought out the women in the room, and he smiled often, causing hearts to flutter and cheeks to flush.

“Damn poser.” Horace had come to sit beside her while they listened.

“Who?”

“Him. Veruda.”

“You’re just jealous.”

Horace snorted. “You don’t find men like that attractive, do you?”

“Why not? He’s charming and handsome, and obviously talented. I’m sure he would have a great deal to teach me.”

Lord, why had she said that? To annoy him, she supposed. Only now, he would think the worst of her character.

His eyes narrowed, and she couldn’t help but be nervously aware of his sideways glances in her direction. And Lady Isabelle had grown more and more shrill, with Sir Henry more and more anxious and protective of her. He hovered, which seemed to drive her to distraction.

“Go and talk to our guests, my dear,” she told him testily.

“I am perfectly happy here,” he rumbled.

“Then go and smoke a cigar in the garden.”

“I am thinking of giving them up.”

Angry tears sparkled in her eyes as she turned away.

There was definitely something not right at Arlington Hall, thought Tina, as Signor Veruda launched into yet another song.

Eventually supper was served, and Tina was able to escape Horace, but she had to prowl about the room because every time she thought of settling she could see him, making his way toward her. It would have been amusing if it wasn’t so awful.

“Are you enjoying the music, Miss Smythe?”

Richard had come up beside her, and his deep voice with its intimate tone played with her senses; if she’d been a harp, she would have quivered. With the smile she couldn’t stop curving her lips, she turned to him, knowing she should be trying not to show how much his presence affected her and yet completely unable to help herself.

“I am. And you, Mr. Eversham? Are you musical?”

“Musical in the sense I enjoy listening to it, but I’m afraid I have no talent for playing any instrument.”

It took her a moment to realize he had finished speaking and another to process what he had said. She floundered to think of something else to say, her normally easy conversation drying up. What on earth was wrong with her? She must pull herself together or he . . . everyone . . . he would notice.