Caro had opened her mouth as if to say more, but then quickly curled a scornful sneer that spoke even more eloquently than words.
You Are An Idiot.
Only a complete bumblewit would have failed to comprehend the message. And the baron, although sadly remiss in his manners, was not lacking in brains. His jaw tightened and a tiny muscle up near his ear began to twitch. “You—” he began, only to be interrupted as another voice joined the conversation.
“Have cleverly silenced any further disparagements of the female intellect,” said Devlin. “Kudos, Miss Sloane,” he added after inclining an exaggerated bow. “A man had better sharpen his steel if he wishes to cross swords with you.”
“We weren’t engaging in mortal combat, Lord Davenport,” replied Anna lightly. What, she wondered, had kindled such a strangely martial fire in his eyes? “Merely a bit of friendly banter.”
“It seemed to me,” muttered Caro, “that Lord McClellan was deadly serious.”
The baron threw her a daggered look.
“Girls, girls.” Their mother huffed out an exasperated sigh. “Let us move on to more ladylike subjects.”
“Like how to roast a man’s liver with turnips and onions?” suggested Devlin.
Anna bit back a snort of laughter. She couldn’t help responding to his scathingly wicked sense of humor, even though it appeared that his cleverness concealed a far darker side of his character.
Perhaps Polite Society was right to have labeled him the Devil. Lucifer was capable of great charm, but at heart he had chosen Evil over Good.
Looking up, she found him regarding her with a strangely intense look. It seemed to be both accusing and questioning.
As if that made any sense.
Lady Trumbull broke the momentary silence. “Really, sir, you ought not confuse young ladies with such shockingly inappropriate comments. It’s gentlemen like you who give them the wrong idea of what is, and is not, the correct way to behave with propriety.”
“Oh, have no fear, Lady Trumbull. I am not nearly as pernicious an influence on your daughters as you seem to think. They are far too strong in their own views to be colored by mine.”
“Ha, ha, ha.” McClellan’s flash of teeth was clearly not meant to be a smile. “That is what I call being damned with faint praise.”
“You, sir, are no better,” hissed the baroness. “Swearing in the presence of ladies is…is…”
“Unconscionably rude?” suggested Caro.
“We must be more forgiving of the poor fellow,” murmured Devlin. “He likely has few conversational companions save for Highland sheep.”
“And they, sir, are far better company than you Sassenach peacocks,” retorted McClellan.
“Peacocks preen and take pride in their gaudy plumage. While I, alas, am considered a very dull bird in terms of dress. I don’t find fashion terribly interesting compared to other things.” Devlin looked down his well-shaped nose. “Nor, it would appear, do you.”
Both men, observed Anna, appeared to b
e walking on a razor’s edge tonight, and Devlin seemed intent on being even more provoking than usual. She wondered why. He usually knew just how far he could go without losing his balance.
“Whatever feathers you flaunt, they don’t disguise the fact that you are an insolent arse,” growled McClellan.
“On the contrary,” piped up Caro. “Lord Davenport is amusing, not mean-spirited.”
Lady Trumbull hitched in a horrified breath at hearing her youngest daughter give a tongue lashing to a titled lord…even though the barony was only a Scottish one.
Oh, bloody hell.
On several occasions in the past, her mother had fainted for dramatic effect. But in this case, decided Anna, a swoon might not be feigned. She had better intervene in the next moment, before the situation sunk into farce. With her guest of honor lying half dead upstairs, poor Lady Dunbar had suffered enough shocks for one day.
“Caro, kindly escort Mama to the punch table and find her a glass of sherry. A cough seems to be lodged in her throat.” Removing her sister from the fray might keep the gentlemen from going for each other’s jugular.
But before Caro could react, McClellan unclenched his jaw just enough to respond to her comment.