Through the gaps in her fingers, Francesca saw Winterbourne step to the left. Her mother scuttled left. Winterbourne darted right. Her mother scampered after him. Francesca groaned, wondering if she should even attempt to intervene in the pathetic dance. Then she heard the sweetest sound of her life.
“By God! What the devil is that beast still doing in my stables?”
Nine
Lord Brigham threwopen the drawing room door, and Ethan barely had time to yank the girl’s mother out of the way before the viscount stormed inside.
“Where is Franny?” He gave his wife a cursory glance. “Where is your daughter, madam?”
“Impossibile!” Lady Brigham fluttered a hand to her forehead.
Lord Brigham’s gaze snapped to his daughter. “There you are!”
Francesca stood in front of the chaise longue wringing her hands.
“I thought I told you—”
“Daddy,” the girl interrupted. “We have a guest.” She gestured to Ethan, and Brigham whipped around, eyes widening as they locked on him.
“Who the devil is this?”
Ethan crossed his arms over his chest. He was beginning to think he was the only sane person in the house.
“Lord Winterbourne, you must know my father, Viscount Brigham. Daddy, surely you know the Marquess of Winterbourne from the Lords?”
The viscount’s eyebrows came together, and he scowled. “Winterbourne,” he muttered.
Ethan inclined his head.
“What bringsyouto Tanglewilde?”
“Your daughter,” Ethan said. “If you have a moment, I’d like to speak with you about her.”
Lady Brigham gasped. “Mamma mia!”
Ethan tried very hard not to grimace. And he noticed that Brigham couldn’t quite control the pained expression that crossed his features at his wife’s outburst either.
