“So you have nothing.” She did not answer, but her dark eyes never left his face. “And if Pettigru loaned you, say, a thousand pounds, how were you planning to pay him back?”
“I told you, he’s my friend.”
“Did you expect he’d marry you? Take you as a mistress? Is that what you wanted?”
“Mr. Dewhurst—”
He held up a hand. “It’s Lord Dewhurst.”
She gave an exaggerated roll of her eyes, and he clamped his lips shut to keep from shouting at her. Irritating little chit. He would not lose control of his temper because of her. He knew all he needed to for now. One: she was alone in the world. Two: she needed money. Three: she’d gone to Cade Pettigru for help.
Now God help him, because he had a monumental task ahead of him. He pushed away from the berth and strolled across the small cabin. “It might be best if we start at the beginning, Miss Burton.”
“The beginning?” She pushed a strand of hair from her face and raised a brow. “I am not a fool, sir.”
Freddie leaned a hip against the large desk bolted to the floor of the cabin. “Don’t put words in my mouth, Miss Burton.”
“Not necessary, sir, when you have an overabundance as it is.”
Freddie frowned. Had the chit just insulted him? He narrowed his eyes, and she watched him warily from her seat. The contrast of her white face and flame-colored hair beside the dark counterpane and somber black gown made her look small and harmless.
Freddie decided he’d misunderstood her. “Miss Burton, as I understand it, you are from Charles Town and you—”
“Charleston,” she interrupted.
“What?”
“I told you. I’m from Charleston.”
Freddie raised a brow. Hadn’t he said that? Her version sounded like his except she ran Charles Town all together. He tried another tactic. “You are from South Carolina.” He paused in case she felt the need to correct him. Apparently she did not. “And as such, there may be some customs and expectations involved in the London Season with which you are unfamiliar. As my wife and an outsider, your every move, every action will be scrutinized. It falls to me to ensure your introduction is done to a cow’s thumb. I do not mean to crow, but I have a reputation as a pink of the ton, and in order to—”
“What language are you speaking?” she asked.
“English,” he retorted, frowning.
“It does not sound like any English I have ever heard.”
“Now you go too far. You are disparaging my English?”
She snorted. “You’re not one for originality, are you, Mr. Dewhurst?”
“It’s Lord Dewhurst,” he erupted losing his patience. “I am a lord, not a mister.”
She raised an eyebrow, and he scowled, thinking how he must have sounded. Dash it if this chit wasn’t getting the better of him.
“Please accept my humblest apologies,” she said, her face contrite, but Freddie could have sworn there was a very healthy measure of sarcasm in her voice.
“You hoaxing me, madam?”
“I declare, I would never hoax you, Mr.—Lord Dewhurst.” Her eyes sparkled with restrained laughter.
Freddie eyed her suspiciously. “Do you even know what ‘hoaxing’ means?”
“No. But I am sure I would never do it.” She blinked innocently, and then he knew she was making fun of him.
He ground his teeth. Not only was the chit distracting him from his lesson, she’d annoyed the hell out of him, too. Freddie tapped his fingers on the desk in a halfhearted attempt to relax and refocus on the task at hand. It might have been easier if her cheeks hadn’t warmed with color and her eyes hadn’t brightened with mischief at her game.
Without thinking, he reached for the bottle of wine standing upright on the desk. Uncorking it, he looked around for a glass, found none, so drank a healthy dose from the bottle. The American looked unperturbed. Probably used to men with manners no better than an ape’s. He frowned, thinking the comparison didn’t reflect too well on him at the moment. “Miss Burton, I am trying to establish where to begin our lesson. I see we need to work on titles, but I think—”
