She nodded. “His father was the one who turned Deverill Publishing into an empire, but my father managed to destroy it all in less than a decade. Irene got us out of queer-street withSociety Snippets, but when she fell in love with Torquil, she changed it back into an ordinary newspaper because she didn’t want to print gossip about his family. And given your history, I don’t wonder that you hate newspapers.”
“I grew weary of seeing my mother’s latest love affair or speculations about my paternity splashed across the pages.”
She grimaced. “I used to enjoy reading the gossip columns, I admit, but then, after I saw what gossip did to people—the duke’s family in particular—I acquired a distaste for it. But I don’t think we ever printed anything about your family inSociety Snippets, and...” She paused, smiling at him. “I’m glad of it.”
“So am I,” he said, “if it makes you smile like that.”
The smile faded at once, much to his regret. “And,” he went on, feeling the need to keep talking, “I can’t really resent newspapers so much now, can I? I work for one. Speaking of Lady Truelove, did you receive my column yesterday? I sent a footman with it.”
“I did receive it, yes. And it’s every bit as good as last week’s. You have a true talent for giving advice, even if I sometimes question the morality of it.”
That dry qualification compelled him to respond with his best innocent stare. “My advice to ‘Speechless in South Kensington’ was immoral?”
“You know I’m talking about your advice to your friend, Lionel. Although while we’re on the subject, I’m not sure advising a young man to arrange a supposedly accidental encounter with the object of his affections while walking the most adorable puppy he can find is quite aboveboard.”
“I don’t see why not. The poor fellow’s desperately in love, but the girl takes no notice of him. He wants to gain her attention and begin a conversation, and a puppy is an effective way to do both. A baby would have been even better, of course, but I couldn’t imagine any young man would be willing to walk down the street in front of his ladylove’s house pushing a pram. So, I settled for a puppy.”
She laughed. “A wise decision. Though you do realize that within a week, young men all over town who are in love will be acquiring adorable puppies and walking the streets with them?”
“Well, if they keep the puppies, London will have fewer stray dogs, and more young couples will fall in love. I’m not sure I see a negative aspect, except that they’ll all be expected to get married, poor devils. Speaking of marriage-minded people,” he added, glancing past her, “I see Lady Geraldine Throckmorton is here today. Dina,” he clarified as he noted Clara’s bewildered look, “to her friends. Dark hair,” he added as Clara turned her head. “Green walking suit, walking a white poodle on a lead.”
“She’s quite elegant, isn’t she?” Clara commented, sounding a little surprised.
“Very,” he agreed as she returned her attention to him. “Also, fashionable and sophisticated. That’s what drew her to Lionel, I expect. The attraction of opposites.” He paused, looking at Clara, appreciating that truth about human nature more than he ever had before. “People tend to be rather perverse that way.”
“I wasn’t.” Her absurd little nose wrinkled up as she grinned. “I fell madly in love with a vicar.”
“True,” he agreed, and laughed a little. “Your tastes seem to have changed since then.”
He regretted that careless comment at once. He’d meant it to be self-deprecatingly witty, but that wasn’t how it had come out, and he rushed to qualify it. “I didn’t mean to imply that I think you’re falling for me. I’m not the sort to suit your preference. God knows, that’s been clearly established, and—” He broke off, feeling deuced awkward, something he wasn’t accustomed to and didn’t like in the least. “What the devil is it about you, Clara Deverill?” he muttered in chagrin. “You’re the only woman I’ve ever met in my life who can make me stammer like a schoolboy.”
“I certainly seem to be making you stammer today. I rather like it, actually.”
“Like it?”
“Yes.” She smiled that wide, pretty smile of hers. “I’m usually the one doing the stammering.”
That smile not only left him tongue-tied, it also caused the world to tilt a bit sideways again. He looked away, wondering in desperation if this topsy-turvy state was going to continue indefinitely, a question that impelled him to down his remaining champagne.
Fortified, he set his empty glass on the table beside his chair and returned to their previous, much-safer topic. “Unlike Dina, Lionel isn’t the least bit elegant, I’m afraid. He’s more like Fitz—that’s his dog,” he added, as she gave him a bewildered look. “Fitz is a sheepdog, and Lionel’s a great deal like him—friendly, ambling, loyal. Dina, on the other hand, is very much like her poodle, elegant, sharp, perfectly groomed. People are rather like the dogs they choose, aren’t they?”
“Are they?” She tilted her head, studying him. “Which breed are you?”
“Wolf,” he said at once, not knowing if he was reminding her of that fact, or himself.
She made a face. “I meant, what breed of dog do you own?”
“Hounds, though strictly speaking, they aren’t mine. They’re my father’s, and used only for foxhunting. At Braebourne, you see, we don’t breed ratting terriers, or retrievers, or anything remotely practical.”
She laughed, then sobered. “How does your friend, Lionel? Is he all right? Or is he still in the throes of heartbreak?”
“I don’t know, actually,” Rex confessed, keeping his voice light. “I’ve called twice, but his servants have told me both times that he’s not receiving. And I’ve not seen him at White’s when I’ve been there. Unless I want to chase him through the corridors of Parliament, I’m not sure what else I can do but wait for him to soften.”
“He still thinks you betrayed his confidences, then?”
“Seems so. In fact, I’m sure that suspicion is becoming more cemented in his mind with each passing day.”
“Why now?”
