Of course, he didn’t want to convey that and make this rather uncomfortable situation even stickier.
He glanced at the manservant uncertainly.
“Oh! How terribly rude of me! Mr. Brendan, may I introduce you to Donovan, my butler and my confidant. He helps me with the gazette.”
Herbutler?If Marek hadn’t been the fish out of water that he was in this drawing room, he might have laughed outright at that dubious title. This man may open a door here and there, but he was no butler.
“Donovan, this is Mr. Brendan. You know, the gentleman I told you about.”
“So I gathered,” Donovan said, looking at Marek.
Why had she mentioned him to this man?Or to anyone, for that matter? What could she possibly have said?
“You may trust Donovan completely, if that’s what you’re wondering. I vouch for him and his discretion with all my being.”
Oh, he had no doubt of it. One had only to look at this quite handsome fellow to see he was the stuff of female dreams. There was even a dimple in his cheek, where one side of his mouth curved into a sly smile. “You misunderstand me, madam. It’s not him. It’s you I don’t trust.”
Mrs. Honeycutt drew a sharp intake of breath. And then she laughed, and loudly at that. “Well,then,” she said cheerfully. “I’ll prepare myself for the worst of news! Go on, then, Mr. Brendan—I’m on tenterhooks! Whydidyou come?”
“I came to inquire why you said what you did at the ball.”
“Oh? What did I say?”
Her eyes were shimmering in a way that suggested she knew very well what she’d said. She wanted to hear him say it. In fencing, this would be theappel,heren garde.
And just as if she’d advanced while holding an epee, she said, “You look very serious, Mr. Brendan. Please do sit.”
He didn’t want to sit. He wanted proof that she knew nothing and was a woman dabbling in things better left to gentlemen, and then he could mark this off his list. But her manservant said, “Go on, then” in a low, cool voice. “Have a seat, Mr. Brendan.”
He looked at Donovan. He looked at Mrs. Honeycutt. The only problem with taking a seat was that she would be on his deaf side. He reluctantly walked across the room and perched on the very edge of the empty seat, one leg stretched long to brace him on that edge, so that he could face her and see her lips when she talked.
She watched him like a cat, her dark lashes fanning across her cheeks when she coyly looked down and smoothed the lap of her skirt. “I will perish of anticipation, Mr. Brendan. Please do remind me what I said at the ball that would bring you all the way here on such a bitterly cold and wet night?”
He gave her a withering look. “I think you know very well. It was not something one would say lightly or forget easily.”
“Ah.” A smile slowly appeared. “You’re right, I do remember. Did I distress you, Mr. Brendan? That was not my intent.”
Distress him? She couldn’t distress him. But she could damn sure confound him and had been doing so since the moment he’d first laid eyes on her. “I suppose any man would be distressed when a woman unknown to him accused him of treason. But I’m not distressed, madam. I am curious. I would like to know who or what gave you that preposterous idea.”
“Preposterous,”she repeated, and smiled wryly at her butler. “He thinks I’m preposterous, Donovan.”
Donovan shrugged. “A fool man thinks he is wise.”
Mrs. Honeycutt giggled at yet another Shakespearean quote. What was the truth between these two people? Did they sit at the hearth each night and memorize Shakespeare? Astonishingly, that was what he did at times. The nights could be very long and cold in Wesloria, and reading Shakespeare helped him retain his English. “I didn’t sayyouwere preposterous, Mrs. Honeycutt. I said it is preposterous to believe I would have anything to do with overthrowing my own king. I would very much like to understand who led you to believe so?”
Her brow furrowed. “No oneledme, Mr. Brendan. I freely came to believe it all on my own. Imagine that.” She tilted her head to one side, and long waves of dark hair slid off her shoulder. “Why does it matter to you, if I may?”
“Is it not apparent? You accused me of something...” He struggled to think of the proper word in English.
“Vile,” she said.
“Je.Vile. I’m a Weslorian—if there is something underfoot, I should like to know it so I can take appropriate steps to protect my king. Not displace him.”
“Yes, but what ifyouare the thing underfoot?”
He stared at her. One of her dark eyebrows inched above the other, as if she thought she’d caught him somehow. She was terribly amused by him, he could see it, and that got his hackles up—this was deadly serious business to him. He leaned forward and looked her directly in her eye. “You can’t be serious, madam.Areyou serious? Do you accuse me again?”
“Oh, I’m quite serious, Mr. Brendan,” she said confidently, then leaned forward, just like he had. “I’m also vigilant, and one cannot help but notice you.”
