“Normally, I loathe secrets, but even I must admit there is a thrill in knowing something others do not.” Her gaze met his.Sparkled.“We share two secrets, Deerhurst. What do you make of that?”
He arched a brow. “That you are the most troubling woman in Mayfair?”
“Only Mayfair?”
“England, then.”
She nodded, satisfied. “Though, I only wish to be troublesome for the men who seek to cause trouble, which is why it’s important to always take account of their affairs.”
It almost sounded like...
“Dear Lord, don’t tell me you have a file on each man that throws his hat into the ring?”
“Of course not,” she said, but grinned. “That would be too excessive, not to mention tiring.”
He gave her a skeptical glance. “So you have not penned down in your journal scathing retorts on all the rogues that enter this drawing room?”
“This idea sounds intriguing. The perfect way to vent.” She laughed. “What do all the fortune-hunters have in common besides their lack of fortune? Cats. Apparently, they all love cats.”
Deerhurst chuckled. Of course,thatwould be her first complaint. “They shouldn’t like cats?”
“It’s an insult to cats.”
He bit back a laugh. Half curious and half teasing, he asked, “If you don’t have a file on your suitors, how do you keep record of their annual incomes?”
She tapped a finger against her head. “I have an exemplary memory.”
“You consult Debrett’s.”
“Debrett’s is hardly an accurate account, I’m afraid. If it had been, my aunt would have had fair warning before her wedding.”
Her aunt again.
Deerhurst tried to bring to mind what he could of Lady Portia’s husband. She’d married the late Marquess of Rowley, and shortly after the marriage, rumors surfaced. Rumors of arguments and Huntly beating Rowley to a bloody pulp. But Deerhurst rarely ever burrowed his ears in gossip. However, if there was even a scrap of truth to the tales he’d heard, their marriage may well have been one of misery right up to the marquess’s death three years ago.
No wonder Lady Phaedra did not trust men. Especially the type of men who wooed her.
Fate truly had a way of knocking a man on his ass. Not all men were Cromby and Rowley’s ilk. There were honorable men in the world, and for the most part, he counted himself one of them. He would have loved to show Lady Phaedra that there were men she could trust.
But that wasn’t his place.
His involvement in the wagers had forever set him apart.
His mouth twisted. “Rowley deserved his end.” A pause. “Should I even ask how you procure the knowledge about their income?”
Her lips twitched. “You probably shouldn’t.”
The woman had some gumption.
“You have an unusual hobby.”
She shrugged. “Do you not have unusual hobbies?”
“I peep through ladies’ drawing rooms.”
She laughed. “Unusual, indeed.” She waved to the door. “Shall I send for tea?”
“I thought we could go for a drive through Hyde Park in my phaeton. It ought to go a long way to stave off unwanted suitors.”
