The viscount had moved across to the cabinet to pour out the glasses. He did not seem to have heard her words about the drink but tilted his head towards her. “It isMissWalsh? That is correct?”
“Yes, that is correct,” she said absently, her thoughts and her resolve utterly thrown by him. He was not at all what she had expected, and this made her feel flustered.
Moving closer, the viscount lowered himself into the opposite seat, only a couple of feet away from her. One of his long legs stretched out, and Maeve found herself caught by the shape of his elegant limb. At such close range, with his gaze intensely focused on Maeve as if he were weighing her up, Maeve fought against the urge to squirm for the first time in her life.
“I will come directly to my point, so as not to waste your time.” Maeve forced herself to focus. She made herself smile in a business-like manner.Be the woman your family needs right now.“My father—”
“He is well?”
“He is, but he needs your help. He has unfortunately been swindled out of a large sum of money.” She did not have the stomach to say how much it was that her father owed. “There was a venture my father felt sure would come off, but it has left him bankrupt and close to losing his home.”
“So, you need my help?”
“Yes, my lord. I—”
“I see.” The viscount seemed to be considering this, but his gaze was boring into her with such appraisal that Maeve wondered if he was really thinking of her father. “I am at liberty to ask some questions, I hope.”
“I have nothing to hide. Nor does my father.”
To that the viscount cocked an eyebrow, but he set his glass aside and leant forward. “How old are you?”
“I—” Maeve spluttered. This was not what she had been expecting either; it had no relevance to the matter at hand. Then again, perhaps he was simply being eccentric.
“Nothing to hide, Miss Walsh?”
“I am twenty-six.” She raised her chin.
“You could pass for younger.”
She frowned at him, highly tempted to inform him that he could not pass for a gentleman. But she bit her lip; after all, she would tell him anything if he helped her father.
“You are educated?”
“Yes, I have been educated and trained at a fine establishment. It was a most fortunate beginning, and I now teach—”
He held up a hand. “You like the children you look after?”
“Indeed.” She wondered if she should elaborate, but he returned to his glass, took a sip, and nodded to himself.
“I suppose you would therefore be considered an intelligent woman?”
“I can speak French, Italian and Greek, and read Latin, although not as well as my sister. I can paint, draw, budget a household, and even fire a gun if required.” He looked nonplussed by this, so Maeve continued, “My skill at the pianoforte and harp is excellent, although I do not practise as much as I would like.” She tried to think of what else might qualify her as a companion to a dowager, as this could be the only reason he was asking such questions. Her ability to focus on that task was undermined by the way the viscount was watching her, as if each word she uttered was lowering her further in his estimation. She wished desperately for some better insight into him.
“Tell me of your family, beyond your father.”
“I have a sister.”
“Just the one?”
“Yes.”
“Older, younger, married?” His questions came thick and fast.
“Just the one, and she is eight years younger than me.”
This caused him to frown, although for what reason Maeve could not begin to imagine. There was a hideous sense of unease twisting in her belly, and she realised she was starting to sweat. “Why such a large gap between the two of you?” he pressed on.
“You would have to ask my father,” Maeve snapped back, raising her hand to her neck, and rubbing at the tension pooled there.
