She poked him again, this time on the bead-and-sequin-covered chest. Matador indeed! She could happily throw him under a bull right now. “Understand me, Lord Thornroach, you havenoauthority over me. None whatsoever, and if you ever try to arrange my dances or any other aspect of my life again—”
“What else was I to do? You refused me even one dance earlier.”
“As is my right!”
“I only took your waltzes.”
Such smugness. She wanted to hit him. “They weremywaltzes to give!”
He shrugged again. “You don’t have permission to waltz yet.”
“So? I planned to sit them out with the partners of my choice.”
He snorted. “You planned to sit one out with Corney Frinton and what—talk?”
“Mr.Frinton can talk. Sometimes. Anyway, what business is it of yours how we pass the time? I’d rather sit in total silence with Mr.Frinton than with an arrogant lord who thinks he knows everything.”
He cocked an unimpressed eyebrow. “And what did you plan to do with Tarquin Grimswade? Listen to his poetry? I can assure you, it’s utter drivel.”
“You introduced me to both those gentlemen as potential husbands. So what has changed? Or is it just a case of dog in the manger?” Hah! He looked uncomfortable at that little gibe. The hypocrite.
“I simply wanted to talk to you. I’ve been trying to talk to you since that drive in the park, but you’ve been avoiding me—”
“I can’t imagine why, when you’re such delightful company.”
“And then tonight, when you refused me even one dance—” He broke off as the opening bars of a waltz sounded. “Let’s go outside,” he said, “where I can say my piece, you can berate me in relative privacy, and then we’ll be done.”
Cupping his hand around her elbow, he escorted her across the railed terrace and down into the courtyard. Wought iron chairs and tables were arranged around the perimeter, large potted palms and other plants had been clustered to give privacy to the tables, and multicolored lanterns were hung here and there, giving the scene a softly foreign appearance. Everyone had made their way inside for the much-anticipated first waltz of the evening. The courtyard was deserted.
“Well?” She turned and faced him, her arms folded across her chest. “What is it you are burning to tell me? More disgraceful family secrets you have unearthed about me? More slanders against my character? More baseless accusations about how I’m plotting with my father to ruin Alice?”
“No.” He ran a finger around his tight matador collar, and swallowed. “I want to apologize.”
Lucy blinked. “Apologize?” It was the last thing she’d expected.
“You’re right. I did suspect you of working with your father, of plotting against Alice and taking advantage of her kind nature.”
“Did?”
He nodded. “I don’t think that now. You... you convinced me of your innocence that day in the park.”
She raised a cynical brow. “So I told you I wasn’t working with my father and you believed me, just like that.”
He looked uncomfortable. “More or less.”
She snorted. “I don’t believe you. You’ve uncovered more dirt on Papa, haven’t you? Something that exonerates me, isn’t that it?”
A small nerve in his jaw twitched rhythmically. He eyed her grimly as he considered her question. “More or less. I learned about your school experiences.”
Her stomach clenched. “What school experiences would those be?”
“Five—or was it six—different schools in how many years? And you never went home for the holidays.”
She lifted an indifferent shoulder, but a sour taste flooded her mouth.
“And then you were sent to live with some old German opera singer for a year, and then that French comtesse with the goose for another year. Although whether you were a guest or a maidservant isn’t clear.”
Because, depending on the comtesse’s whim, she was both. “I suppose Alice told you all this.” It was a painful betrayal, but Lord Thornton was, after all, Alice’s nephew. She supposed Alice’s first loyalty must go to him. Even knowing that, it hurt, more than she would have imagined. Which made no sense. She didn’t even know Alice until a few weeks ago.
