But his response was to give the woman a saucy wink, sending both ladies into a fit of giggles. She snorted behind the rack. Ever the rake…
The two men started forward once again, said earl crossing the square and entering the pub.
Which should not have surprised her. But still, she felt the tiniest niggle of disappointment. She’d hoped…
She didn’t allow herself to finish that thought. Somersworth was a rake and a degenerate. If listening to the ladies had proven anything, it was that every ill thought she’d had about the man since meeting him was likely true.
She could even add a harrowing tale of her own…I saw with my own eyes that he vomited on a debutante’s shoes and didn’t even have the decency to apologize. She even had proof.
“I heard that he ruined a viscount’s daughter after he’d sworn to marry her.”
Natalie felt the blood drain from her face, disappointment swelling in her stomach. She ought to have known that he’d be not just a regular rake, but a rake of the first order.
“Haven’t you chosen yet?” her mother asked on a huff of breath. “The ribbon in your hand is perfect and I’ve got several more stops to make.”
Natalie fingered the silky strip of fabric, pasting her best smile on for her mother. “Not yet. Go on without me. I’ll meet you in the…”
Her mother frowned, likely not approving of this plan. “The cordwainer’s.”
“Good.” She meant it. If her mother was purchasing new shoes, that would take ages. Which gave Natalie plenty of time…
She now had an errand of her own. She was going to put a stop to her acquaintance with the Earl of Somersworth before her mother could foist Natalie on the man. It was past time.
Once her mother had entered the cordwainer’s shop, Natalie abandoned the ribbon altogether, then crossed the square and entered the inn.
It would be best to just catch the earl in the act of drinking. That way she might nullify their agreement quickly and easily.
Then she could go back to…
Her feet tripped on nothing but air and she stumbled for no reason. Back to what? Waiting for her mother to choose a new lord? And what might he be like? The list of possibilities made her shudder. Surely, he’d be titled. But what if he were even worse than Somersworth?
She shook that thought away, sure no one was worse, even as she entered the inn. She easily spotted the earl at a corner table sitting with her neighbor, Lord Smith.
Holding her chin high, she crossed the room and stopped in front of their table. Anger that she didn’t quite understand coursed through her. She never called anyone out…ever. But staring at him, the words tumbled from her lips. “Fine afternoon for a drink.”
Somersworth’s gaze met hers, and for the first time since she’d met him, they were clear and bright, a startling shade of sky blue.
“It is indeed, Miss Blake.” He stood, pulling out the chair next to him. “We were just enjoying a nice cup of tea. Would you care to join us?”
That’s when she noticed the steaming pot in the middle of the table and the teacup in front of him.
He was, in fact, drinking tea. There was not an alcoholic beverage in sight.
And she’d come over here sure to end their acquaintance forever. Her stomach dropped as she realized that she had come for no reason other than to make a false accusation. She’d entered into a wager, and he appeared to be holding his end of the bet. “I…I really can’t. I must meet my mother. I just came in to…” To what? What did she say—prove what a cad he was?
“Catch me. I know.” He gave her a wink then and Lord Smith cleared his throat.
“A pleasure to see you again, Miss Blake.” Lord Smith’s thick brows arched in question as he looked between the two of them.
“And you, my lord.” She curtseyed to the other man, heat filling her cheeks.
“Please. Sit,” Somersworth said. “Have a bit of tea to warm you and then I shall walk to whatever shop your mother is currently in.”
She let out a sigh. There was nothing to do but concede.
CHAPTER FOUR
Color flushed Red’s cheeks, her green eyes sparkling as she glared at him. He poured her tea, chuckling inwardly.
He’d have liked to laugh long and loud. He’d noted at dinner last night that she was the picture of a demure lady with her mother and her uncle, but here with him, she looked as though she could spit fire. He loved the heat and energy in her gaze.
Tea poured, he watched her take a delicate sip, silence stretching out between them all. Finally, Rush spoke, perhaps wishing to break the awkward silence that had settled between them. “It’s good to see you, Miss Blake. How long has it been? Since Emma and Triston’s wedding?”
“I think, yes,” she answered, her gaze cast down. “And it’s good to see you too.” Once again, silence fell.
“Have you been enjoying preparations for the season?” Rush asked, seeming to search for conversation.
“I am,” she answered, delicately taking a sip of tea, eyes still down.
Rush looked at him, lifting a shoulder as he gave a one-sided frown. Had he hoped to start a conversation with Red? She’d gone quiet again, and Ethan wondered at the change.
Instead of speaking to her again, Rush said to him, “Miss Blake’s family hosts a soirée every fall that is considered the event of the season.”
Ethan loved a good party. And he realized he’d very much like to see Red in a ballgown. But the idea of crowds, cards, and liquor didn’t appeal nearly as much as the idea of pulling this woman close. How would she smell? Feel in his arms?
He gave himself a mental shake. This was not about actual courting. It was meant to be an act that benefitted them both. Though Red did not seem all that interested in anything from him. Even if he won the wager, which he intended to do, she didn’t seem that keen on spending time with him. But what did she want that she’d proposed her wager? “A soirée sounds delightful,” he said. “You must invite me next year.”
Her answering smile was polite but distant as she said, “I’m sure my mother has already added you to the list.” And then the smile slipped. “But I’m not certain the event will happen.”
Rush gave her an inquisitive stare. “But it’s been a family tradition for years.”
She took another slow sip of tea. “My uncle is the viscount now, what remains a tradition is his choice.”
Uncles… Something tightened in his chest and the tension suddenly pulled at her mouth. He wanted to know more as he fought down the distinct urge to protect this woman. Taking a final sip of her tea, she gave him a bland smile. “I’m ready when you are, my lord.”
With a quick nod, he rose, helping her from the chair and threading her hand through his arm. The moment they left Rush, the question he’d wanted to ask popped from his lips. “Why do I sense tension where your uncle is concerned?”
She shook her head. “No tension. Truly, he’s been rather kind and patient, especially with my mother, though they don’t get along very well. But he’s tired of having her about and they’ve both agreed that—”
She stopped, though her hand tightened on his arm. His brows lifted as he asked, “What have they agreed?”