then, you admitted to requiring forgiveness. All that…er…pricking.”
Genova almost dropped her plate. “That is not—!”
She bit off her reaction, which he was surely goading for. She glanced at the others to find Thalia watching, bright-eyed, as if at an amusing play, and Lady Calliope stolidly eating. Genova put a slice of pie on the marquess’s empty plate, whether he wanted it or not.
“Ah, pigeon. You have a taste for it, Miss Smith?”
Since
pigeon
was slang for
dupe
, it was another insult.
Addressing no one in particular, Genova said, “I hope the weather will be warmer tomorrow. The poor men suffered so today, and it slowed us.”
“Weather,” the marquess murmured. “Refuge of the dull…or the nervous.”
She knew she shouldn’t, but she looked straight at him. “I am not nervous of you, Lord Ashart.”
“But you should be, Miss Smith. You definitely should be.”
Genova raised her plate. “May I have some
ham
, my lord?”
He served her. “You think I act? Don’t.”
Genova felt the danger, as if a storm raged or enemy guns blasted, and her blood sang. “I don’t question that you are a marquess, my lord, a character of great power and influence.”
“Character? And what are you in this play?”
She cut into her meat. “Merely the poor companion, my lord.”
“Then you need acting lessons.”
Genova felt a very real temptation to jab her fork into his elegant hand, which lay on the tablecloth so close to her, displaying an emerald that could support little Charles for life.
“My lord, you must be very bored to be amusing yourself with me. I’m merely a naval officer’s daughter, and companion to two elderly ladies.”
“I can vouch for that,” Lady Calliope said, seeming amused. “Turn your agile mind to the problem of Mr. and Mrs. Dash’s misbegotten babe, Ashart. What are we to do with him, eh?”
“Put him on the parish.” He finally began to eat.
“The baby needs the wet nurse,” Genova pointed out.
“Then put both of them on the parish.”
The heartless wretch! “And what do you think would happen to them?”
He gave her a bored look that did finally remind her of that portrait. “They would be fed and housed while the errant Mrs. Dash is tracked down.”
“To the meanest degree. No parish wants the poor and desperate from elsewhere. And who will fund that search? You?”
“Why the devil should I?”
“Language, sir!”
“No one else minds.”
“And Genova, dear,” interrupted Thalia, “you said that you’d heard everything when on board ship.”
Lord Ashart gave her a look as if he’d scored a winning point. Genova seethed as she forced herself to eat the excessive amount of food she seemed to have acquired. Pistol point it would have to be.
As she ate and the others gossiped, she regretfully concluded that even gunpoint wouldn’t work. She recognized stiff-necked pride when she saw it, and she doubted the marquess would back down at death’s door. Would persuasion do any good? Surely there must be a scrap of Christian charity in him. He was kind to his great-aunts.
At a gap in the conversation, she returned to the subject. “What are we to do about the baby? To be put on the parish would likely be death for him.”
Ashart sighed. “I’ll leave funds, Miss Smith. Will that suffice?”
“And when the money runs out?”
“If this Mrs. Dash isn’t found by then, she likely never will be. I can hardly be expected to provide for the child for life.”
Why not?
she silently demanded.
He met her eyes, daring her to insist.
So be it.
Genova turned to the two old ladies. “The marquess is the man who came here as ‘Mr. Dash.’ He is the baby’s father.”
Chapter Six
S
o the weapons are finally unsheathed
, Ash thought.
“I most certainly am not.”
The brazen hussy stood her ground. “You are, at least, the man the mother came to meet. You can’t deny that, my lord.”
“No.”
“So you know who she is. You
Genova almost dropped her plate. “That is not—!”
She bit off her reaction, which he was surely goading for. She glanced at the others to find Thalia watching, bright-eyed, as if at an amusing play, and Lady Calliope stolidly eating. Genova put a slice of pie on the marquess’s empty plate, whether he wanted it or not.
“Ah, pigeon. You have a taste for it, Miss Smith?”
Since
pigeon
was slang for
dupe
, it was another insult.
Addressing no one in particular, Genova said, “I hope the weather will be warmer tomorrow. The poor men suffered so today, and it slowed us.”
“Weather,” the marquess murmured. “Refuge of the dull…or the nervous.”
She knew she shouldn’t, but she looked straight at him. “I am not nervous of you, Lord Ashart.”
“But you should be, Miss Smith. You definitely should be.”
Genova raised her plate. “May I have some
ham
, my lord?”
He served her. “You think I act? Don’t.”
Genova felt the danger, as if a storm raged or enemy guns blasted, and her blood sang. “I don’t question that you are a marquess, my lord, a character of great power and influence.”
“Character? And what are you in this play?”
She cut into her meat. “Merely the poor companion, my lord.”
“Then you need acting lessons.”
Genova felt a very real temptation to jab her fork into his elegant hand, which lay on the tablecloth so close to her, displaying an emerald that could support little Charles for life.
“My lord, you must be very bored to be amusing yourself with me. I’m merely a naval officer’s daughter, and companion to two elderly ladies.”
“I can vouch for that,” Lady Calliope said, seeming amused. “Turn your agile mind to the problem of Mr. and Mrs. Dash’s misbegotten babe, Ashart. What are we to do with him, eh?”
“Put him on the parish.” He finally began to eat.
“The baby needs the wet nurse,” Genova pointed out.
“Then put both of them on the parish.”
The heartless wretch! “And what do you think would happen to them?”
He gave her a bored look that did finally remind her of that portrait. “They would be fed and housed while the errant Mrs. Dash is tracked down.”
“To the meanest degree. No parish wants the poor and desperate from elsewhere. And who will fund that search? You?”
“Why the devil should I?”
“Language, sir!”
“No one else minds.”
“And Genova, dear,” interrupted Thalia, “you said that you’d heard everything when on board ship.”
Lord Ashart gave her a look as if he’d scored a winning point. Genova seethed as she forced herself to eat the excessive amount of food she seemed to have acquired. Pistol point it would have to be.
As she ate and the others gossiped, she regretfully concluded that even gunpoint wouldn’t work. She recognized stiff-necked pride when she saw it, and she doubted the marquess would back down at death’s door. Would persuasion do any good? Surely there must be a scrap of Christian charity in him. He was kind to his great-aunts.
At a gap in the conversation, she returned to the subject. “What are we to do about the baby? To be put on the parish would likely be death for him.”
Ashart sighed. “I’ll leave funds, Miss Smith. Will that suffice?”
“And when the money runs out?”
“If this Mrs. Dash isn’t found by then, she likely never will be. I can hardly be expected to provide for the child for life.”
Why not?
she silently demanded.
He met her eyes, daring her to insist.
So be it.
Genova turned to the two old ladies. “The marquess is the man who came here as ‘Mr. Dash.’ He is the baby’s father.”
Chapter Six
S
o the weapons are finally unsheathed
, Ash thought.
“I most certainly am not.”
The brazen hussy stood her ground. “You are, at least, the man the mother came to meet. You can’t deny that, my lord.”
“No.”
“So you know who she is. You
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