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your statement. Does this by chance have anything to do with the dog?” he asked, trying to untangle Bennington’s words.
    Now Bennington looked just as confused as Marcus felt. “I’m sorry? Did you say ‘dog’?”
    Clearly the dog did not come into play. Surely no one could possibly forget Titus. “It’s nothing.”
    Yet Marcus could not help but wonder if the interlude at the lake was the reason for Lady Tisdale’s “impending attack.” True, Miss Tisdale may as well have stood there in her chemise for all the concealment her sodden gown had provided. But he’d made no advances whatsoever. And her brother was present the whole time. Not to mention the mighty-sized mongrel.
    “I am mystified,” he said frankly, watching as the two women left the room.
    “You’re not alone,” Bennington commiserated, punching him lightly on the arm. “Nothing about Miss Tisdale is ever straightforward. Or my wife for that matter. Women,” he finished, his eyes softening yet again as he watched his wife leave.
    “Is Miss Tisdale such a trial, then?” Marcus asked, unable to leave well enough alone.
    “Well,” Bennington began, turning back to Marcus, his brows furrowing a fraction of an inch. “She’s a lovely girl, don’t misunderstand me. It’s just that … How shall I put this?”
    Marcus resisted the urge to grab him by the shoulders and shake the words from his mouth.
    Bennington pondered a bit more, then finally spoke. “She’s exceedingly bright and knows not how to hide it, which has proven to be an impediment to retaining suitors in the past.”
    “A bluestocking, then?” Marcus queried, sure that Miss Tisdale could not be categorized so easily, but anxious to discover the details about her just the same.
    “I suppose that such a term is useful when speaking of her,” Bennington replied, flagging down a servant. “She was not always so—well, the intelligence was always there, of course. But early on, I’ve been told, she was able to hide it better.”
    Marcus watched the man toss back the bubbling, pale gold contents of the flute. “I suppose the same can be said of any of her ilk.”
    “Perhaps,” Bennington answered, placing the glass on a passing servant’s tray. “I can’t say that I possess any real experience with such women. But Miss Tisdale seems … I don’t know … Different somehow.”
    The understatement of the century
, Marcus thought to himself while murmuring his agreement aloud. If there was ever an excuse to not further an acquaintance with a woman, Bennington had just handed it to him on a silver jewel-encrusted platter.
    “I suppose I should extend my apologies for mine and Miss Tisdale’s introduction all the same.”
    Bennington coughed loudly. “God, no. Best to let sleeping dogs lie. Besides, you’d have a devil of a time trying to catch her alone long enough to do so.”
    Oh, but what fun it would be to try
. “And why is that?” he asked, distracted.
    “The mother.”
    Bennington’s tone was so ominous that Marcus’s attention shifted instantly from the lusty image in his mind. “Lady Tisdale?”
    Bennington gestured for Marcus to follow him. The two made their way across the small crowd to a turned railing that overlooked the room where a merry country dance was under way. “Do you see the woman in the purple gown, near the gentleman whose hair matches Miss Tisdale’s?”
    Marcus searched the crowd, looking past the dancers to a group of men and women conversing. He caught sight of the woman, her countenance pleasant enough, though a hint of something severe could be seen just beneath. “Yes.”
    “That is Lady Lenora Tisdale. A force of nature, that one. And the only person Sarah fears.”
    Marcus studied the woman. “I can’t imagine Miss Tisdale being afraid of anyone.”
    Bennington folded his arms and leaned back against the railing. “Perhaps ‘fear’ is the wrong word. Lenora will not mortally wound you physically, but if one could