odd, but no more than was the rest of the deal. He shook his head.
"You needn't worry, Neville. I could purchase all the homes along Rotten
Row and still have enough to buy a lady's heart."
Clarey laughed.
''There's not enough money in all the world for that."
"I
wonder." He leaned forward. "I am curious about one thing. Why
me?"
The baron cleared
his throat. "I believed I could trust you, and that you would have the
means, and . . . " He trailed off.
"And the
necessary lack of scruples?" Nicholas supplied, more intrigued than
annoyed. Crestley Hall was sounding more interesting every moment.
Neville had the
good manners to look embarrassed. "Something like that."
A soft knock
came at the door, and it swung open. "Lord Neville?"
Both men rose
at the sound of the female voice. Katherine Ralston stood in the doorway,
looking very fetching in a mauve riding outfit cut in the military style. On
her head, tilted forward at a jaunty angle, perched a hat of the same color.
She looked startled as she saw the duke, but quickly recovered herself.
"I'm
sorry, I didn't realize you had company," she said to her godfather.
"Lady Alison asked me to tell you that a crate just arrived from Paris.
She said you would want to know."
Neville grinned
and rubbed his hands together. "Oh, yes. I tracked down a case of some of
the finest French wine I've yet encountered, and finally last month convinced
the man to sell it to me. This must be it. Thank you, m'dear," He headed
for the door, then looked back. "Will you excuse me for a moment?"
Nicholas
grinned. "You and your wines. Of course. Miss Ralston and I will endeavor
to entertain ourselves." He glanced over in time to see her blush.
Clarey hurried
from the room, distracted enough that he voluntarily left his goddaughter alone
in the company of the Black Duke. From the warmth in the baron's voice when he
spoke to her, Miss Ralston was more than merely tolerated at Hampton House,
Nicholas noted with some interest. She continued to stand there looking
nervous, and he decided that it served her right.
"I was
surprised to see you here," she said finally.
"You left
early last night," he responded, leaning against the edge of the end table
and crossing his arms.
"I had a
headache," she countered.
He looked her
carefully up and down, noting that she blushed again. "You seem to have
recovered."
"Yes,
thank you." She turned, and he thought she was going to flee. Instead she
became absorbed in studying the titles of the books on the nearest shelf.
"You like
Shakespeare?" he asked, stepping closer. She was smaller than he
remembered. Perhaps it was her temper that had made her seem taller.
"I beg
your pardon?" she asked over her shoulder.
"Shakespeare,"
he repeated, reaching over her shoulder for a volume. As he had expected, she
started.
"Yes,"
she mumbled. "I do, very much," she continued after a moment, and stepped
around him.
"My mother
has a fabulous collection of early quartos," he continued, putting the
book back and turning to keep her in sight. "I'm certain she would be
delighted to show them off to you."
''Thank you for
telling me." She turned to look at him. "And thank you for your
assistance last night. I very much enjoyed meeting all of my partners."
"You're welcome," he answered, and leaned against the
bookshelf. "Would it have been so terrible for you to have danced again
with me?" he murmured, wondering what pretty lie her excuse would
be.
She looked him
in the eye. "I didn't want a scandal."
''The devil,
you say!" he retorted. "Do you think I would have danced with all of
those weak-kneed, simpering chits, if not to avoid a scandal?" She continued
to glare at him, though he had no idea why. "I told you, you did me a good
turn. I don't ruin people who do me favors, intentional or not."
"How
gracious of you," she responded ungraciously. "I shan't mistake your
chivalrous motivations next time."
He
straightened. "Who's to say you'll have the chance?"