“Where was Lord Dandridge?” Francesca wrinkled her nose as if the name left a sour taste in her mouth.
“Still at the Pools’. You see—I mean—Lord Selbourne—” Lucia took another deep breath.
“Yes?” Francesca leaned forward, impatient. “Lord Selbourne must have offered to escort you home,” she surmised, narrowing her eyes. “Why? What happened to Lord Dandridge? Or should I say with Lord Dandridge?”
Lucia pulled harder at her lip, squirmed. “Reginald had a bit too much of the Pools’ champagne, and Selbourne didn’t approve.” She’d been uncomfortable a moment before, but recalling the whole incident was making her angry all over again. “Your brother-in-law is altogether too meddlesome. I had the situation under perfect control until he—he—interfered!”
“Oh, good Lord!” Francesca slammed her palm on the table. “Are you telling me Dandridge was trying to take advantage of you?”
Lucia shifted, squirmed again.
“That’s it! Lord, I was never in favor of this engagement, and now I’m going to have Ethan call Dandridge out—”
“Francesca! No!” Lucia reached across the table and grasped Francesca’s fist. “You know how much this means to Father, and it was nothing. Really! I had everything under control until Selbourne, insufferable man, insisted upon seeing me home.” She released Francesca and sat back, crossing her arms. “You really should speak to your brother-in-law about his manners. I can’t go traipsing about with a man like him or people will start to talk.”
Francesca laughed, and Lucia pursed her lips at the look of forbearance on her older sister’s face.
“Lucia, he’s practically your brother-in-law, too—though you seem determined to disown him today. No one will comment if he escorts you home on occasion.”
Lucia’s jaw dropped at this betrayal. “And you claim to be my sister?”
“I’m still your sister,” Francesca said, “and I agree that Selbourne isn’t a man to be seen with in Society often, but really, he’s harmless. Ethan assures me that all the stories about his rakish ways are quite exaggerated.”
“Ethan would say that. The gossip surrounding his days as a rake—before he met you, of course—are just as bad. But neither of you was in the carriage or in the garden, and I can assure you that all the gossip about Selbourne—and then some—is true.” Too late, Lucia blushed and clamped her mouth shut.
“Is it?” Francesca narrowed her eyes and grasped Lucia’s hand before she could tuck it safely away. “What happened in Selbourne’s carriage?”
“I assisted Miss Dashing with her hair,” a deep male voice answered.
Lucia started, her heart jumping into her throat while her gaze flew to the door where Selbourne stood, one shoulder propped against the frame. Blood rushed to her face.
Pushing away from the doorway, Selbourne strode to the sideboard and investigated the breakfast dishes. “Lord Dandridge had made quite a mess of it. Naturally, Miss Dashing wanted to avoid the servants’ notice, so I offered my assistance.” He picked up a serving spoon, set it down again. “I think I made a tolerable job of it. Don’t you agree, Miss Dashing?” He glanced at her, dark eyebrows arched, gray eyes laden with mischief.
Lucia squeezed her eyes shut. She imagined even her eyelids were pink with embarrassment.
“Hmm. Now that I’m thinking about it—” His voice was a low rumble. “My attempt was better than tolerable.”
Lucia tensed. Why did he sound so close?
“Certainly much neater than all of these loose tendrils.” His hand stroked her neck.
“Oh!” Lucia’s eyes shot open, and she jerked around in her chair. He was standing behind her, one hand tracing the hot skin of her neck. His fingers wrapped around a curl.
“All of these tendrils”—his fingers skated along the curve of her jaw, down to the junction of her shoulder—“brushing against your skin.”
Lucia shivered, and when she looked into his face, her breath hitched. His gray eyes were impossibly intense, dark with something she’d not seen before but wanted desperately.
Francesca cleared her throat. “I see. I suppose your meeting isn’t entirely improper being that you are part of the family, Alex. However—”
“My sentiments exactly.” Selbourne dropped his hand and stepped away from Lucia. He popped half a cinnamon tart into his mouth, then winked at her. Lucia blinked. Had she simply imagined the heat that had just passed between them? Hadn’t he felt it, too?
He was at the sideboard again. “Isn’t there any ham? I’m hungry.”
Ham? Ham? Was that all he could think about? She felt like stabbing him with her fork. But when he turned around, met her gaze, all the heat of her anger drained, coiling in her belly.
“I’m starving.”
Lucia had no doubt what he was hungry for. Putting a hand to her stomach to still the fluttering, she watched him. He gave her another of his long, slow perusals, even though he’d promised no more of that last night. Not to mention, Francesca was right there, brow arched, noting everything. But when Lucia’s gaze met his, she forgot all about Francesca, all about her anger. She’d seen appreciation and desire many times in the eyes of other men, but Alex—Selbourne—had never before looked at her with anything more than polite interest.
Until last night. Until now.
Francesca cleared her throat again, and Lucia, mortified, looked away.
Her hands were trembling, and she’d barely managed to steady them when her mother burst through the doorway, holding her bonnet in place over her short blond curls. “Oh, mia cuore!” Her hand flew to her bosom. “Lord Selbourne! You startled me! I had no idea you would be calling this morning. Pray excuse me.” She gave a quick curtsy.
Selbourne inclined his head. “Certainly, madam.” Lady Brigham stilled and stiffened.
“Oh, no,” Lucia moaned, while Francesca shook her head violently.
Signora, Lucia mouthed, hoping Selbourne would see her.
“Scusi?” Lady Brigham said, her voice deceptively sweet.
Alex frowned, then seemed to notice Francesca’s agitated movements. He glanced at Lucia, and she mouthed signora again. He stared for a moment, then scowled. With a look that said he’d exhausted his small portion of patience for the day, he turned back to her mother and said, “Scusi, Lady Brigham, I meant signora.”
Lady Brigham arched a brow but, perhaps reminded of time, turned to her two daughters. “I must be off or I shall be late.” She gave her bonnet one last pat. “Lady Castlereagh has become quite the thing. The connection cannot help but to benefit you girls, especially you, Lucia. I just hope I shall make it through without incident. Your father has insisted I do not speak Italian in young Lady Castlereagh’s presence, and I do not know how I will curb such a natural inclination! Fammi respirare! Apparently Lady Castlereagh does not favor Italian. She thinks it unfashionable.” There was a note of wonder in her voice. “That certainly doesn’t speak highly of her character,” she said with a pointed look at Lord Selbourne.
Lucia hid her smile with her hand.
“But we do what we must.” Lady Brigham sighed, heavy with her motherly duties. “Lucia—”