Footmen lined up and lifted silver domes off the first dish, revealing choice pieces of pheasant in a blood-red sauce.
Cutlery clinked; wineglasses reflected the candlelight.
Peregrin still hadn’t mustered the courage to look at him. Sebastian glared at his brother’s profile, his anger on the tipping point to wrath.
Ever so slowly, Peregrin raised his gaze to him.
A shudder ran through the young man when their gazes locked.
Sebastian gave him a thin smile. “How is the pheasant?”
Peregrin’s eyes widened. “It’s excellent, thank you.” He poked his fork at his food. “I, ah, trust your journey was uneventful, sir?”
“It was,” Sebastian said, taking a sip from his water. “It was upon my arrival that things became interesting.”
Peregrin swallowed audibly.
The guests had fallen into animated conversation. He could pick out the calm hum of Miss Archer’s alto voice from the other end of the table, followed by the too-loud laughter of the eager young men around her. He nearly scoffed. Whatever it was that would truly keep a woman like Miss Archer entertained, none of those boys could provide it.
“I will go to London tomorrow,” he said to Peregrin, “and when I’m back on Monday, I shall expect you in my study at six o’clock.”
He hadn’t thought it possible, but his brother’s face turned even whiter.
And just to see what would happen, he picked up his knife and skewered the slab of meat on his plate.
Peregrin’s fork clattered onto the table.
Sixteen heads swiveled toward them, as if a shot had been fired.
Chapter 10
Annabelle woke from a soft clanking noise she couldn’t place. She was of a mind to ignore it, for the pillow beneath her cheek was incredibly, alluringly soft, a cloud in her arms.
And . . . unfamiliar.
And it was past six o’clock; she felt it in her bones.
She had overslept.
She lurched into a sitting position, and a squeak sounded somewhere in the shadows.
The shapes of the room came into focus: opulent bedposts, high windows, the faint glint of a chandelier . . . she was in the Duke of Montgomery’s house, and there was a maid by the fireplace with a poker.
She sagged back into the pillows. There was no fire she needed to tend, no cousin or half a dozen children waiting for their breakfast . . .
She ran a hand over her face. Her forehead was damp. “What time is it?”
“About six thirty, miss,” the maid said. “Would you like me to send for some tea?”
How tempting, to have tea in bed. Despite the extra half hour of sleep, her body felt oddly sluggish. But she still had a translation to do before the activities of the day began. She forced a leg out of bed. Her foot was heavy as if filled with lead.
“Will there be any breakfast at the table at this time?” she asked.
The maid’s eyes widened when she seemed to piece together her intentions. She had probably never seen a houseguest rise before dawn. Noblemen didn’t rise until noon; Annabelle had that on good account.
* * *
The footman marched ahead into the breakfast room, then halted abruptly to click his heels together. “Your Grace, Miss Archer,” he announced.
She nearly froze in midstride.
Indeed. There was already someone at the foot of the table. He was concealed by a wide-open newspaper, but there was no mistaking the master of the house.
Naturally, she had to be the guest of the one nobleman in England who didn’t rise at noon.
Montgomery’s eyes met hers over the rim of the paper, startlingly alert despite the hour, and their impact caused a swift, warm bloom of awareness in her belly. She tightly clasped her hands in front of her.
One of Montgomery’s straight brows flicked up. “Miss Archer. Is anything amiss?”
Yes.
He unsettled her.
His damned intelligent eyes and effortless self-assurance impressed upon her, and now her body wasn’t able to shake the feel of him. It remembered the strength of his arm around her, the feel of his hard chest against her back, the cool touch of his lips against her ear . . . his scent, so subtle and yet compelling, had clung to her until she had soaked in the bath last night. Her body knew things about him now and was intrigued when it shouldn’t be. She did not even like the man.
“I was told I may have breakfast here, Your Grace.”
“You may,” he said, and she had the impression that he was making a number of quick decisions as he spoke. He put the paper down and gestured to a footman