analysis on political issues, why should anyone trust her analysis on women in politics?”
Silence filled the dining room.
Then a coughing noise erupted from Peregrin, and he quickly raised his napkin to his mouth, his eyes watering with suppressed glee.
“Why, Miss Archer,” Lord Easton said slowly, “you should take up law. You would give my old solicitor Beadle a good run for his money.”
“Hear, hear,” Richmond said, “she’s much easier on the eye than Beadle, too.”
More than a few people chuckled, and Marsden turned red in the face. “The spread of rampant liberalism is no laughing matter,” he barked.
“Rampant liberalism was not your problem here, Marsden.”
The duke had said so little all evening, the sudden sound of his voice had the effect of a thunderbolt.
All heads swiveled toward his end of the table.
Montgomery was stone faced.
Marsden looked a little uncertain. “Then what would you call it, Duke?”
Montgomery picked up his glass. “It is called logic,” he said, and raised the glass toward Annabelle in a small but unmistaken salute.
Warmth flowed through her. The look in his eyes had briefly taken her breath away, a bright amalgam of anger and . . . admiration?
Everyone else was looking at her warily now. Everyone except Lady Lingham. Her expression was pensive.
“Now there’s a toast we can all agree on,” the countess said blithely and raised her glass. “To logic.”
* * *
When the dinner finished and the party was ushered back to the sitting room, Peter was stitched to her side, explaining things about birds in wrongly pronounced Latin, and she was almost grateful for it as it allowed her to appear in deep conversation rather than acknowledge Lord Marsden, who tried murdering her with dark stares. Neither Montgomery nor the countess was anywhere in sight.
She spotted a door to the terrace that was ajar, and the moment the sourish Richmond daughters approached the curate, she seized her chance and dove headlong into the dark.
The hum of inane chatter was immediately muffled.
Cold, clean air had never felt so good. Greedily she sucked deep breaths of it into her lungs.
And stilled.
Someone else was out here, a man, his face tilted up to the dark sky.
She recognized Peregrin’s lanky form against the torchlight before he turned.
“Miss Archer.” He politely stubbed out his cigarette.
“Lord Devereux.” She came to stand beside him and looked up at the stars. “Were you looking for something in particular up there?”
“The North Star. Did you know seamen have used it for orientation for thousands of years?”
“Yes, since the Phoenicians.”
He chuckled. “Have you by any chance missed that class at finishing school where they teach you to feign delightful ignorance in the presence of a man?”
“I’m afraid so.” She had never been near a finishing school.
“Marsden sure noticed,” Peregrin said. His gaze turned speculative. “I don’t think he’ll recover anytime soon from my brother’s very public dressing-down.”
She was eager to change the topic. “Are you looking forward to the fireworks?”
Peregrin stiffened. “I won’t be here for the party.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” she said, and she was. He had been kind to her at Claremont, not just perfunctorily polite. Just yesterday he had taken the time to show her the first English edition of The Odyssey in Montgomery’s library, and had been thoroughly amused at her excitement. Now he seemed as downcast as in the carriage earlier.
“I’ve never seen fireworks,” she tried.
His frown deepened. “Never?” As he mulled it over, her bare arms snared his attention. “I’ll have someone fetch your coat,” he said.
“It’s on its way,” came a smooth voice from the dark.
They both started.
How long had Montgomery been standing there in the shadows?
In the flickering light, it was impossible to gauge his mood as he strolled closer.
Was he cross with her because of Lord Marsden?
“Montgomery,” Peregrin said. “I shall leave Miss Archer in your hands, then.” He nodded at Annabelle. “Miss.”
He ambled back into the house, and Montgomery stared after him as if he were of a mind to order him back. Instead, he said: “Are you hiding out here, miss?”
She cringed. “I’d call it a strategic evasion.”
He made a soft noise, a huff, a scoff?
“Thank you,” she began, “thank you for . . .” Protecting me?
Because that was what he had done with his little intervention, from his own peers, no less.
“It’s not worth mentioning,” he said.
“You repeatedly implied that I had a problem with authority,” she said lightly. “I’m beginning to agree with you.”
Montgomery leaned back against the balustrade. “A problem with authority, or with stupidity?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“The argument