bit of crumpet I wouldn’t mind ’aving,” another girl said, looking past her, and Melisande knew a sudden, lowering presentiment. Please let him have taken off with the saintly Dorothea, she thought desperately. Don’t let him be waiting here.
But she knew exactly who had come up behind her, his shadow on the pavement looming over hers. With a quick intake of breath she turned, plastering her most disarming smile on her face.
“Lord Rohan,” she said cheerfully.
“Lady Carstairs.” Yes, his voice was as deep as she remembered it. Really, if all men had voices like Rohan did then her job would be a great deal more difficult, she reflected. She could practically hear the sighs from her bevy of charges, but she stiffened her spine. After all, these women had already shown themselves to be susceptible to male lures, and he had what some women would doubtless consider a seductive voice to go along with his austere, handsome face and tall, elegant body.
It was a good thing she was immune, and always had been. The women behind her were no better than moonstruck girls—she could practically hear their gusty sighs. The sooner she got them safely back to the confines of Carstairs House the better. They had been doing an admirable job of adjusting to their new lives, but Viscount Rohan could tempt a saint.
However, he was the one who’d approached her, and she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of prolonging the conversation. He knew who she was, which was interesting. He must have asked about her.
She wasn’t quite sure how she felt about that, but she knew better than to be flattered. He’d assuredly wanted to know who that annoying woman was, who’d spoiled his afternoon debauch.
Finally he spoke, and his voice sent silver shivers down her spine. “I believe I owe you an abject apology, Lady Carstairs. I was under a misapprehension about your identity and treated you…impolitely. I crave pardon.”
“You treated me abominably. However, since I’ve never been mistaken for an abbess before, the novelty of it almost made up for the insult. I presume the gossiping tongues have filled you in on my mission.”
His smile was faintly mocking. “Your mission? Indeed. You wish to deprive the men of London of their most cherished pastime.”
This time she did hear an actual sigh from one of the girls. She ignored it. “I thought you all preferred horses and gaming to sexual congress?” Most men were shocked by her plain speech, but his cool, handsome face was still composed of polite lines.
“It depends on the girl.”
“And the horse,” she shot back.
An expression flickered in his eyes for a moment, one of surprise and something else. Respect? Amusement? She was looking for things that were not there. “And the horse,” he agreed. “As for mistaking you for an abbess, I do believe I mentioned that you were an extremely unlikely one.” His dark eyes slid down her deliberately dowdy dress.
Ungallant bastard, she thought calmly, wishing she dared say it out loud. But there was a limit as to how far she would go, and she had no wish to tweak the tiger’s tail. She had the suspicion that Benedick Rohan would be most unsettling if roused. “Indeed,” she said briefly. “Was there anything else? Because if not, I accept your apology and bid you good-day.”
“So quickly, Lady Carstairs? I thought I might take the air with you. At least see you safely out of the park.”
“Aha!”
“‘Aha’?”
“I can see Miss Pennington has been busy. You’re her errand boy, are you not? She sent you to warn us out of the sacred confines of St. James Park so we won’t sully her so very proper eyes with our presence.”
Really, the woman was the most tiresome prude. If a noted rake like Viscount Rohan thought he’d be happy married to such a dried-up stick, then he deserved the wretched woman.
“I don’t believe it’s you she objects to. And I’m hardly her errand boy. I find the presence of your…charges to be quite delightfully distracting.” He glanced back at them, and was rewarded with smothered giggles. “They’re like a gaggle of lovely geese.”
“They’re equally silly!” Melisande said in disgust. “Wave a handsome man in front of them and they turn into blithering idiots.”
“Merci du compliment, Lady Carstairs,” he said, and she could have kicked herself. “Perhaps they’ve regretted their choice in leaving the perfumed confines of Mrs. Cadbury’s establishment.”
“Shall we ask them?” she said coolly, and before he could demur she whirled around,