The Marquess Who Loved Me - By Sara Ramsey Page 0,64
time for you to win back what you lost to me.”
“Tomorrow we shall try billiards. I would guess you didn’t perfect that game aboard a ship.”
“You don’t lack a killing instinct either, do you?”
Marcus grinned. “My role models were woefully ruthless.”
Nick surveyed the room again. He had spoken with all of the men in the party, both over brandy after dinner and in smaller groups as the evening’s entertainments had unfolded. If his instincts were sound, it was unlikely that any of them were responsible for the highwayman’s attack the previous day.
But he had ignored the women — not rudely, but only because it was so laughably bizarre to think that any of them might be plotting his demise. Still, he’d observed the party long enough to find Ellie’s choice of friends odd. According to Marcus, Ellie had known the Duchess of Rothwell and Miss Etchingham for less than a year. A newlywed bride and an impoverished spinster hardly fit the spectacle Ellie had created at her masquerade ball.
“Do you care to approach Miss Etchingham with me?” he asked his brother. “She looks like she might want company.”
Marcus shook his head. “She’s friendly enough, if a bit too much of a bluestocking for my tastes. With your charm, I’m sure you can draw her out better alone than with me interfering.”
“Charm?” Nick asked.
Marcus grinned. “Did I sound too sarcastic when I said that? If charm doesn’t work, give her the money you just won from me. She has more use for it than you do.”
Nick laughed and left him to a game of patience. He walked over to the fire and bowed slightly as he greeted his target. “Miss Etchingham. May I join you?”
She smiled with what seemed like a genuine invitation. “I won’t turn down an opportunity to abandon my embroidery hoop, my lord.”
He took the chair beside her and stole another glance at the clock. Ten minutes. “Have you enjoyed your visit to Folkestone?” he asked.
“Very much, Lord Folkestone. How are you finding your home?”
There was no snide implication in her tone — just frank curiosity. “Well enough,” he said. “But it will take ages to accustom myself to having so many lovely ladies in my house.”
Miss Etchingham didn’t preen or simper. She laughed in his face. “There’s no need to play the flirt, my lord. I know my value, and it has never been described as decorative.”
That statement puzzled him. Prudence didn’t have Ellie’s fire or the twins’ classic blonde beauty, but her trim figure and sparkling brown eyes were still pleasing. “You’ll forgive me if I say you must be mistaken.”
She smiled, something wistful touching at the corners of her mouth. “I thank you for the kindness, my lord. But don’t let’s pretend that you’ve noticed any lady but our hostess since you’ve arrived.”
Now Nick saw why Ellie liked the woman. Miss Etchingham missed very little, and her directness nearly matched Ellie’s own. “Is that so?” he asked, trying to sound bored. “If I have given that impression, I apologize.”
She laughed again. “I would guess that you only give impressions you wish to give, my lord. In that, you and Lady Folkestone are well matched. If you were whist partners, your control over your reactions would make you nigh on unbeatable.”
“You are a direct one, aren’t you?”
It wasn’t meant to be a setdown, but he regretted the words when her eyes switched from vivacious to wary. “Please do forgive me, Lord Folkestone. I forgot myself.”
He waved a hand, suddenly contrite. “No forgiveness necessary, Miss Etchingham. I’m sure I’ve heard worse.”
“Not from ape-leaders who are taking advantage of your hospitality, I would think.”
She glanced through the double doors to where Ellie and Lord Salford still talked in muted undertones. She was far more dependent on Salford’s generosity than Nick’s — and Nick wondered, then, whether that fact chafed her, despite the comfort of her position.
But he didn’t know her well enough to ask. And ultimately, Miss Etchingham’s future was not his responsibility. He pressed his other agenda instead. “Does our mutual friend bear any of the blame for your…unguarded tongue?”
Prudence turned her gaze back to Nick. “I do not hold Lady Folkestone responsible for my personal failings, my lord.”
He saw the spark in her eyes. Was it his imagination, or had she implied that he unfairly blamed Ellie for his mistakes? “Still, is it not detrimental for your reputation to associate with her?”
She frowned. “Ellie — excuse me, Lady Folkestone — has never gone beyond the pale.”