The Promise of Change - By Rebecca Heflin Page 0,28

Alex didn’t know? His warm smile reached his eyes, crinkling them at the corners. His dark gray suit and deep blue tie enhanced his regal bearing, making him look every inch the Earl.

Lady Clara noticed her slight preoccupation, and following her gaze, said, “Oh, I see you’ve spotted my grandson. He is a handsome lad, although I suppose I am biased. Would you like to be introduced?” she asked, a sly smile on her face.

“Oh. No.” Sarah said, a little too emphatically. “That’s okay.” Too late . . . he walked toward her. It seemed that every head in the room turned to watch him, and consequently, Sarah. For the second time this evening, she wished a hole would open up and swallow her.

As he sauntered in her direction, she couldn’t help but admire the way he moved, with the easy grace of an athlete. His well-tailored clothes fit his powerful frame as if made for him. And most likely they were.

“Some escort you are. You’ve left me to fend for myself all evening,” Lady Clara chided her grandson.

He leaned in to kiss her cheek. “Yes, Grandmother, but if anyone can fend for herself, it would be you.” He smiled down into his grandmother’s beaming face. “You’d have Henry VIII himself wrapped around your finger in a moment.”

“You’re a good grandson.” She reached up to pat his cheek as she said it.

Sarah tensed. Would he make reference to their meeting the other night?

“May I introduce Sarah Edwards? Sarah was one of my classmates this week.” Lady Clara turned to her. “Sarah, this is my grandson, Alexander Fraser, the Ninth Earl of Rutherford.”

“How do you do?” He took her hand, never taking his eyes off her face.

Sarah smiled tentatively.

He couldn’t resist. “You look familiar.” Her hand tensed in his. “But then again, if I had met you, I’d have remembered eyes as lovely as yours.” Her hand relaxed a little, but there was a spark of fire in those green eyes.

She pulled her hand from his, with the memory of their warmth uppermost in her mind. Was he being considerate, she wondered, or worse, did he actually not remember meeting her?

Lady Clara’s eyes sparkled mischievously as she looked between the two of them. “Ah, there’s Mrs. Talbot. I must have a word with her. Will you excuse me?” She strode off before either of them could object.

“So, we meet again,” Alex whispered conspiratorially.

His breath tickled Sarah’s face, suffusing her cheeks with warmth, and raising another blush.

“I thought—”

“I know, you wondered if I’d actually forgotten you.” He took her now-empty wineglass which she turned nervously in her hands and placed it on the table behind her. “The answer to that is of course no. But my grandmother told me of your visit to Rutherford, and I gathered from that conversation that you did not reveal our previous meeting.” He tilted his head. “I wondered why that was.”

With nothing left to fidget with, she folded her hands in front of her. “Because I didn’t want to tell your grandmother what a liar you are.”

“A liar?” He frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“You told me you were an actor.”

“No, you asked me if I was an actor.”

“So that makes lying about it all right? Did you lie about accidentally bumping into me, too?” Her ire was up. How dare he play semantics with her, as if that excused his dishonesty.

“No. I can assure you the collision was accidental. If I’d set my sights on meeting you, I wouldn’t have resorted to dousing you with beer. I would simply have introduced myself.” The corner of his mouth lifted in a slight grin. “As to the bit about being a liar, I can assure that I am not. I am an actor.” He turned to indicate Lady Clara’s approach. “You can ask my grandmother if you wish.”

“Ask me what?” Lady Clara asked as she rejoined them.

“Sarah expressed an interest in my acting.” Alex said, eyebrow arched in Sarah’s direction.

“Ah, his acting.” Lady Clara waved her hand as if the subject were a disagreeable fly she was shooing away.

“Grandmother doesn’t approve.” He observed Sarah’s chagrinned expression and the pretty blush that accompanied it. He must remember to make her blush regularly and often.

“It isn’t that I don’t approve of acting. I think it a noble profession. Look at Sir Laurence Olivier and Dame Judi Dench. I just disapprove of my grandson, the Earl, acting.”

Lady Clara turned to Sarah. “That isn’t to say he’s not good. I think