India knew that by leaving the room, Adelaide hoped to bring an improper subject to a close. But Dautry returned from escorting Adelaide, walked straight back to the sofa, sat down, and said, “I gather you are trying to inform me that Miss Rainsford is above my touch?” His tone still held a hint of mockery, and the last of the simmering heat India had felt on first meeting him dissipated. This man was breathtakingly arrogant and quite dislikable.
“I think we can both agree on that point, Mr. Dautry.” Since he was setting her teeth on edge, she gave him a deliberately patronizing smile. “You have made an excellent choice, but your social deficit means that you face obstacles in winning the lady’s hand.”
He folded his arms across a chest that was far broader than it should have been. He had to be fifteen stone, and all of it muscle. “I’d be grateful to know what considerations you think make the lady such an excellent choice,” he said. “I suspect that our reasons differ.”
Dautry couldn’t have made it more obvious that he was prodding to see whether she was too missish to speak the truth aloud.
“It scarcely matters, does it?” India asked, stalling.
For his part, Thorn was reconsidering his conviction that ladies were tedious. This one, in particular, seemed to have a fiery temper that matched Vander’s. And she became even more beautiful as her color heightened and her eyes sparked with irritation.
“One might say I fell in love at first sight,” he said, quite untruthfully. “I met Miss Rainsford in Kensington Gardens and was so enchanted that I cannot imagine marrying another. But that doesn’t explain why you consider her such an excellent choice.”
She raised an eyebrow, revealing patent disbelief in his declaration of love. But he had managed to goad her into an answer. “Your birth presents an obvious and unavoidable challenge: you cannot marry just anyone. At the same time, your father is a duke, which means that your children—if you marry well—will be accepted in society by all but the most rigid sticklers.”
“Good to know,” Thorn said dryly.
“I fail to see why you are feigning naïveté,” she snapped.
“So Miss Rainsford is of birth sufficient to paper over my ‘deficit,’ as you termed it? I generally think of it as bastardy, but I know there are some ladies who do not care for the word.”
Lady Xenobia didn’t even flinch. She was dressed in a white, fluttering thing that made her look impossibly young, but it was becoming increasingly clear that, whatever her age, she had a steel backbone. No wonder Eleanor liked her.
“As I’m sure you’re aware, Lady Rainsford served as a lady-in-waiting to the queen. Yet her daughter is not pretentious in the least. Hopefully, she will not mind your disheveled appearance . . . much.”
“I gather it does bother you,” Thorn said, letting his amusement show.
The lady ignored that. “Insofar as Lord Rainsford is not well off, and you have no need for a large dowry, this is an ideal match. I suggest we meet in two days to assess the condition of Starberry Court. I would estimate that the work will take from one to two months, depending on the state of the plumbing.”
She was clearly in a temper. Her eyes had turned squinty, which paradoxically just made her more attractive. It was hard not to wonder what all that passion would be like in bed.
When Lady Xenobia had first entered the study, Thorn had noticed her figure and her mouth—no man alive would ignore that mouth. But he had been thinking of this as a cursory interview with a faux-titled charlatan who would demand a great deal of money for beautifying Starberry Court.
Now, though, he had a strong suspicion that if he checked Debrett’s, “Xenobia” would appear, likely engraved in gold.
His indifference had evaporated. Something about those furious blue eyes was giving him an erection. A very unwelcome erection, since he hadn’t bothered to put on a coat when the ladies were announced.