Patience, Rosalind.“I do believe we shall attend Lord Grover’s dinner.”
“Splendid. I hear he provides quite a spread. His cook is from France, you know.”
Her patience melted away like a lump of sugar in tea. “Are you quite through, sir?”
“Oh! You’ll be wanting some quiet, then. I’m terribly sorry, you must be wishing me to the devil.” The twinkle in his eyes, however, belied any truth to those words.
“You are an astute man,” she replied scathingly, turning her face away and plucking at the material of her gown with agitated fingers.
His pause implied he considered her words. “Astute. Hmm. That is not a word often applied to me.”
She shot him a disgusted look. “I cannot imagine why. For you are far too clever for your own good.”
The surprise that flashed across his face appeared genuine. “Clever?” He gave a sharp laugh. “That is a word even more rarely used in regard to me.”
She scowled. “You are fishing for compliments, sir.”
He shifted so his body more fully faced her. “I assure you, that is the last thing I am about.”
“Please,” she scoffed, turning her own body. “Men like you are always after compliments. You like nothing better than to hear yourself speak, or to hear others speak well of you.”
Aggravation tightened his features. “You have a very decided view of men. It really is too bad you have no idea what you are talking about.”
“Don’t I?” She shifted in her seat. Her leg pressed against his but she didn’t care at that moment, the anger boiling up in her was so great. “If I have a decided view then you may be assured I have a reason for it.”
A heavy silence fell.Stupid, stupid girl, she thought as the frustration cleared from Sir Tristan’s face to be replaced with a horrible curiosity. A question formed in his eyes.
Before he could voice it, she burst forth, letting every ounce of her frustration with him color her words. “Why are you doing this to me? Why can you not leave me alone?”
He frowned, no doubt taken aback by her outburst. But when he spoke, it was not the censure she expected to hear.
“I don’t care for strife in my home, Miss Merriweather. I see no reason we cannot be civil with one another.”
“I was already being civil.”
“Barely,” he scoffed.
She raised her chin. “I was being as civil as anyone in my position is expected to be.”
“So cold and taciturn is a requirement for being a companion?”
“You expect me to shower you with smiles and cheerful greetings?”
He let out a frustrated breath. “Of course not.”
“You think as I am a female, I am good for nothing more than to stare at you with eyes as blank as a child’s doll, that I should only giggle and simper and not show a bit of my true feelings? That I am to cater to your ego when all I want to do is wring your neck?”
He gaped at her, his eyes as clouded as the sky above their heads. As she glared back at him a realization dawned. Rosalind looked at him with a new understanding. “But you need more, don’t you?” she murmured.
Her questions seemed to snap him from his stunned stupor. “What are you talking about?”
“You need more than cool civility. You need me tolikeyou. You needeveryoneto like you.”
“That is ridiculous,” he sputtered.
But she was already warming to her idea. “No, it’s true! You charm everyone you meet. It’s like a compulsion. And people respondunfailingly. It’s your special gift, your talent. It must gall you to deal with someone who wants nothing whatsoever to do with you.”
Instead of lashing out in anger—he was her employer’s cousin, after all, and she should not have talked to him as she had—a sly look crossed his face. “Come now, Miss Merriweather. I think you’re protesting a bit too loudly, don’t you?”
