Eliza sniffed, moving over to an armchair and settling down. “Drinking oneself into a stupor is not a simple pleasure. You had an argument with your friend Lucas, did you not? Concerning what?”
Clayton tipped back his head, resting it against the gilded back of the sofa. “Is there nothing your spies do not convey to you, Eliza?”
“Not really, no.”
“Lucas and I had words, yes, but it’s our concern, and not yours, with the greatest respect.”
She sniffed again, lips pursed in disapproval. “I was not pleased to see you speaking so openly to that Belford girl.”
“If you are talking about Lady Isolde Belford and that wretched article, I can assure you it is nonsense.”
“Can you be so certain? Ladies can be quite elusive, you know. You are a young, handsome viscount, and.....”
“And a rake,” Clayton interrupted. “Lady Isolde is far too clever to want to try and catch a man like me. Let us leave it at that.”
Eliza eyed him for a long moment, assessing. Clayton forced himself to meet her gaze. His stepmother had always been far too incisive, seeing things that he would rather keep hidden.
He broke the silence first.
“That’s a nasty mark,” Clayton said quietly. “On your cheek. How did you come by it?”
Eliza flushed, half-lifting a hand to her face before she caught herself and lowered it again. She began to strangle her gloves.
“I believe I knocked myself on the edge of a cupboard door,” she replied, unconvincingly.
“I do not believe you.”
“I do not care what you believe.”
“Eliza…” Clayton leaned forward, reaching out for his stepmother’s hand, but was obliged to sit back when the door opened.
The maid came shuffling in, bearing an overloaded tray of tea things. She set it down, beaming.
Eliza frowned. “You are meant to knock before you come in, girl.”
The maid flushed. “Oh, I am sorry.”
“Don’t be so sharp with Mary,” Clayton said. “She’s not used to having to serve tea.”
“Where are your other servants?”
“Eating breakfast or asleep, I would imagine. They’re not expecting me up for hours.”
Eliza sighed dramatically, flashing an apologetic glance at the girl. The maid bobbed another lopsided curtsey and scurried out of the room, clearly glad to go.
“I shall pour the tea,” Eliza announced.
Clayton watched her, nibbling his lower lip.
“If my father’s behaviour becomes too much,” he said quietly, “you can come here, Eliza.”
The colour drained from Eliza’s face. “That is too shocking, Clayton.”
“Why not? You’ve been a mother to me. If I had been able to help my own mother escape him, then…”
“I would be ruined.”
“You would be safe.”
