Nor is Christopher in the habit of calling me Darling, of course. Especially not in that smug, condescending tone.
“I know it’s none of my business,” she began, “but is everything okay?”
I managed a tight smile. “Everything’s fine, Florence. Where are you off to this evening? That’s a lovely dress you have on.”
“Oh.” She giggled. “This old thing?”
I refrained from rolling my eyes, since the dress was this year’s fashion, and clearly worth every one of the not insignificant pounds she’d spent on it. “Are you going to a party?”
No one had invited me or Christopher to anything, or maybe Christopher just hadn’t bothered to mention it, since he’d had other plans.
“Soiree at Lady Montfort’s,” Florence said, with a hopeful look in Crispin’s direction. “Any chance that’s where you’re headed, too, Mr. Astley?”
But Crispin shook his head. “The Jungman sisters are having a Black and White party tonight. But if you’ll allow me, I’d be pleased to drop you off on the way, Miss… um…Florence.”
Florence grinned. Whether it was in response to the offer of a lift or the use of her first name was uncertain, but either way, she was clearly and obviously delighted.
“Behave yourself,” I hissed to Crispin as we landed in the lobby with the usual accompanying noises I hoped would cover my words.
I wouldn’t have bothered to admonish Christopher, who wasn’t interested in Florence or her fortune, or for that matter in women in general, but Crispin had a reputation for much faster living. The Jungman sisters, Zita and Teresa, were firmly entrenched among the Bright Young Set, and besides, Florence believed he was Christopher. The last thing we needed was for Crispin to take advantage of the girl, and for it to blow back on Christopher when she ended up in the family way.
“Don’t do anything Christopher wouldn’t do,” I told him, “or I will personally ensure that it’s the last heir you sire!”
I expected a sneer. What I got was a broad grin. “Why, Darling, I didn’t know you cared!”
He reached past me to pull back the grille as the lift door to the lobby opened.
“I don’t,” I said, stepping back out of the way so he could bow Florence out. Once she was safely in the lobby, hopefully out of range of hearing, I continued. “I mean it, St George. If you do anything to hurt Christopher, I will make you regret it. Don’t think I won’t.”
He looked at me for a second with cool, gray eyes—so different from Christopher’s warm blue ones—before he said, “I wouldn’t doubt it, Darling. Now, if you’d be so kind?”
He nodded to the open door. “Places to go, people to see, you know.”
I gave him one final threatening look before I stepped past the grille and into the lobby. Florence latched onto Crispin’s arm the second he exited the lift, and swept him towards the front door with a jaunty wave over her shoulder. “See you around, Pippa! Come on, Mr. Astley!”
The bright blue panels of the Hispano-Suiza were clearly visible through the glass.
I waved back, a lot less enthusiastically, and bided my time while Evans held the door for them. And then, when he came back inside, while Crispin was occupied with getting Flossie and her chiffon panels settled in the passenger seat of his beloved H6, I approached Evans to explain, in painstaking detail, why he should never admit the Honorable Crispin Astley upstairs without first warning me, ever again.
When I got back upto the flat, Christopher—or more accurately, Kitty Dupree—was waiting for me in the foyer. The gorgeous dress was topped with a fur-trimmed evening cloak, and the rhinestones of the headband sparkled under the ceiling light. Christopher’s eyes were worried. “What’s going on?”
I closed the door behind me. “How much did you hear?”
“Crispin showed up and told you Grandfather wants to see me tomorrow.”
I nodded. “Evans thought he was you, obviously, and let him up. I went back downstairs with him so I could make sure it won’t happen again. Evans knows Crispin exists now, and if he sees the Hispano-Suiza pull up, he won’t make the same mistake again.”
“Unless Crispin parks somewhere else and walks in,” Christopher muttered.
“Do you really think he’d bother? That seems like a lot of effort for not a lot of gain.”
Christopher didn’t look reassured, and I added, “I’m sure this was just an opportunity that presented itself, that he thought he’d take advantage of. He never misses a chance to irritate either one of us. But I doubt he’d be curious enough to make any extra effort to come back. Why would he?”
“Spying for Grandfather?” Christopher suggested.
That wasn’t a bad suggestion, actually, and one I hadn’t thought of. The Duke of Sutherland ruled the family with an iron fist, despite his advanced age and the fact that he spent most of his time in bed. Just look at the way he had summoned Christopher to his bedside and dispatched Crispin to tell him so, and they had both jumped to accommodate him.
But he wasn’t able to get around to gather his own intelligence anymore. And Crispin had always bent over backwards to stay on good terms with his grandfather. With all that money, not to mention the title, at stake, it was hard to blame him, honestly.
