Bram strode into the visitor’s parlor, annoyed but not surprised to find Lady Trowbridge waiting for him. She rose, smiling, and approached him with her hand held out as though he were supposed to politely bow over it.
“I might have known,” he muttered, ignoring her outstretched hand. “I dinna have time for yer nonsense, nor will I ever have time for it. Do I need to be clearer?”
“And here I’ve come offering a truce,” she remarked with a feline purr that he found so irritating that it made his teeth hurt.“You cruelly blamed me for attempting to steal Miranda’s cheap necklace, and now Montrose will not permit Louisa to have anything to do with me.”
“I knew the lad had brains,” Bram said, trying not to show the remark about thecheapnecklace having further roused his indignation. Miranda treasured that necklace, and this was all that mattered. “Louisa is best kept away from ye and her scheming mother.”
“And you,” she said, once again purring and coming closer to rub herself against him like an irritating cat. “You don’t really want to keep away from me, do you?”
But one touch of his wet jacket had her taking a step back. Just like a cat, she had an aversion to water.
He stifled his laughter while he took her by the elbow and ungently escorted her out of his home.
His timing was perfect, for there was a huge thunderclap at that very moment, and the rain suddenly fell on them in a deluge.
Lady Trowbridge screamed and cursed. Ah, ever the lady.
The downpour soaked him worse than he already was, but he took great pleasure in knowing Lady Trowbridge got the worst of it.
She shrieked and ran to her waiting carriage the moment he released her, but the damage had been done. Her gown was soaked and strips of her fashionably styled hair had come undone, not to mention her fashionable hat was a limp mess and now dangling off her head. “You’ll regret this, Solway!” she yelled.
“No’ as much as ye’ll regret messing me with me or anyone under my protection. I am no’ a nice man, Lady Trowbridge. Ye dinna want to find out what I will do if ye cross me.”
Mortinson’s eyes were wide and his mouth agape as Bram turned away, without helping the lady into her carriage, and strode back inside.
One of her footmen jumped down to assist her. Not that Bram cared. He’d delivered an appropriate warning and hoped the she-cat would take it to heart—assuming she had a heart, which he did not think she did.
“Mortinson, that woman is never to be admitted into my house.”
“Yes, Your Grace. My apologies for ever allowing her in.”
“Ye did no’ know. However, if Lady Miranda Lawson or her niece, Gwenys Lawson, ever call here, ye are to give them every courtesy.”
“Understood, Your Grace.”
He clopped up the stairs and tossed off his wet clothes while calling for Caulfield to bring him a fresh suit of clothes.
No wonder Miranda was so tortured. It pained him to think of all she had endured, a young widow dealing with humiliation and loss, receiving nothing but malice from her husband’s family and a conniving viper of a mistress.
The sky had cleared and the air had cooled by the time he rode to Miranda’s townhouse in the twilight hour with his pouch of invitations.
Miranda’s butler, a kindly, elderly fellow by the name of Humbolt, opened the door to him. “Ah, Your Grace. Lady Miranda asked me to escort you to her study when you arrived. This way, please.”
Bram followed him down the short hall, not certain why he was led to the study and not the parlor. Perhaps she wished to review the invitations first, and setting up here was more convenient.
He set his pouch down on a small table in the corner beside a large window that overlooked her garden, which looked quitelovely amid the last gleams of sunlight. The spring flowers on display were quite colorful.
He turned away from the window and glanced around the room. There was a large mahogany desk in the center, quite masculine in appearance and not at all a dainty lady’s desk. Off to the side were bookshelves that contained binders that each had a year running down the spine, mixed in with an assortment of books. Upon closer inspection, he noted that the books were on financial and agricultural topics.
Miranda had a head for business.
The carpet was of oriental design in shades of maroon and gold. Clearly, this was a working area and not merely decorative.
Gwenys rushed in while he was still perusing the room. “Your Grace! It is so good to see you again. I’m sorry we did not have the chance to speak earlier, but we were inundated by callers, as you saw. I’m so glad Aunt Miranda invited you to dine with us. We shall have the chance to speak quietly and at our leisure.”
“Aye, lass. I was thinking much the same.”
“She said you were going to escort us to our evening engagements. Is this true? I cannot tell you how relieved I am to hear this. Not that I expect any problems to arise, but…”
