Because the last time this man had looked at her, she'd been babbling about love in a coaching inn. And now…
Well. It had come to this.
"Ah." The duchess rose, her composure impeccable. "Lady Clarissa. How good of you to come. May I introduce my nephew, the Earl of Stratton."
His smile was back, smooth and dashing as he pushed away from the mantel and strode toward her. "It's you!"
He was so sure of himself. So dreadfully, sickeningly sure that she'd smile and blush, and perhaps swoon because he remembered her.
A wave of pettiness swept over her and it had her blinking at the man in feigned confusion. "I beg your pardon… Have we met?"
6
She truly didn't remember him.
Kit turned this fact over in his mind as his aunt poured tea for her. Lady Clarissa Whitfield. So. The mystery woman who'd so thoroughly caught his attention had a name.
And she'd entirely forgotten him. Or…she was lying.
He narrowed his eyes on the pretty, wide-eyed young lady sitting with her hands clasped so neatly.
If she felt his eyes on her, she didn't show it.
"Lady Clarissa." Aunt Philippa's voice was warm but measured. "I do apologize for the commotion. My nephew has a habit of speaking before thinking. It is his least attractive quality, though competition for that distinction is fierce."
"How kind," Kit murmured.
Lady Clarissa did not look over. In fact, she had not looked at Kit since entering the room. She hadn't so much as acknowledged his existence since those three words. Have we met?
"Of course, Your Grace," Lady Clarissa said quietly.
And then she went back to silence. Kit's brow furrowed as he considered this woman before him. Have we met?
Perhaps they hadn't met. Because this young lady—while just as pretty and graceful—bore little resemblance to the lively, excitable, breath of fresh air he'd encountered at the coaching inn.
No, this young lady before him was nothing like that. True, she was seated across from a particularly formidable dowager duchess. And yes, she was taking tea with the heir to a dukedom. So it was only right, he supposed, that she be more reserved.
But this was not that.
He frowned as he took her in. So composed. With her teacup held just so, she answered the duchess's questions quietly and with the bare minimum of words. Yes, she was staying with her brother, Lord Alderton. Yes, she was enjoying the Season. Yes, she was grateful for the duchess's kind invitation.
All lies. Kit could tell. While she was doing a decent impression of a calm, polished young lady, she was not nearly as good at pretending as he was.
He leaned forward to catch her next response.
What was happening here? Why was she trying so hard to be…well, boring? She might be confused for any young lady he'd met in society over the years. All timid voice, agreeable phrases, and no personality.
As he studied the young lady, the duchess outlined her proposal in careful, diplomatic terms. She spoke of patronage, introductions, and the power of being seen with the right people.
She did not mention fees, he noted. Nor did she mention her charming nephew and his part in this plan. He bristled at that. He was offering to play a rather large part in this farce.
Clarissa listened politely, and her expression gave nothing away.
"I appreciate the offer, Your Grace," she said when the duchess had finished. "May I have some time to consider?"
The duchess dipped her head. "Of course."
A few more formalities passed between them, as Kit continued to be well and truly ignored. Not a state he was used to, really. Particularly not with young ladies present. He had to bite his tongue to keep from interrupting.
