"Lady Clarissa." Estella turned to her with a bright smile. "You must tell everyone about your stories."
Clarissa's eyes widened in alarm. "My?—"
"The ones you write for Lord Alderton's daughter," she continued. "John mentioned them. They sound absolutely wonderful."
Every head at the table turned in her direction.
Drat. She hadn't prepared for this. She'd rehearsed responses for every predictable conversation she could imagine. The weather. Her family. Her travels.
But she had not anticipated this. And now, quite suddenly, she found herself the center of attention, with no rehearsed response.
"They're not really stories," she heard herself say. "They're more like—well, they started as letters, because Lucy was so cross that her father had left for London without her, and I thought if I wrote her something amusing it might help. But then the first one ended abruptly because I ran out of paper, and she wrote back demanding to know what happened to the princess, and then I had to write another, and now I think I'm on the seventh installment and the princess has acquired a talking horse and a nemesis who keeps stealing her shoes, and I'm honestly not entirely sure how we got here."
She stopped. The table was staring at her. Oh drat. She'd done it again. She'd opened her mouth and let everything come tumbling out.
But Estella was beaming. Thea looked up from her pamphlet with something resembling interest. And Kit?—
Kit was watching her with an expression she couldn't read. Not the charming smile. But she did catch sight of that silly dimple. How did a man make a dimple seem…well, manly?
It wasn't right. It was vexing, really. But she looked away from him quickly. No dimple would take her in, thank you very much. And she spent the rest of the main course saying as little as humanly possible.
After dinner, the party moved to the drawing room. Estella played something on the pianoforte. Thea returned to her pamphlet, openly now. Lord Blackwood stood by the fire looking grim as ever. And Clarissa found herself by the window, staring at a painting of a horse that was not nearly interesting enough to warrant the attention she was giving it.
"You're avoiding me."
She turned to find Kit leaning against the windowsill beside her, a glass in his hand, the picture of elegant ease. "I beg your pardon?" And then, before he could say it again, she added, "I'm admiring the painting."
It sounded like a lie. Probably because it was one.
He tilted his head. "Can I ask you something?"
She braced herself. "If you must."
"Do you really not remember me?" He said it lightly, but his eyes searched hers with an odd intensity.
She held his gaze. She had committed to this petty lie in the duchess's drawing room, and she would see it through.
The alternative—admitting that she'd recognized him and had lied out of sheer spite…
Well, that was too humiliating. And hadn't she been humiliated enough? So she widened her eyes and forced an innocent expression. "Remember you, my lord?"
"Never mind. My mistake." His smile was easy. "And it's Kit, if you please."
From across the room, Estella's pianoforte filled the space between them. The silence between them stretched. The urge to fill it was almost unbearable.
"Can I ask you something else?" Kit's voice was quieter, and the moment felt more intimate than it ought.
She didn't answer. Really, she didn't trust herself to open her mouth.
His mouth twitched as if he could read her thoughts. "Why are you here? Not at this dinner, I mean in London. Doing this. Going along with my aunt's scheme."
She shifted, the words irritating enough that she fought a huff. His aunt's scheme. As if he had no part in it? As if he was not benefiting from it? She managed to keep those thoughts to herself, but the effort made her next words come out colder than intended. "Your aunt offered her patronage. I have accepted. I do not see where the confusion lies."
"Of course you do," he said.
Her brows shot up. "I beg your pardon."
"I understand that having my aunt's patronage is a boon." He waved a hand is if this was so obvious it was hardly worth a mention. "But I'm confused as to why."
