Three
THERE WOULDN’T BE any need to pretend Pearl didn’t like Lyons. Now she understood why Amelia didn’t want to meet him. The man was menacing, rude, and impossible. He remained there, shoulders hunched and brow furrowed, glancing around with his sharp gaze, as if he planned to kill them all.
As Benedict and Julia kept talking about the beauty of the Champs-Élysées, she took another sip of her tea to spy Christopher from the rim of her cup.
Christopher Lyons was as dark as his friend Benedict was fair. Unfashionably long dark hair reached his shoulders in thick locks that curled at the tips. His obsidian eyes seemed to swallow the light, and even his skin was tanned in an outlandish way.
Although if she was being honest with herself, his strong, harsh features underlined his masculine beauty, and the scar, despite being wide and long, just added a touch of wildness to his menacing air and enhanced the hard line of his lips.
A small flutter started in her belly when he lifted his gaze to her. It wasn’t a polite glance, but an open exploration. Not sexual though. His stare seemed to dig into her soul. It was like being stripped naked and standing exposed and vulnerable in front of him, and she didn’t like the feeling.
Swallowing, she lowered the cup and fiddled with her napkin. Perhaps he guessed she wasn’t Amelia or understood that something about her wasn’t quite right. Julia’s high-pitched laugh jolted her.
“What do you think, Miss Amelia?” Benedict asked.
Pearl peeped up. Amelia was her new name this afternoon. “I’m sorry?”
Christopher glowered again, but she focused on his smiling, charming friend.
Benedict reclined in his chair, seemingly comfortable with his good looks. It was another thing in stark contrast with Christopher. The Earl of Gladstone sat stiff and rigid in the chair, muscles tensing at each noise, as if he were expecting to be attacked any moment. Benedict’s pose was relaxed and friendly, just like his manners.
“I was saying,” Benedict said, wiping his mouth, “that Chris is organising a few days of holiday in his estate in Harpenden.”
“What?” Christopher’s roar shook the air. “I am not.”
Benedict shot him a glare. “Yes, you are. To celebrate—”
“What?” The challenging and warning note in Christopher’s voice was hard to miss.
“Me.” Benedict spread his arms. “Me and my trip in France. I think Miss Amelia and Miss Julia will love the country. Summer is lovely in the country.”
A noise halfway between a snort and a growl came from Christopher. “Ben.”
Benedict waved him into silence. “Ladies?”
Julia shifted in the chair and cast a glance at Pearl.
No. Spending a few days in Christopher’s mansion wasn’t part of the deal Pear had with Miss Cherrywood. Her job ended after this afternoon tea.
“I’m sorry ladies, but my friend Ben talks without thinking,” Christopher said, clenching a fist. “There isn’t any holiday planned.”
“Yes, indeed.” Benedict straightened, but if he was intimated by his friend’s scowl, he didn’t show it. “Dorian is coming to Gladstone for a few days.”
“For business, not for a holiday.”
“What about that Indian prince?” Benedict shot back.
“Indian prince?” Julia perked up.
Benedict nodded. “The elusive Prince Cowasj Singh will be Chris’s guest in Harpenden.”
Christopher’s hand twitched as he shot a murderous glare that could burn a tree at his friend.
The breath caught in Pearl’s chest. Cowasj, the man her father had mentioned in his letter.
“Is it true?” she asked before she could stop her tongue. “Will the prince be there?”
Every stare settled on Christopher. Even the air seemed to still as they waited for his answer.
