Sterling choked back a bark of laughter. The nerve of the chit.
“Most tragic,” Vane murmured. “Will you be staying long enough to visit the priory ruins? I’m happy to offer my guidance. It is quite something.”
She sent Vane a brilliant smile. “Oh, I would enjoy that above all else,” she replied, sable lashes batting.
So much for enacting the mourning widow. Enough was enough.
“My lady, correct me if I’m wrong, but I do not believe you have taken your daily nap,” Sterling said then.
“My…nap?”
He sent her an indulgent smile. “Indeed. You mustn’t let us keep you. As my dear, departed cousin often noted, with a fond twinkle in his eye, you are never so dismayed than when your tendency to bristle like a woman possessed rears its ugly head as it so frequently does upon missing your prescribed rest.”
She blinked at him, her mouth forming a smallo. Then she aimed a hard smile at him. “You are all that is gracious and kind, my lord.”
“Think nothing of it.” With a nod and a finger waggle, he directed her to the exit.
With the aplomb of a queen, she spared one last gracious nod for Vane, then whirled on her heel and stalked from the chamber.
***
Annabelle shot down the length of corridor, heart racing.
The nerve of the man! He had dismissed her like a common servant,again. And yet, instead of the ire she ought to feel, she felt undeniably exhilarated. Animated.Alive.
She had done it. She had taken charge, refusing to be ordered about by the likes of him. What’s more, she’d proven his insulting accusation unjust. She had no need to trick or trap or manipulate anyone into marriage. She could have her pick of husbands.
She was pretty. More than pretty. Everyone said so. She was no pale, tow-headed child with too-large teeth for her mouth, forced to wear a pirate’s patch thanks to having one eye that tended not to work with the other.
Witness Lord Vane. The man wearing too much pomade and an expensive, overly flamboyant waistcoat had clearly been awed by her looks—as every man was. As mostwomenwere.
But not Lord Randall. Of course not. He was far too good for the likes of her—or so he thought.
She’d marched halfway up the spiral staircase before she realized what she’d done. She halted in her tracks and drew a shuddering breath.
No. She wouldn’t go haring off into hiding. She had nothing to be ashamed of, and besides, Lord Randall still owed her an answer.
Lifting her chin, she made an about-face and started down the stairs, moving at a pace that belied the blood still pounding in her veins.
A rush of wind, as if a door had been opened, swirled over her in a rush, riffling her skirts, chilling her exposed skin, and icing her cheeks. With sudden horror, she realized they were wet. She was crying, and she couldn’t even say why.
It had to be his fault.
Enough. She scrubbed the salty tracks and reminded herself she was a Montrose. One of the beautiful people, theelite, as her mother always reminded her. Tears were for ugly people.
Her composure was firmly in place by the time she reached the office and peered inside, half expecting to see the viscount waiting for her, a look of impatience on his face as he presided behind his desk.
He had yet to return. But the chamber was not vacant. Babette flitted about the space, humming and running her little feather duster over every surface she could reach.
Annabelle entered and approached the nearest bookshelf, intending to peruse the contents for something to read while she awaited the viscount.
Babette gave a sudden yelp, then practically levitated as she spun around to face Annabelle, her honey-golden brown eyes wide as saucers, her cleaning implement held before her like a sword.
Before Annabelle could utter the first word of reassurance, Babette’s expression transformed to one of clear concern—forAnnabelle. “Milady is sad?” she asked, inching closer, as one might when approaching a timid animal.
Annabelle frowned. “No, milady is not,” she replied stiffly. She eyed the young maid. “Why did it frighten you so when I came in?”
The maid lowered her gaze and twirled the feather duster in her hand. “Sometimes, people can hide. They can trick you, sneak up behind you. Hurtyou.”
