Page 33 of A Remarkable Rogue

The horse’s hooves rang out on the cobblestones as Nate trotted through the open iron gates and up the short drive to Harlow House.

He reined his horse to a stop and dismounted, then turned to gaze up at the town house. Although it was less than half the size of St James House, the dowager house was still impressive; its white stone façade demanded appreciation of its elegance and commanded attention from the wide street fronting it.

Isabel Sinclair, Countess of St James, had requested his presence at afternoon tea in an invitation delivered to him at the barracks by a uniformed footman. Not a summons exactly, but as an officer, he couldn’t refuse an invitation from a family who were close acquaintances with Lord Liverpool and the War Secretary—not if he valued his military career. He was certain both the earl and Lady St James realized that, too. Judging from how the groom hustled to take his horse and the butler waited at the front door to greet him, she’d informed her household staff to expect him.

He grimaced. This was far different from dropping by for tea with Lady Agnes. Being formally asked here unnerved him. Why on earth had the countess invited him, when he’d made clear that he wanted nothing to do with the Sinclairs?

“This way, sir.” The butler bowed and gestured for Nate to follow him through the house to the rear gardens. Lady St James and Alexander Sinclair waited on the terrace, where a small table was elegantly set for tea.

“Captain Reed, you’ve arrived.” Isabel Sinclair came forward to greet him. At her overly bright smile, Nate suspected she was just as uneasy as he was. “How wonderful you’ve come.”

“Countess.” Nate bowed politely, not bothering to hide his grim expression. Then he shot an equally somber glance at Alec. “Sinclair.”

Alec nodded. “Reed.”

Nate and his half brother had worked well together since Clayton Elliott and the Home Office assigned them the mission to stop Scepter. Nate couldn’t deny that. Yet their interaction was still contentious.

Certainly Sinclair must have found it trying to have his bastard half brother thrust into his life like this. True, Nate had known for the past decade that Alexander Sinclair was his brother, and he hadn’t cared one whit that he was. But Sinclair had known for less than two years, and to him, Nate was a living reminder of the old earl’s depraved life.

“Thank you for coming.” The countess took Nate’s arm and led him forward to the table as if she were afraid he might bolt. The idea was damnably appealing.

Rose-patterned china and silverware immaculately decorated the round table, complete with rosebuds floating in a bowl for the centerpiece and lace-edged napkins gracing each plate. It was more formality and elegance than he was used to as a soldier, and far more than he wanted.

Yet to prove he could behave like a gentleman, he assisted the countess with her chair. Then he took the place she indicated to her right as St James dropped into the chair opposite him.

She signaled to the butler to begin the tea service.

Nate shifted uncomfortably on his chair. The meeting was all oh-so quaint and friendly, as if they did this sort of thing together every afternoon. As if he wasn’t the bastard son of her debauched late husband. That was the elephant in the room.

Elephant?Hell, it was the whole damned Tower menagerie.

“To what do I owe this invitation, ma’am?” His question was polite but to the point and exactly how he planned on conducting the rest of their conversation until they finished their tea and this awkward afternoon ended.

“I’ve been remiss in inviting you to Harlow House since you arrived in London.” Her beaming smile remained glued in place despite the nervous trembling of her hands as she unfolded her napkin and placed it on her lap. “I wanted to make amends by inviting you this afternoon. I thought we might enjoy tea in the garden since the flowers are blooming so beautifully…and perhaps chat a little…to come to know each other better.”

He leaned back in the chair and ignored the butler and footman as they poured his tea and placed tiny cakes and sandwiches onto his plate. He had no intention of tasting any of it. Nor sniffing any flowers. “That isn’t necessary.”

Her smile wavered only a moment at his response. She was trying hard.Veryhard. Even St James was behaving extremely well despite not saying much. Or perhaps because of it.

Why they were both working so hard to put him at ease, though, he had no idea, but the attempt was making him damnably uncomfortable.

“Well,” she agreed, “perhaps not necessary, but hopefully enjoyable.” Her smile grew impossibly brighter. “Can’t we all share a pleasant afternoon tea?”

Nate leveled his gaze on her. “No.”

Isabel Sinclair’s smile vanished. Lowering her gaze to the napkin on her lap, she said nothing while the footman finished the service.

If what she was hoping for was an erasure of the family’s guilt, Nate could tell her right now that he didn’t plan to grant absolution. Some battles couldn’t be won. He would tolerate this farce of a friendly tea for his mother’s sake, but he wouldn’t make this easy for any of the Sinclairs.

When the footman finished pouring the cups and retreated to the edge of the terrace, she exhaled a long sigh of acquiescence. “Very well.” She reached for her teacup. “If you wish to proceed right to the matter, we can.”

He pushed his own cup away, not wanting either of them to wrongly believe he brooked society pretense. Or thought he truly belonged at an afternoon tea with a countess and an earl. “I think that best.”

She frowned, her drawn brows marring her forehead with a faint wrinkle.

Isabel Sinclair was a striking woman for her age, Nate reflected as he watched her struggle with where to begin the explanation of why he was here. The reminder of how wealth could maintain beauty was clear. His mother was the same age as the countess, yet her hands were gnarled and arthritic from working in kitchens, scrubbing pots and pans with harsh soaps, and wringing out laundry. The dark circles beneath his mother’s eyes gave an appearance of constant fatigue and continuous strain that made her look two decades older.

In his earliest memories, when his mother was still young, she’d been just as beautiful as the countess. If not more. Undoubtedly, that same beauty had caught the attention of Rupert Sinclair, late Earl of St James, who forced himself on her and got her with child.