Page 12 of The Viscount and the Vicar’s Daughter

“As you please, my lord.”

“You will be present at dinner, I trust.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Tristan gritted his teeth. “You may cease ‘my lording’ me, Miss March. I did not lie to you. Not precisely. My name is Tristan Sinclair. I was about to tell you all when Quinton appeared. Had you given me one minute more—”

“You owe me no explanation.”

“I think I do.”

“Please let me pass, sir,” she said softly.

“Miss March…”

“Please let me pass. We will be remarked.”

He might have detained her longer, but what else could he say? Even if he had a mind to make his apologies, he could hardly do so in the middle of the hall. And as for seduction…

Good lord, was he seriously contemplating an affair with Miss March? She was a meek little lady’s companion. A psalm-quoting vicar’s daughter. And yet…

And yet, at that moment, still reeling from the terrific blow he’d been dealt by his father, Tristan would have given a great deal to take Valentine March in his arms.

He hesitated a second longer and then, reluctantly, stepped aside.

“Thank you,” she said. And then, without a backward glance, she strode briskly past him down the corridor that led to the conservatory. Tristan stood, staring after her much as he had when she fled the folly.

When he turned back to his father, he found the earl watching him, an unreadable expression on his face.

“That was Miss March,” Tristan explained gruffly. “She’s Lady Brightwell’s new companion.”

“Another conquest?”

“Hardly. She’s a vicar’s daughter. When I met her, she even recited a psalm. Can you imagine?” Tristan managed a grim smile. “I daresay I’ve given her a disgust of me.”

“A rarity.”

He cast his father a weighted glance. “I introduced myself to her as Tristan Sinclair. When she discovered I was St. Ashton, she ran away.”

Lord Lynden gave a grunt of approval. “Sounds like the gel has good sense.”

“Good sense? She’s a complete innocent. She shouldn’t even be here. Anything could happen to her.” Tristan’s expression darkened. “You should have seen the way Quinton looked at her. The confounded villain. If he thinks that—”

“My lords!” Lady Fairford called to them as she entered the hall.

Tristan immediately schooled his features into a mask of slightly bored indifference and turned to greet his hostess. He couldn’t help but notice that his father did the same.

Lady Fairford made her way toward them, a provocative swing in her step. She was a voluptuous brunette on the shady side of forty, known for indulging her insatiable appetites as freely as her lecherous husband did. “Just look at the two of you!” she exclaimed. “It’s been years since I’ve seen you in a room together! How handsome you both look! And so very alike. What a coup it is that I shall have you both at my table this evening.”

“I beg your pardon, ma’am,” Tristan began, “but my father—”

“I look forward to it,” Lord Lynden said. “And I’m pleased to tell you that my travel plans have changed. It appears I’ll be staying in Yorkshire awhile longer. I trust you have room to accommodate me.”

Tristan’s eyes narrowed at his father. What the devil was he up to?

“You wish to stay here?” Lady Fairford’s toothy smile turned a touch brittle. “How splendid! But perhaps you’d be more comfortable at the inn? Fairford House is not what it once was, you know. The rooms do get a bit drafty on occasion. I would hate for you to take ill.”

“Rubbish,” Lord Lynden declared. There was steel in his voice. “A room here will suit me very well, madam. If you’ll only direct me to it, I shall retire until dinner.”