Page 29 of The Duchess Games

“Excellent. Lord Blackpool at your service.”

The earl clearly lived up to his reputation for charm. There was a kindness under the practiced smirk of a rake, for him to put her at her ease. Many would not have bothered. In fact, Cat was suddenly quite sure that was the reason he was sitting next to her, precedence be damned. The dowager duchess would certainly have considered the comfort of the earl, but not necessarily that of a girl beneath her notice who would be forgotten by morning. Summer was different.

“Your sister has a curtsy to make angels weep. As the eldest, I assume you taught her?”

Cat chuckled. “Definitely not. Her prowess is entirely self-won. And I’m afraid she inherited all of the grace in the family,” she added fondly.

“Miss Sparrow,” Lord Blackpool practically purred. She felt it despite herself. “I refuse to believe that.”

He was slightly too close. Slightly too forward.

“You are entirely too modest,” he added. He fairly smoldered at her. He was very good at it. But it only made her want to pat his hand fondly, like a cousin might.

“Blackpool,” Callum said sharply. Something shivered in his hard tone, like a shark moving under dark still waters. Cat did not quite understand it.

Lord Blackpool, clearly, did. He paused, then he sat back abruptly, grinning. It was not the reaction Cat expected. Callum, however, clearly had every confidence that one word spoken would have an effect. He went back to his meal.

“Shall I apologize, Miss Sparrow?”

“Not at all.”

Lord Blackpool sent Cat one last warm, conspiratorial smile before turning to the companion on his left.

“It’s that glad I am, you’ve come home, Your Grace,” Mr. Armstrong said. She had managed to find out who he was by asking one of the maids. He was seated slightly too far away from the duke to be engaging in polite conversation. But he was clearly on fire with the need.

A revenue man to the core.

He was new to the area and that never boded well. He was middle-aged, handsome, and clearly from another county altogether. There wasn’t a hint of the Cornishman about him. He would want to prove himself. He must be the new supervisor the other agents had been waiting on.

“It’s a defiant village,” he added with distaste. “We need the steadying influence of a duke.”

“Is that so?” Callum asked mildly. He slid a glance at Cat out of the corner of his eye.

She was suddenly very interested in her glass of wine.

“Full of smugglers and wreckers, I don’t mind telling you.”

“Is this true?” Lady Imogen asked on a gasp, staring at Cat. Mr. Armstrong followed her gaze.

“Are you the girl from the village then?”

The girl. He was barely ten years older than her. She ground her back teeth. “I am, sir.” She lowered her eyes. She knew it made her appear meek but really she just needed to hide her scowl. She could not let him see her react, could not be memorable.

“I hope you’re grateful for this opportunity to be among your betters. You might take what you learn back to your village.”

She fully intended to.

But not the way he assumed.

Callum’s head snapped up. “I beg your pardon?”

“But I’m sure you’re good and proper. And you’d send word if you saw something suspicious.”

“Of course, sir.” Bollocks to that.

“Send word to me directly, at Mr. Popewell’s.”

Bloody burning bollocks.