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He knit his brows suspiciously. She was trying to smile and failing, her strained features barely concealing an undercurrent of fear. Clearly she hadn’t been exaggerating when she’d said she didn’t want to marry Sir Charles, but fear? Aversion was one thing, but this...this was something else entirely. Was she afraid of him, then?
‘Please.’ She threw a nervous glance over her shoulder when he still didn’t answer. ‘Just for a few minutes.’
‘You don’t want to be alone with him?’ He felt vaguely disturbed by the idea. ‘Your aunt and brother are here.’
‘It’s not that...’
‘You want to make him jealous?’
Her eyes flew to his. ‘Yes. If he sees us alone together...’
‘He might not like the competition?’
She held his gaze in guilty silence for a few moments before shaking her head. ‘I shouldn’t have asked. I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be. I’m flattered.’
‘Then you don’t object?’
He gave a small shrug, surprised to find that he didn’t object at all.
‘Not if you think it might help, though it might not be the wisest course of action. Some men like a challenge.’
‘I don’t know what he likes!’ Brown eyes flashed tempestuously. ‘But I’ve tried everything else!’
Robert cocked an eyebrow, surprised as much by her vehemence as by the words themselves. What did that mean? That she’d tried ‘everything else’? What else?
His gaze dropped to her extravagant pink dress, so wildly different to her sensible grey outfit from the day before. She seemed to have gone from one extreme to the other. There was nothing remotely sensible about her appearance now. When she’d entered the room he’d thought he’d made a mistake and had the wrong woman. She looked like a younger version of her flamboyant aunt, the ridiculous lace cap on her head framing her face like the petals of a huge flower. Not that there weren’t still points to admire. The tight bodice accentuated curves that had been largely hidden the day before, revealing a surprisingly statuesque figure, shapely waist and ample, round breasts...
He forced his attention back to her words. I’ve tried everything else. Was her outlandish appearance all a façade then, some kind of bizarre attempt to repel Sir Charles? That would explain why she’d looked so embarrassed to see him instead. After charging into the parlour so defiantly, her cheeks had turned almost the same colour as her dress, though he had to admit the effect had been unexpectedly alluring.
‘I’m more than happy to play the rival suitor, Miss Holt.’ He made an ironic bow. ‘Shall I stand here or languish at your feet?’
She shot him a cutting look, opening her mouth to retort before clamping it firmly shut again as the tall, suavely dressed figure of Sir Charles Lester appeared in the doorway.
‘Ianthe.’ The Baronet strode forward at once, grasping her hands and raising them both to his lips, seemingly oblivious to anything unusual in her appearance. ‘You look just as lovely as ever.’
Robert regarded the other man critically. In his mid-fifties, the Baronet had an air of casual, confident authority, with a strong athletic figure and abundance of silver-blond hair. There was nothing obviously untoward or overtly threatening about his appearance, but the hard edge to his features gave him away. It was the same edge he recognised from his father’s face, the same look of a man accustomed to wanting—and getting—his own way.
And in this particular case what the Baronet wanted was obvious. The way he was clutching Ianthe’s wrists put him in mind of a falcon digging its talons into a small bird. As for her... She was standing completely immobile, her whole body stiff and rigid, as if simply awaiting an opportunity to get away.
He tensed, seized by an instantaneous rush of dislike, barely resisting a compulsion to grab the other man by the collar and throw him out on to the street.
‘Felstone.’ Sir Charles addressed him without turning his head. ‘I didn’t think you were the type to make calls on ladies.’
Robert held his temper with an effort. The Baronet’s tone was dismissive, though if he thought he could be chased away so easily, he could think again.
‘I make the occasional exception. When the company’s so pleasant, that is.’
‘Indeed?’ Sir Charles dragged his gaze away from Ianthe’s face at last. ‘Percy told me you met on the train yesterday.’
‘That was my good fortune, yes.’
‘And here you are again today.’ Green eyes narrowed unpleasantly. ‘Isn’t there any work to be done for the gala?’
‘Plenty, I should imagine.’
Robert flung himself back down on the sofa, throwing one leg casually over the other with the air of a man determined to stay put. Antagonising a man with the Baronet’s influence didn’t make particularly good business sense, but then his behaviour seemed to have become increasingly reckless since meeting Miss Holt. Good business or not, he wasn’t going to abandon her now, not when she’d just begged him to stay. As for the man’s ill manners, he’d be more than happy to take issue with those...
