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“Very well,” she said, turning slightly. “In the gun room?”
“Yes, that will be fine.”
“I shall see you there, my lord, in ten minutes.” She slipped out of the room and headed toward the gun room. She pulled the spectacles out of her pocket and onto her nose. A stray strand of hair had worked itself loose and she left it hanging along the side of her face.
She realized her heart was pounding. She couldn’t be rude, not overtly. She had to be ...
“Lady Frances?”
She started, whirling about to see him standing in the open doorway.
“Yes,” she said, not moving an inch.
“I haven’t had much chance to speak to you.”
“No,” she said.
Damned ungrateful wench, Hawk thought, then immediately felt guilty. She couldn’t help her appearance, couldn’t help that she looked a fright next to her lovely sisters.
“Clare showed me many of her paintings. Has she done one of you?”
Frances looked over at him for the first time. She squinted, and wanted to grin at the slight stiffening of his face. “Yes.”
“I should like to see it.”
He was trying to be pleasant, damn him. “I don’t
know where it is.”
“Oh, a pity. Do you like to read?”
She heard the distaste in his voice, and realized that Clare must have gotten carried away with Lord Byron. She should have known that Clare wouldn’t realize that English gentlemen had blocks in their heads for brains. Poor Clare, wasting her precious poetry on an oaf of a man.
Frances raised her chin, wishing she could see him more clearly through the murky lenses. She realized that she was a bit disappointed that this man in particular fit her image of English gentlemen in general—gentlemen who thought the printed word a pleasure only for fools. “Yes,” she said, forcing her voice into a boring monotone. “I read the classics, of course. In Greek and Latin, and I much enjoy reading Chaucer aloud on long winter nights.” Did he look as if he’d just swallowed more of Doris’ soggy trifle? Take that, you arrogant ...
“Do you like to visit and go to balls and parties?”
He likes gaiety, wit, and charm.
“No,” she said, with not so much as a creak of hesitation. “I much prefer being alone.”
“With your Greek and Latin?”
“Yes.”
“And you like to be outdoors, do you not?”
“Yes, alone.”
“Ah.”
There were several minutes of absolute silence. She felt no compunction to say anything. It was his bloody interview, after all. She kept her eyes on her toes.
Hawk cleared his throat. “Thank you, Lady Frances,” he said, turned, and left the room.
His brow was furrowed as he strode to his bedchamber. By the time he opened the door, he was smiling with grim determination.
Grunyon wasn’t there.
