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“I pluck.” Rosalind looked down at her slippers. Perhaps Torrington adored music. The fact she did not could serve to make her uninteresting. “I’ve no musical aptitude to speak of, if that satisfies your curiosity, my lord. You will not be subjected to a recital of my non-existent talents as the duke’s music room does not possess a harp.” She looked back up at him. “My mother is prone to exaggerate my talents, my lord.”
“Undoubtedly.” The smile stayed fixed on his lips as he took her in.
Rosalind’s mouth hardened as she focused on one of the brilliant pink blooms right in front of her nose. Very pretty but lacking in scent. Odd, papery petals. Exotic in appearance. The bush gave her something else to think about besides Torrington being so close.
“I think we are both aware of Lady Richardson’s machinations, my lord,” she finally said.
“Machinations?” His dark brows lifted. “You make her sound positively Machiavellian. Perhaps you’ll apprise me.”
Torrington probably wielded that smoky timbre like a weapon against every woman in London. Rosalind did not mean to be counted in that number and told the insistent hum along her arms to cease. She lifted her chin. “May I speak plainly, my lord?”
“I assumed you were, Miss Richardson.”
Rosalind’s lips tightened. Her irritation at Granby’s shrubbery, her mother, and Lord Torrington was growing by leaps and bounds. “My lord, I do not know what my mother has done to bring you here—”
“To the garden?” he interrupted, forehead wrinkling in confusion.
Rosalind gritted her teeth so hard, she thought one might crack. He was purposefully annoying her. He knew full well Mother was matchmaking. Any gentleman would have to be blind and deaf not to notice. “I meant, my lord, your attendance at this house party. Surely you know she seeks to make a suitable match.”
“She does? I hadn’t realized Lady Richardson wished to remarry.”
Rosalind scanned the area around them, looking for something she could toss at Torrington and perhaps knock the sarcasm from his possibly padded shoulders. “Your manner would give any young lady pause, my lord.”
Torrington was looking down at her with far too much interest from eyes she’d taken to be brown but were another color entirely. There were striations of amber floating in the depths, giving the orbs a more golden hue. The same color of the earrings her mother had insisted Rosalind wear to dinner the other evening. The amber of his eyes shimmered as the sunlight caressed his cheeks.
Lovely.
“So, you admit to deliberately not furthering our acquaintance, Miss Richardson.”
“I didn’t see the point, my lord. We are obviously not suited to each other.”
“How on earth would you know? You’ve spent the entire house party scurrying away from me like a frightened rabbit.” Torrington’s gaze shifted, landing firmly on her mouth.
“I don’t believe I’ve ever scurried.”
“Regardless, I’d like to know what I’ve done to offend you other than being someone your mother wished for you to meet.” A curl fell to dance against his cheek, and he absently pushed it away, only to have it return a moment later.
Rosalind blinked. Torrington was far too distracting. Highly unsuitable for her in every way she could possibly imagine. Surely, he had no real interest in her. Rosalind was far from being the most stunning lady in attendance, and she’d purposefully made herself so boring he couldn’t possibly find her the least entertaining. “I see I must be blunt with you, my lord.”
“I doubt you can speak any other way. Go on.”
Her lips pressed together. The flippant way in which he spoke to her, as if he knew her far better than their brief acquaintance allowed, annoyed Rosalind. Perhaps Torrington required a more direct dismissal from her. “Lady Richardson is matchmaking and wishes me to wed.”
“But you do not share her opinion.” The low purr of his voice buffeted her skin. “Is it me you object to then, Miss Richardson? Or marriage in general?” He held up a hand. “I’m merely curious.”
“Both, my lord. I’m sorry to say I do not find you the least appealing. There is nothing about you which draws my interest.”
Torrington gave her a thoughtful look. He pushed back the curl again. “Really?”
“Forgive me, my lord, but it is true.” Rosalind looked away as the lie stuck in her throat. She did think Torrington appealing, which, in essence, was the problem. “I’ve never found older gentlemen to be attractive. I find mature men to be... repulsive.” Rosalind swallowed. “And there is the matter of your past.”
“My past?”
“My father was a former rake, my lord. There is no reason to repeat history, so to speak.” Rosalind kept her voice steady. “I’ve no desire to be a brood mare for an aging rogue in need of an heir.” She repeated the words she’d said to Romy. “That may be unkind to say, but it is the truth.”
“Your candor is appreciated.”
“I would make a poor wife, my lord.”
