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I swallowed, watching her eyes light up in the afternoon light. I wasn’t sure what I was feeling. Last night, in the library…
It was absurd. Why did I keep thinking about her?
“Oh, my Lord!” Miss Radcliffe suddenly noticed my presence, her pretty face coloring pink.
She bowed, and I nodded my head.
Behind her, Amelia had frozen, her eyes wide and afraid. She was likely worried about what had happened the night before. There was no reason for her to worry; after I’d realized she was too drunk to stay awake, I’d carried her back to her bedroom. We hadn’t been seen, and I’d done nothing untoward,of course.
I might have been a rake, but I wouldn’t do anything to an innocent girl like her.
Granted, she didn’t know that. And even getting drunk with me, alone, was enough to ruin the reputation of a lady. But, as Amelia had made clear, shewasn’ta lady.
“Good afternoon, ladies.” I said, striding up to them.
They both nodded, Miss Radcliffe’s expression full of anticipation, and Amelia’s still full of apprehension.
“Can I ask what’s so humorous?”
Miss Radcliffe bit her lip, throwing Amelia a look.
“Well, my Lord…” she began, and then let out a small, nervous giggle. “We were just examining this portrait…”
I turned to the wall beside us. There was a large and extremely ugly painting of some ancient Thorne, Bartholomew. His head was entirely too small for his body, giving him the appearance of a circus act.
Without thinking, I turned to Amelia, laughing.
“We used to laugh at this painting all the time, did we not? Poor old Bartholomew Thorne.”
Her face colored bright red. I saw Cassandra looking between us, an intrigued expression on her face.
“I don’t know, my Lord…” Amelia stammered, looking down.
I felt a flicker of annoyance at her avoidance. I knew wehadlaughed at this painting… countless times.
“Don’t be shy,MissAllen.” I chided, emphasizing the formality of her name. “We did indeed. In fact, I thinkyouwere the one who found it funny in the first place.”
I saw Amelia’s nervous expression slowly melt into one of mild annoyance. I smiled, satisfied that I had bothered her out of shyness.
I turned suddenly to Miss Radcliffe, flashing her my most dashing smile.
“Now Miss Radcliffe, what do you think – did the artist do poor Bartholomew a grave disservice… or was he indeed so small-headed?”
The girl looked at me with wide eyes, and then laughed.
“I cannot begin to guess, my Lord. I hope it was the former.”
“Indeed. As a Thorne, I hope that too.”
Miss Radcliffe smiled.
I couldn’t deny that Cassandra Radcliffe was beautiful. Her complexion was milky perfection, and her bright green eyes and red hair gave her the appearance of an exotic Scottish beauty.
But Miss Radcliffe was simply not my type. She was too young and too innocent. Contrary to what the gossips seemed to think, I didn’t relish ruining the reputations ofproperyoung ladies… unless they asked me to, of course.
Then, I was happy to oblige.
“Well, what are your plans for the afternoon?” I asked, raising my eyebrows in Amelia’s direction.
