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Mrs. Crawford eyed her for a moment. She didn’t look the least bit convinced. “All right, then. But don’t stand on ceremony here. If you feel overcome, you have my permission to leave.Immediately.” She then resumed her conversation with the ancient man to her left.
“Thank you, madam,” Sylvia said with all the dignity she could muster under the current circumstances.
Whatever was ailing Mr. Davies worsened. She cast a sidelong glance at him, but it appeared he waslaughing. He flashed her a conspiratorial smile free of artiface, and for a very brief moment the room faded away. No more richly bejeweled ladies, gentlemen in country tweeds, or bustling maids trying to hide their exhaustion. It was just the two of them, staring at each other as if they were sharing some delightful secret, some kind of elemental recognition, of like finding like. A feeling of warmth that came very close to comfort began to sweep over her as his gaze seemed to move beyond the perfectly modest, carefully bland exterior Sylvia had created, exposing her true form.
She inhaled sharply at the thought and belatedly realized she had been on the verge of smiling back, like a fool. Like a woman who actuallywantedto be noticed by the gorgeous son of an earl. The teacup she had been gripping clattered against the saucer, thoroughly breaking whatever spell had just come over her.
“I––I think I will go after all.” She had meant to address Mrs. Crawford, but her eyes were still entangled with Mr. Davies’s. His smile began to fade as she forced herself to turn away.
Mrs. Crawford distractedly waved a hand, too fixated on the man to her left, but Georgiana squeezed her wrist. “Do you want me to come with you?”
Her sympathy made Sylvia feel even more ridiculous. “No. Please. Stay here. Enjoy yourself.”
Georgiana opened her mouth, likely to argue, but then glanced toward Mr. Davies and gave a reluctant nod. “I’ll check on you before supper.”
Sylvia whispered her thanks and stood. Mr. Davies immediately rose, followed a beat later by the other gentlemen, several of whom grumbled under their breath at the momentary inconvenience. She managed a nod as she excused herself, taking care not to look directly at him. But as she carefully picked her way through the room, she felt a heavy gaze tracking her every step, burning the back of her neck until she disappeared through the doorway.
Chapter Two
Mr. Davies?”
Rafe tore his gaze from the doorway and turned to Lady Taylor-Smyth, who had apparently just asked him a question he hadn’t heard a word of.
Damn. That wasn’t like him.
“Terribly sorry,” he said, flashing her his most rakish smile. “Could you repeat that?”
Good thing Rafe had a reputation for not being particularly sharp. The woman looked amused rather than irritated. “I asked if you had ever been to Scotland before,” she crooned, not at all noticing the source of his distraction.
He shook his head. “I’ve visited nearly every part of the Continent, but I had never been north of York until today.”
“How exciting for you.” The alluring baroness’s dark eyes stared intently into his own. “I’ve been coming to this area since I was a girl. My granny was a Glaswegian. I’d be happy to show you around, if you’d like.” Then she lowered her voice. “Just the two of us.”
The suggestive note in her words made it very clear what sorts of things they could get up to alone. Only five minutes in her company and she was already propositioning him. That was certainly a first.
As she continued to describe the many charms of the Scottish Lowlands, Rafe tilted his head to at least appear like he was listening to the woman this time, but his mind was still occupied by the one who had practically fled his company.
Yet another first, but a much less welcome one.
Miss Sparrow was pretty enough to catch the eye, with a mass of light brown hair trying valiantly to escape its pins and fine, almost elfin features, yet most people wouldn’t pay her much notice while she stood next to the outrageous Mrs. Crawford or the voluptuous Lady Arlington, whom he had met before in London.
But then, Rafe wasn’t most people.
On first glance Miss Sparrow appeared to be little more than a timid lady’s companion finding her feet with an overbearing employer, but her ink-stained fingers and slightly rumpled clothing gave her away. She reminded him of those confounding New Women types he saw in London sometimes, riding bicycles, working in offices, and meeting in groups to discuss plans to win the vote. Was this Miss Sparrow one of them?
The idea was rather intriguing.
There was a hidden sharpness vibrating in her just below the surface, if one only bothered to look. Rafe strongly suspected that she possessed a bone-dry sense of humor she likely took great pains to conceal in front of her employer, except the poor girl had a pair of enormous gray eyes that betrayed even her most fleeting emotion. It was the hint of challenge in her gaze that had so thoroughly arrested him mere moments ago, before it turned sour.
Rafe had never minded acting like a useless aristocrat before, as his work on behalf of the Crown required him to play up his blue-blooded roots, but the sort of people he usually caroused with were cut from the same cloth. Seeing that brief little flit of disapproval pass over Miss Sparrow’s features had unexpectedly stung.
Lady Arlington also watched Miss Sparrow’s exit with a look of concern very different from the tranquil expression she normally wore. She glanced toward him and immediately turned away, her face now carefully blank. Rafe brought his teacup to his lips and took a long, considering sip despite the warning note echoing through his head.
He didn’t have time to be distracted by an awkward young woman suffering from a bout of nerves. He had arrived at the castle only hours ago at the behest of his host, who suspected one of his guests was behind a series of anonymous threats. But Rafe couldn’t ignore the prickling sensation at the back of his neck. The one that began when his eyes met Miss Sparrow’s from across the room. The one that he suspected she felt too, until she bolted from her chair. She may have found him distasteful, may think of him as nothing more than a callow rogue, but something else had crossed that lovely little face of hers before she left. Something like fear.
Rafe shook his head and recalled his purpose. Wardale thought this would be an excellent chance for him to meet the other guests, most of whom he already knew. It was the usual mix of aristocrats and nouveau riche. Rafe shoved all thoughts of Miss Sparrow aside and focused on performing the role of charming dilettante. But in between his jokes and bon mots, his attention was drawn more and more to Lady Arlington, who had grown steadily quieter since Miss Sparrow left. Renowned for her gold-spun beauty and highly respected for her charitable efforts, she was married to a viscount who was nearly twenty years her senior. Rafe didn’t object to the age gap, as his own parents were similarly paired, but Viscount Arlington’s vicious streak was legendary. He was particularly harsh on the many female workers who populated the garment factories he had been given as an inducement to marry well below his station. There were also whispers that the viscount was furious that his marriage of nearly a decade still hadn’t resulted in an heir.
How could such an effervescent woman find any kind of happiness with a man like that? Perhaps this Miss Sparrow had proved to be a valuable source of friendship. From what little Rafe had observed, the two women seemed remarkably at ease with one another. Like friends. Likeoldfriends.
