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Antony was struggling to keep control of his mirth. Lady Hermione Rogers’ embarrassment was plain to see, for now she could barely lift her eyes to him at all, and her face was blushing bright red. He tried to draw her into conversation a few times, but when she resisted, it was plain to see that he had offended her the night before.
That thrilling argument seemed as far away from him now as the stars themselves. It was a great disappointment.
“Do you visit London often, Your Grace?” the Earl of Branigan asked him, clearly looking keenly at him for an answer.
“Not in recent years,” Antony said. “I find little pleasure in the place.” To his surprise, this news appeared to make Lord Branigan smile as though he had said something that was music to his ears. “I expect my brother will attend the events of the ton in future years. He has to first finish his commission with the navy, however.”
“The navy?” Lady Phoebe Rogers said, looking up from her plate and turning to Fergus at her side. “What is that like?”
“Not as exciting as you would think,” Fergus said, apparently not having noticed the way in which Lady Phoebe Rogers was smiling sweetly at him. Antony could see it plainly and hid his temptation to laugh behind his coffee cup. “There is a lot of standing about on navy ships doing nothing, and then there is a rush of activity whenever we reach a port. I am afraid my tales might bore you intensely.” His listener did not seem bored at all, more or less hanging on his words.
Antony was startled to find his own eyes involuntarily turning back to the beauty sat at a right-angle from him. Lady Hermione Rogers was still doing her best to avoid his gaze and refuse to enter conversation with him. He felt a small kernel of jealousy, wishing Lady Hermione would hang on his words the way Lady Phoebe did his brother’s.
“Lady Hermione,” he said, addressing Hermione directly in desperation to make her talk. “What do you intend to do whilst you are in the country?” She looked up, meeting the gaze of her father first before looking to Antony.
“I do not yet know,” she said simply. The words were spoken so plainly that Antony sighed in disappointment. She was clearly refusing to be drawn into conversation at all. Antony placed his coffee cup back down on the saucer, now that he had finished the dregs and what was left on his plate. With breakfast over, he hoped he could escape this trapped circle of attraction to the woman at his side that was refusing to speak with him.
“If you would excuse us, Your Grace. I must speak to my daughter alone for a few minutes,” Lord Branigan stood to his feet and beckoned Lady Hermione to do the same thing. Clearly startled, she slowly stood too.
As breakfast was tidied away, Antony watched as Lord Branigan and Mrs. Atkins walked Hermione out of the room. They kept glancing back to her with clear admonishment in their faces.
What was that about?
“Lady Phoebe,” Fergus turned to the remaining sister at his side. “Perhaps I could show you around the garden whilst you are here?”
“I would like that very much,” she said with a smile.
“Be sure to take one of the maids with you as a chaperone, dear. You cannot walk alone,” the Duchess said, patting Fergus’ hand as he stood, without being subtle in the slightest.
“Mother,” Fergus hissed quietly in warning of how obvious she was being.
“Apologies, I mean. Enjoy, Lady Phoebe. The garden really is very beautiful,” she said with glee. As the two of them hurried out of the room, Rose turned back to face Antony. “Did I say something wrong?”
“I think my brother is not so much asking Lady Hermione to walk in interest of courtship as just being a good host, mother,” he said, standing and peering out of the window to see Fergus leading Phoebe out into the gardens. He seemed to be making a point of standing a little distance away from Phoebe.
“What a shame,” Rose said, sinking back down into her chair. “It’s still going to be some time before I get those grandchildren, isn’t it?” Antony chuckled at his mother’s words.
“I’m afraid it might well be. Now, if you would excuse me, there is something I need to do.” He kissed his mother on the forehead before leaving the room and heading back to the sports hall. There was some equipment he needed to collect before he headed outside in desperate need of burning off this desire that was thrumming in his veins for Lady Hermione.
* * *
“Do not say anything for a minute,” Rufus warned as they stepped into the hallway. Hermione felt her wrist held in the pincer-like grip again as her father drew her toward the staircase.
“Ow, ow,” she complained as he held even tighter than before. As they hurried up the steps, Cordelia followed them with haste. “Father, loosen your grip a little. I am hardly going to run away, am I?”
“I do not understand you in the slightest, child,” he muttered, more to himself than in response to her at all.
By the time they reached the top of the stairs, Hermione’s wrist was burning with pain. Her father dragged her all the way to her guest chamber and hurried her inside with Cordelia behind him. Once the door was closed, leaving the three of them alone, he looked back to her, with his hands on his hips and his nostrils flaring.
“What on earth were you thinking?” he said with sharp words. For an awful minute, Hermione feared he knew exactly what had happened between her and the Duke the night before.
