Free Mad About the Earl by Christina Brooke

slammed his hand flat against the panel to stop it. Before he could move the footman bodily out of the way, Lydgate ducked through the opening and interposed himself between them.
    Lydgate flicked out a card made of creamy stock and handed it to the bemused footman. “Might I suggest that instead of brangling on the doorstep, you ascertain whether Her Ladyship is receiving, my good man? Lords Tregarth and Lydgate to see the marchioness.”
    In taking the card, the footman relinquished his hold on the door. Griffin stepped inside as well.
    Tossing his hat, gloves, and cane on the occasional table, Andrew walked into the hall as if he owned it.
    Griffin followed. The damned fool of a footman remained rooted to the spot, goggling.
    “Weren’t hired for your brains, were you?” Griffin commented. “Do as Lord Lydgate says, and be quick about it.”
    With a wary eye on Griffin, the young man bowed. “I’ll show you into the library, my lord.”
    “Never mind. I know the way,” said Lydgate, waving him off. With a gleam in his eye that Griffin found hard to interpret, he added, “We’ll drink my cousin’s brandy while we wait.”

 
     
    CHAPTER SIX
     
    They were kept kicking their heels far longer than Griffin would have stood for if Lydgate hadn’t been with him.
    But if he had to wait, he might as well find out more about the family he was marrying into. He glanced about him at their deeply masculine surroundings. “If this is Steyne’s house, why doesn’t he live in it?”
    “He does. Usually,” said Lydgate.
    “Then why does he stay at Montford House?” said Griffin.
    Lydgate eyed him coolly. “Why don’t you ask him?”
    The man was right. It was none of his business. Griffin was saved from making a reply by the rustle of silks heralding a female intruder into this male preserve.
    Griffin looked up, rising to his feet.
    She was dark where her daughter was fair. Yet in the lineaments of her oval face, in the fierce, arresting blue of her eyes, Griffin saw Rosamund. His heart gave a sharp pound of recognition.
    The lady’s expressive eyes widened. “Andrew! My dear.” The marchioness spoke in a low, breathy voice.
    “Nerissa.” Lydgate bowed.
    She put out both her hands to him. “What is the meaning of this? You never come to call on me anymore.…” Her fine eyes flickered over Griffin disdainfully. “Ah. But you are not alone, I see.”
    Lydgate barely touched Lady Steyne’s hands before releasing them. His charming smile didn’t reach his eyes, Griffin noticed. “As I don’t doubt you have been informed, ma’am, this is Griffin deVere, Lord Tregarth.”
    When she tilted her head as if she’d never heard the name before, Lydgate gave an exasperated sigh. “Your daughter’s betrothed, Nerissa.” He indicated the lady with a wave of his hand. “Tregarth, Lady Steyne.”
    The lady did not return the courtesy of Griffin’s bow. Her features stilled in an expression of surprise. “This? This is the man my daughter must marry? Good God, Andy. What can Montford be thinking of? I thought he was your groom.”
    Mildly, Lydgate replied, “No you didn’t.”
    Griffin had known the likely reception he’d get. It didn’t bother him one whit. “If you’re quite finished, ma’am, I want to see my future wife.” He grinned. “Why don’t you trot back upstairs and find her for me?”
    She gave a hissing inhale through her small white teeth. “You dare to order me about in my own house?”
    “Not your house, Nerissa,” said Lydgate, inspecting his fingernails. “As it happens.”
    “And also, as it happens,” said Griffin, “your son, the marquis, bade me call.”
    “Oh, he did, did he?” Her features tightened for the fraction of an instant, then smoothed again.
    Her gaze roamed over Griffin, but more slowly this time and with greater attention. A cat-in-the-cream-pot smile spread her lips. “Well, of course he did.”
    On a low laugh, she added, “You are quite, quite perfect as