Free The Conqueror's Dilemma by Elizabeth Bailey Page B

Drumbeg to ignore her.
    ‘Pray don’t let me detain you,
ma’am. I know you have other calls to make.’
    Tiffany could see the reluctance
in Eva’s face, but there was nothing for it but to go. For once the rules
loomed large in Tiffany’s mind, for she knew there was no obligation upon her
hostess even to mention their names to the newcomer. She hoped Mrs Membury
would elect not to exercise the prerogative permitting her to make any introductions
she wished.
    Seeing her chaperon at last come
to her feet, Tiffany breathed an inward sigh of relief and turned to go. Now
she could not avoid glancing at Mr Westerham, catching a flash of his
well-fitting green coat. He was precisely in her way, but he stepped to one
side without so much as indicating her presence with a nod. It was what he had
said he would do, but a feeling of renewed hurt rose up in her chest, despite
her urgent desire to be gone.
    But as she started forward, making
for the door, Ariadne spoke.
    ‘Miss Felton, may I present Mr
Westerham?’
    Tiffany stopped dead, aware of an
uncomfortable thumping starting up in her chest. What should she say?
Mercifully, she recalled she was not obliged to say anything. A mere curtsy
would suffice. Turning in his direction, she made a brief bob. Her eyes flicked
upwards, and the pit of her stomach vanished.
    In the handsome features above
her was an expression of distant hauteur. The Conqueror deigned to notice her
existence with a slight inclination of his head, and then he was turning away.
    But the agony was not over.
    ‘Lady Drumbeg, Mr Westerham.’
    Predictably, Eva gushed as she
moved in, extending her hand. ‘Mr Westerham, such an unexpected pleasure. I
could not be more delighted.’
     
    William’s poise had been sorely tested by the unexpected
encounter with the wretched little waif whose image had remained stubbornly in
his mind. But this piece of studied falsity brought him sharply back to
himself. He pointedly ignored the hand.
    ‘Your servant, ma’am.’
    With deliberate and icy
politeness, he bowed and stepped away so that the woman had no choice but to
cross him and head for the door. For the life of him, he could not resist a
last glance at the girl. The blue eyes had noticeably dimmed at his reception
of her—an immediate reaction not entirely dictated by necessity and protocol.
It had taken all his resolution not to soften as the look of bewilderment crept
into her face. She was in the doorway, with her back to him, but the stiffness
about her shoulders gave her away.
    He was conscious of an intense
feeling of remorse, but he thrust it out of sight. It would be fatal if the
dragon imagined him remotely interested in the girl. He waited until their
footsteps had receded and then turned to confront Ariadne, uncomfortably aware
of an unaccustomed harshness in his tone.
    ‘How in the world did they come
to be here? And why did you present me?’
    She surveyed him with a familiar
look of measuring him, as if she tried to read his thoughts, but there was a
trifle of puzzlement there too. Or was it suspicion? William forced himself to
a semblance of his usual insouciant manner, fetching a feigned sigh.
    ‘Pray don’t give me your big
sister look. I am not Hector, and you don’t intimidate me, my dear Ariadne.’
    Ariadne laughed, and her features
relaxed a trifle. ‘No, I never did. As for my visitors—’
    ‘Yes, pray tell me about your
visitors,’ he interrupted, deliberately amiable, as he took the chair vacated
by Lady Drumbeg, crossing one yellow-pantalooned leg over the other. ‘I trust
you don’t expect me to believe their calling upon you was an accident.’ A
suspicion burgeoned and he frowned. ‘Hector has been talking, has he? Rabbit
the man, I told him to keep mum!’
    ‘As if Hector would regard that
when it came to telling me. Besides, you have said I don’t know how many times
you regard me in the light of your sister.’
    William threw up his eyes. ‘And
an interfering one