Free Siren's Secret by Trish Albright Page B

bit pink.
    “Don’t look at me, dear,” she said. “You started this.”
    Olivia narrowed her eyes at Stafford. Gads, her skin burned. “I think perhaps Mr. Stafford meant dancing and riding.”
    Stafford grinned. “Yes, I believe it has been referred to that way. Very clever.”
    “I didn’t mean—” Olivia gasped, if possible getting even hotter. The other guests were unable to repress their laughter, and Olivia gave in, fanning herself good-humoredly. Stafford still watched her. It did nothing for her temperature. She lifted her nose and scolded. “Heathen.”
    He laughed as well.
    “I’m very grateful Americans appreciate honest conversation,” Olivia said. “It makes life so much more efficient.”
    “We do,” Stafford said. “So I must correct you on a matter or two.”
    “You may try, Mr. Stafford,” she challenged.
    “First, my sister Alex doesn’t give a twit about titles—unless it’s
Captain,
and that’s because she earned it. Second, it was a love match. So yes, it
is
a perfect match. Last, just so everyone is absolutely clear,
he
is the one who married well.”
    “Oh. I just thought—”
    “Don’t. It’s annoying.”
    Mrs. Tisdale snorted, and covered her mouth quickly. “Sorry, dearest,” she said to Olivia.
    “It’s just that it’s unusual,” Olivia insisted. “Marrying for love. Of course one hopes for mutual respect and growing admiration for one’s partner, but—”
    “You’re being annoying again.”
    Olivia stopped, for the first time thoroughly confused. To marry for love? Was that even done? By servants perhaps. Or the working class. But rarely did love matter among the ton, where it was important to preserve bloodlines and social connections. What would happen to history, culture, and heritage if everyone just married for love? And who could determine what love was? Perhaps he meant lust combined with a sense of comfort and friendship with another?
    “You speak of your sister as if you admire her.”
    Stafford’s eyes narrowed on her, curious. “I do.”
    “I thought you said she was a brat?”
    “I’m allowed to call her that. No one else,” he said, his tone indicating that should be obvious.
    She shook her head, bewildered, looking down, head bent. “That makes no sense.”
    “You clearly never had a little sister.”
    “No. No sisters.” He cared for his family? Could you care for people so clearly imperfect? “Nor a brother,” she added. She looked to see Stafford contemplating her. It was even more uncomfortable than his sexual regard. “Your sister is lucky, Mr. Stafford. Forgive me, please. I am unfamiliar with the workings of a large family. Strangely, I find that I am quite jealous.”
    She looked down at her food. Goodness, she sounded pitiful. She used to be a welcome dining companion. What had become of her skills?
    Stafford sighed loudly, commanding her attention. “That is a remarkable admission from so remarkable a woman.”
    Olivia studied, to see if he teased, but he appeared sincere, smiling warmly at her. “Now you are being kind, Mr. Stafford.”
    “I’m a kind man.”
    He said it with false arrogance. It didn’t fool her.
    “Yes,” she said, considering it deeply. “You are.” Then without thinking, she added, “It’s very strange.”
    The others laughed, and Olivia recognized the silliness of the comment.
    Mrs. Tisdale changed the topic. “Why don’t you tell us about your findings thus far on the tomb we are going to visit, Olivia.”
    “The tomb?” Olivia asked, still distracted by thoughts of Mr. Stafford.
    “Yes,” Mrs. Tisdale encouraged. “You remember. The purpose for this voyage.”
    “Oh. Yes! Well …” Olivia proceeded to give them the background on how a servant of Lord Queensbury had accidentally fallen in a hole that turned out to be an entrance to an ancient tomb.
    “One of the decade’s greatest discoveries was because someone tripped?” Andersen asked, astounded.
    “Yes!” Olivia