Free One Night in London by Caroline Linden Page B

them.
    Today she only waited a few minutes before he strode through the door, as severe as she remembered. She noticed the black band around his sleeve. Perhaps mourning accounted for his dark, plain clothing. His expression was as imperturbable as it had been yesterday, but she smiled as he closed the door behind him.
    “Lady Gordon.” He bowed, his gray eyes steady on her.
    “My lord.” She curtsied. “I have come to apologize.”
    “Indeed.” His gaze flickered over her. Francesca knew she looked her best today, in a rich green walking dress with golden ribbons. There was no overt admiration in his gaze, only examination, but it made her feel more confident all the same to know there was no fault with her appearance. “I assure you, that is not necessary.”
    “But it is,” she said with feeling. He meant that she needn’t have come again; she meant that she had made a mistake in approaching him so intemperately to begin with. There very much was a need for her to apologize. “I was very out of temper yesterday, and spoke imprudently and impolitely.”
    “Not at all,” he replied, proving himself a better liar than she had anticipated. “I am delighted you have found other aid. Now—”
    “No,” she said gently. “I still have need of your aid—but now, I believe, you may be in need of mine as well.” She drew out the page of newsprint from her reticule. “Perhaps you have not seen.”
    For a moment he just looked at her with those cool gray eyes, measuring her. Francesca waited patiently, holding out the paper. She knew his type, this straight and proper gentleman. He’d see his name in the newspaper, and the shocking rumors attached to it, and be furious. Men dueled over such things. Lord Edward would rage about a bit, and when he calmed down she would make her offer. Unless he was a very great fool, he would see the sense of it at once. And then she would have the chance she so desperately needed.
    He took the newspaper, smoothing the curled edges and pulling it flat. His eyes never left her, as if he waited for some flicker of temper as an excuse to dismiss her again. Today, though, she was on her very best behavior. Yesterday she had been half mad with frustration and outrage and even fear, but today she was given a reprieve, and she meant to make the very most of it. Today, nothing he said or did would make her lose her temper, even if she had to bite off her own tongue to keep silent. Francesca met his gaze evenly, keeping her face arranged in a modest, serene expression, and waited.
    Finally he looked at the newspaper, his gaze dipping away from hers. His eyelashes looked absurdly long from this angle, she thought in surprise, thick and dark against his cheeks. Her Aunt Evelyn used to say every woman had some feature to be proud of, be it a lovely neck or good skin or fine eyes; she wondered if Lord Edward de Lacey was proud of his long, beautiful eyelashes, and had to press her lips together to avoid smiling at the thought.
    He didn’t look up for some time, more than enough to have read the offending piece several times over. She had unconsciously tensed in anticipation of an outburst, but his face didn’t change, and he didn’t move. He could have been carved of marble for all the reaction and emotion he showed, even though the paper had all but called him and his brothers bastards and imposters. She was just beginning to wonder if she had grossly misunderstood things when he spoke.
    “Very well, Lady Gordon,” he said without looking up. “You have piqued my interest. What bargain have you come to offer?”
    “I am acquainted with Mr. Sloan, who publishes this newspaper. He has come to my musicales on a few occasions.” He had propositioned her as well. She said a sincere prayer of thanks that she had declined him gently and not laughed in his face. One never knew when a shred of goodwill might be needed. “I can arrange a meeting to persuade him to print a retraction.”
    Lord