Scandal And Miss Markham. Janice Preston

she vowed to remain polite; she had no wish to reinforce his prejudices. The man had been neither rude nor derogatory, but—she pictured again that subtle curl of his lip—she knew how his sort viewed ordinary business folk who must work for their living.

      She led him across the hall and into the study.

      ‘Would you prefer ale or wine, sir?’

      ‘Tea,’ he said.

      She was certain he was being deliberately awkward. Their aversion was mutual then. So be it. She had more pressing concerns than how some spoilt aristocrat viewed her and a handsome face and a manly physique meant nothing to a woman who had forsworn all men. She jerked at the bell and a footman soon attended.

      ‘Bring tea for the gentleman, please, George, and a glass of Madeira for me. And some of Cook’s fruit cake.’

      As George turned to leave, Thea said, ‘Is Mama with Papa?’

      ‘She is, miss. Shall I inform her we have a visitor?’

      Thea glanced at Lord Vernon, who had removed his hat to reveal a full head of auburn hair that curled around his ears. A little flutter deep in her stomach taunted her: perhaps she wasn’t as immune to an attractive man as she thought. She wrenched her attention away from her treacherous body.

      ‘No. That will not be necessary, George.’

      ‘Very well, miss.’

      Thea then sat in a chair by the window and gestured to a nearby chair.

      ‘Please, take a seat, sir.’

      She waited until he was settled, her thoughts whirling. She knew from past experience, through her dealings with other men, that he would be reluctant to discuss business with her simply because of her sex. If she were to learn the truth of his visit, she must try to annoy him into indiscretion and she knew the perfect way to aggravate him: men often found it hard to deal with females who were direct.

      ‘Is it money?’

      His brows lowered into a thunderous frown. ‘Is what money?’ His question almost a growl.

      ‘Does Daniel owe you money? Are you here to collect on a debt?’

      ‘I do not—’ He snapped his jaw shut, abruptly cutting off his heated response. His eyes—an arresting shade of green that sparkled in the light of a stray sunbeam filtering through the window pane—narrowed. When he spoke again, his voice was level. ‘Why should you jump to such a conclusion? Is your Daniel a gambler?’

      Thea frowned in her turn. This man was clearly not to be easily manipulated.

      ‘He is not.’

      ‘Then I ask again, why do you jump to the conclusion I am here to collect on a debt?’

      Thea shrugged, stood up and paced to the fireplace. She swung around, to see that her visitor had risen to his feet. She huffed a silent laugh. A lord and a gentleman, trained from birth in correct etiquette. When a lady stands—even a lowly born lady such as she—a gentleman, too, must stand.

      ‘Please. Sit down.’ She crossed the room to sit in her own chair and his lordship—with a supercilious lift of one brow—followed suit.

      He folded his arms. ‘I am waiting.’

      His voice was soft. Almost menacing. Thea shivered at her sudden mental image of a wolf: crouching, watching, patient. She thrust aside that picture, silently castigating herself for such a fanciful thought. He was a man...a powerful lord, maybe, but a man none the less.

      His question...what was it again? About debt. ‘We are in business, my lord. I wondered if Daniel had overlooked a bill.’

      His lips twitched. Thea searched his expression and felt her tension ease and her sense of foreboding lift as she realised he was trying not to laugh. No sign of a menacing predator now. She really must try to curtail her imagination.

      ‘I cannot decide whether to be amused or offended that you could even suspect I am a debt collector,’ he said. His smile now surfaced fully, his lips parting to reveal white, even teeth.

      Heavens, he is a handsome devil.

      She quashed that thought and dismissed the accompanying trip of her pulse.

      ‘Might we, do you think, start this conversation anew and dispense with the suspicion on both sides?’

      Thea inclined her head by way of reply. A truce would speed this meeting along and give her the opportunity to discover if Lord Vernon Beauchamp knew anything that might shed light on Daniel’s disappearance.

      George came in with the refreshments and Thea poured a cup of tea for her visitor before handing him the cup and saucer. He captured her gaze as he murmured his thanks, his deep voice vibrating through her. Then he brushed her fingers as she handed him a plate with a slice of cake. A whiff of cologne arose to tease at her senses: spicy, with notes of cinnamon. Musky and expensive. The resulting flicker of desire deep in her stomach exasperated Thea all over again.

      She recognised his tactic. This was an attempt to use his charisma to wheedle information from her. He was a handsome aristocrat, experienced in the art of flirtation and accustomed to having his own way...well, he would soon find she was too shrewd to allow weasel words and admiring glances to fool her.

      She had been burned before.

      Never again.

      Besides, she had neither the time nor the inclination to engage with him in this particular game. There was far too much at stake.

      ‘I do not know your name.’

      His statement startled her. ‘But...of course you know my name. Daniel is my brother. I, therefore, am Miss Markham.’

      He cocked his head to one side. ‘But I did not know whether or not you were married, Miss Markham. For all I knew, you could be Mrs Wilful, or Lady Copper Curls.’

      He smiled. Charmingly. A fan of crinkles formed at the outer corner of each eye. Thea raised her chin and directed a stern look at him.

      ‘You were about to tell me your business with my brother, sir.’

      Lord Vernon set his teacup and saucer on to a side table and settled back into his chair, his elbows propped on the arms as he placed his hands fingertip to fingertip beneath his chin.

      ‘My business is with your brother. It is not proper that I should discuss it with you.’

      ‘Because I am a female?’ No matter how many times she was told she was unable to understand business matters, it became no easier hearing the same sentiment from yet another male. ‘As I said before—my brother and I collaborate in our father’s business. We do not have secrets.’

      ‘And yet you have no idea why I am here.’

      Thea swallowed past the painful lump in her throat. ‘That is entirely different. I cannot be privy to your whims and fancies in deciding to call upon Daniel.’

      ‘Whims and fancies,’ he murmured. ‘I cannot say I am flattered at being thought a man subject to whims and fancies.’ His expression hardened and again she was reminded that, beneath his urbane exterior, there lurked an altogether different beast. ‘You boast there are no secrets between yourself and your brother and yet you are unaware it was your brother who wrote to me to request a meeting.’

      ‘For what purpose?’

      He raised a brow. ‘Perhaps you can enlighten me?’

      Thea shook her head and a lock of hair sprang loose to dangle in front of her eye. She clicked her tongue in irritation, swept the curl from her forehead and hooked it behind a hairpin, then sipped at her Madeira, her mind working furiously. This conversation was not going the way she intended. She was desperate to find out if this man had any information that might tell her where Daniel had gone.

      ‘I have not the first idea why Daniel wrote to you. Was it connected with the business?’