“Diah, certainly no’, lass!” he exclaimed with a little laugh. “I inquire in general.”
“Oh,” she said, and cocked her head to one side, pondering it. “I can honestly say I have no opinion,” she happily concluded. “Speaking of company …my sister, Lady Featherstone, intends to host a weekend at Featherstone Manor in the very near future, and I know that she intends to extend you an invitation to join the festivities.”
“Does she?” Grif asked, his mind still racing around the many ways Anna mercilessly annoyed him.
“I am certain I shall attend. Do you think you shall, too?”
Not if he had the blasted beastie in hand, he wouldn’t. He’d leave this town and that ridiculous creature to become the spinster that was her self-imposed destiny. What man could abide her?
“My lord?”
“Aye!” he said, straightening in his seat like a guilty child. “Do ye think I’d miss the opportunity to spend an entire weekend in yer presence, Miss Lucy?”
Lucy smiled at that and coyly batted her eyes.
“If such a coveted invitation is extended to me, I’ll certainly move mountains to attend.”
Lucy’s smile went deeper, and she smoothed the lap of her gown, stole a glimpse of her chaperone. “That’s lovely. I do hope the weather holds.”
Grif fixed his gaze on her throat. Perhaps if he looked at her throat, he’d overcome the urge to strangle it every time he heard the word weather on her lips.
“In the past, at such weekend soirées as my sister plans, I know that more than one gentleman has determined the course of his future,” she said softly, and looked at him from the corner of her eye. “Do they do the same in Scotland?”
Grif nodded. To what, he really didn’t know or care, as he was far more interested at the moment in the curve of Lucy’s neck, or rather… actually, he hadn’t noticed until just this moment that Lucy’s neck was shorter than Anna’s. And a wee bit thicker.
“I would hope that if anyone desired to proclaim the course of his future, he might do so at my sister’s house, when all his friends could join in good tidings. Wouldn’t you?”
“Aye,” Grif said, having no idea what one was to say to such vague rambling as this, and wondered absently if he might be able to steal more than a kiss from Lucy in the course of that bloody weekend, whenever it might be. Perhaps he would touch her bare breast. His gaze dipped to the décolletage of her gown, such as it was, as he pondered that extraordinarily appealing thought… and remarked to himself that her bosom did not seem as plump as Anna’s. A pity, that.
Apparently, however, his answer had not been sufficient, for Lucy suddenly leaned forward and whispered adamantly, “My lord Ardencaple! What I am attempting to say is that if you have any desires as to your future, you should express them, and that it would be a perfectly well-suited weekend for you to do so, and quite frankly, in some circles, it would be expected!”
It took a fraction of a moment for him to understand what she was implying, and Grif almost gasped like a girl with shock. And he was shocked, absolutely dumbstruck by the notion that she thought he would offer for her. He’d not once, not once hinted at such a ridiculous thing! He’d never given her cause to believe he wanted anything other than…well, the obvious. But marriage? To an Englishwoman?
And what of his cousin Lockhart? Everyone in this blasted town was talking about the match between Drake Lockhart and Miss Lucy Addison!
“What is it?” Lucy whispered hotly, a frown marring her lovely face. “Why are you looking so appalled?”
“Appalled?” he echoed dumbly, his mind still racing. “No, no, lass, ye misunderstand me. I merely…I hadna thought… that is to say, I hadna considered…”
Her brows dipped into such a glower that he actually felt a small shiver run down his spine.
“That ye’d even… entertain… such a notion,” he managed to get out.
She blinked and straightened slowly. Her cold glower softened to a composed countenance, and she smiled prettily again. “Not me, my lord. Offer for Anna!” she said sweetly.
Whatever he was about to remark was lost for all time—his mouth dropped open and he found himself completely speechless. As mute as a tongueless beggar.
“You do esteem her, do you not?” Lucy demanded.
“But I…I thought…I mean to say that I—”
“Yes, well,” she said, prim and very cool. “I am quite certain you did. But the truth is, my lord, that I have promised my intentions to someone else.”
“Ah… aha,” he managed.
“Do we understand one another?” she asked sweetly.
“Quite,” he said, and sat a little straighter, wondering how quickly he might quit this room. His palms were damp and his collar felt impossibly tight. “All right, then!” he said abruptly and far too cheerfully. “I shall look forward to the invitation.”