Proof by Seduction (Carhart #1)

Two tasks completed; one more to go. Now Ned only had to sit through the remainder of tonight’s entertainment—which had suddenly become much more entertaining. Was Lady Kathleen watching Blakely? Had she been won over by that awful performance? For the fourth time that evening, he swiveled in his seat and glanced toward Lady Kathleen’s position. Four, he told himself, was a commendably low number. He might have glanced at anyone four times. Perhaps five would not be—


Except she wasn’t in her seat. Ned looked up, to see her brushing her way past the last seats in the row. Nobody looked at her; all eyes were riveted on the opera singer who had just begun an aria far more melodic than the previous song. Lady Kathleen glanced around the room and Ned quickly turned away.

When he looked back, she was ducking through a door. How odd. It was the second time Ned had seen her leave some entertainment through a servants’ entrance.

Without thinking, he stood. And he followed.

As soon as he’d closed the tiny door, muting the music behind him, he dashed after her. “Lady Kathleen!”

She turned around. “Oh. It’s Madman Carhart. And you’re alone.”

Ned halted. She’d discovered his name—good. But she doubted his sanity. Bad. Very bad.

She shook her finger at him. “We haven’t been introduced. I don’t think you should speak to me. And you definitely should not be with me unaccompanied.”

“Nonsense,” Ned said. “You know my name. I know yours.” He put out his hand. “Let’s just shake like gentlemen and be friends.”

Her gaze arrested on his outstretched fingers.

“Right.” Ned balled his hand into a fist and pulled it back slowly. “Ladies don’t shake hands. Never mind, then.”

Her gaze had followed his hand. “Do you realize there are toothmarks on your glove?”

Ned whipped his hand behind his back. His ears burned. “I bit myself,” he explained. “I was trying not to laugh at Blakely. You would have done it, too.”

“Bit you?” She raised one eyebrow. And then, as if she’d realized what she had said, she flushed. It was the first hint of unease Ned had seen her exhibit. But she didn’t turn away in embarrassment. She didn’t even glance away demurely. She met his gaze steadily. “Your entire family is mad, you know.”

“Oh, no,” Ned said. “Just Blakely. He’s been like that for ages. I, on the other hand, am completely sane. Just—just a little—nervous, you know.”

“You should be, following me like that.” She shook her head. The motion was almost severe, but the tone of her voice had softened. “You really ought to leave, I suppose, before someone spies us alone like this and assumes the worst.”

Ned was not yet willing to be dismissed. “Well, if you didn’t go charging off alone into the servants’ corridors, you wouldn’t have that problem.”

Her eyes widened. Something like real surprise flashed in them. “I’m not—that is to say, I don’t—”

“Yes,” Ned corrected, “you do, too. Every time I’ve met you, you’ve been off, invading dimly lit corridors. It’s a mystery. I shall have to get to the bottom of it. I shall consult Madame Esmerelda.”

She frowned at him, as if to deny the charge. But what she said was, “Madame Esmerelda?”

“Yes,” Ned said soothingly, “She’s the one who predicted the match between you and Blakely.”

Her eyes widened even more, and she stepped back. “Match? Predicted? Blakely? What match?”

“Ah.” Ned winced. “Hmm. What match?”

“You’re trying to match me with a man you just told me is mad? That’s why you’re following me?” Her eyes had widened, and she drew herself up. She still stood inches shorter than him. “You’re following me for your cousin? I thought—”

Ned raised his palms soothingly. “I can explain. What I said just now about Blakely—the madness and all? Not true. He’s not—well, he’s not so bad. In fact, he has several good qualities.”

“Well. I suppose. There is his singing, after all.”

“Um,” Ned said. “Maybe not that particular quality, so much. But he is a marquess.”

She gave a brusque shake of her head. “Well, he can’t exactly take credit for that, can he? He was born that way.”

“He’s tall. Women like tall men, don’t they?”

“He was born that way, too.”

“No.” Ned’s confidence returned. “He wasn’t. He was born a baby, just like everyone else. He only grew taller later on.”

She blinked at him for a second, and then lifted a glove to her mouth. “Yes,” she said, “but he doesn’t make me laugh.” She looked at him, her gaze direct. “This is another one of your jokes, I assume. You don’t really mean to give me to him, do you? He’s so old, after all.”

She looked up at him, and Ned felt an uncomfortable spot of warmth in his stomach. He shouldn’t have felt encouraged, that she was rejecting his cousin. Still, in comparison with Blakely, Ned felt ungainly, all clumsy elbows.

“Blakely is very responsible,” Ned said dutifully. “Heaps more responsible than me.”

She frowned dubiously. “Which is why he’s sending his younger cousin to arrange a match for him? That won’t wash.”