Page 95 of Ten Lords for the Holidays

Forgotten her? He’d love to know who the devil she was. Heath had known his fair share of women in his day. But not this one. Or did he? Something about her seemed familiar, but shouldn’t he remember such big, innocent eyes? Shouldn’t he remember such pretty lips? Shouldn’t he remember the delightful charms hinted at from herdécolletage? “I-I—”

Damien chuckled. “Do take pity on him, my dear. It was a rather long journey from London, after all.”

She gazed up at Heath with nothing less than admiration. Then a wicked gleam flashed in her eyes. “I’m sure it will come to you, Lord Heathfield.” She glanced back at the butler, still standing sentry by the door. “I’ll take Drew’s guests to the gold parlor, Milne. Will you see to tea and biscuits?”

“Of course, my lady,” the butler grumbled. “Just as soon as I see to the gentlemen’s bags.”

She nodded, then turned on her heel and started down the main corridor. “This way, gentlemen.”

Damien grasped Heath’s arm. “Do you really not know who she is?” he whispered.

“Would I ask if I knew? I think I’ve offended her somehow.”

Damien shrugged. “Well, I don’t know her. Never seen her before.”

They certainly weren’t going to get any answers standing in the entry hall like buffoons. Heath gestured towards the corridor with his head. As the two of them followed the pretty chit down the hallway, Heath couldn’t keep his eyes off her backside. The way her ivory dress swayed behind her like an ancient Greek goddess’s kept him half mesmerized. Damnation! Who the devil was she? And how did he know her?

Finally, the girl led them inside an ornate parlor—white with golden accents—that would have made Midas himself envious. “Good afternoon, Aunt,” she called loudly to a silver-haired woman in the far corner who seemed engrossed in her needlepoint.

Then the enchanting chit took a spot on a white settee in the center of the room and smiled mischievously. “Please do have a seat, gentlemen.”

Heath and Damien exchanged a glance. What else could they do but follow her lead? Heath sighed as he took a step towards the mysterious chit, but before he could reach her, Damien brushed passed him and dropped onto the settee beside the girl, looking supremely pleased with himself, truth be told.

Damned Damien Lockwell! How was Heath to get the chit to tell him her secrets with Damien sitting next to her? Frowning at his friend, Heath took a spot in a brocade chair across from the pair.

He shook his head. What in the world he was doing here? He’d been beckoned to Yorkshire by a strange letter from his friend Drew, only to wind up sitting in a salon across from a pretty girl who seemed intent on torturing him for some reason or another. She said he’dforgottenher. When the devil had he known her?

Then inspiration struck him. “I would like to see Hardwick,” he said. After all, Drew would tell him who the little minx was, wouldn’t he? That would be the end of her little game.

A glint shined in her hazel eyes. “I’m afraid Drew hasn’t reached the castle yet, my lord, but he should be here soon.”

Drew wasn’t at Danby Castle? Where the devil was he then? Heath was just about to ask when another auburn-haired chit swept into the parlor as though she owned the place.

“Emma, there you are! I spotted a coach—” She stopped in her tracks and glared at Damien. “And just who are you?”

Emma?

“That does seem to be the question of the hour,” Damien drawled as he rose from his spot and bowed slightly before the girl who looked similar to but not exactly like the one still seated on the settee.

Heath’s eyes flashed to Emma Whitton, who stared back at him. Emma Whitton! Little Emma Whitton, upon whom he’d once taken pity and had played with her and her dolls. Damn, that must have been a million years ago. A playful smile lifted Emma’s lips as she met his gaze. Dear God, when had Lady Emma Whitton become such an enchanting creature? When had she stopped being the knobby-kneed cherub he remembered from his last visit to the castle? When must that have been? Nine, maybe ten years ago?

The other girl, who could only be Lady Isabel, cast a dismissive eye on Damien. “Are you one of our absentee cousins come home for the holidays? You don’t look like a Whitton.”

Damien shook his head. “Damien Lockwell. I’m a friend of Lord Hardwick’s. He invited Lord Heathfield and me to Danby Castle for Christmas.”

Isabel shot Emma a glance and her twin shrugged in response. “Drewinvited you?” Isabel turned her attention back on Damien. “Why do I find that hard to believe?”

CHAPTER3

“Isabel!”boomed the Marquess of Norland from the threshold. Then he caught Heath’s eye, and a genuine smile lit the older man’s face. “I didn’t know we had visitors. Heathfield, is that you?”

Heath rose from his spot and offered his hand to the twins’ father. “Good to see you, Lord Norland. It has been an age.” He gestured to Damien with a cock of his head. “Are you acquainted with Mr. Lockwell?”

Norland’s gaze shifted to Damien and he nodded. “Not formally. You’re one of Totterdown’s lads, aren’t you?”

“Indeed,” Damien replied. “Third son, to be exact. I attended Eton with Drew and Heath.”

“Did you?” the marquess asked. His demeanor changed slightly, more rigid at the mention of his oldest son.

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