Page 12 of To Resist a Scandalous Rogue
“After you left that morning without saying goodbye, I wasn’t sure.”
Clutching a hand tightly to her chest, she shifted on her feet. “I thought it was for the best.” And it had been, although the memory of his laugh came to her on nights she was lonely. Those nights had become more frequent than she cared to admit.
He nodded. “Perhaps.” He studied her, his green eyes still vivid. “But you’re here now. However do you know the Campbells?”
“I’m employed at Little Windmill House. I teach French.” Charlotte linked her hands, feigning a calmness she didn’t feel. “Deportment. History on occasion.”
Finlay pressed his lips together. “My sister used to teach French there.”
“She did? The twin sister you mentioned before?” She considered the former teachers she’d heard mentioned. “Was that before the duchess taught it? The position I now hold opened when she married, I was told.”
Finlay cocked his head to the side. “My twin sisteristhe duchess.”
Charlotte blinked. “I beg your pardon. You did not tell me she was aduchess!”
His eyes never leaving her face, he took a step toward her. “Alethea is the Duchess of Darington. She taught at the foundling home before she married her duke and left for the West Indies.”
Horrid clarity chased away the fog smothering Charlotte’s thoughts, and the blood leached from her face. “Your sister is a patroness of the home. So, what d-does that make you?”
“Viscount Firthwell, forgive me for keeping you waiting,” the Marquess of Inverray said as he stepped into the room, his eyes touching on Finlay before landing on Charlotte. His eyes widened in surprise, but a polite smile graced his face. “Ah, I didn’t realize you were here, Mrs. Taylor. Have you met his lordship?”
Charlotte opened her mouth to respond, but Finlay moved forward, extending a hand in greeting to the marquess. “We met just before you walked in. I was plying her for information about the home. Considering how dear it is to my sister, I was curious.”
“Naturally,” the Scotsman said, indicating with a wave of his hand for Finlay to sit. He directed a smile to Charlotte. “Thank you for answering the viscount’s questions, Mrs. Taylor. I won’t keep you from the party any longer.”
Charlotte dipped her head politely and turned to leave. As she slipped out the door, she looked over her shoulder. Finlay watched her, a smile shining bright in his eyes.
Cor, why did his smile feel like a scandal in the making?
…
Finlay was learning firsthand the art of feigning attention when one’s mind was occupied by other thoughts. A useful skill for any politician.
For how he was expected to follow his conversation with Lord Inverray after seeing Charlotte for the first time since she slipped from his life, he didn’t know. But as Lord Inverray discussed the chaotic political climate and what issues he expected Parliament to tackle, all Finlay could think of was how blue Charlotte’s eyes had been. How enticing the curve of her mouth was when she admitted she hadn’t forgotten him. Randomly catching Lord Inverray’s amused smirk, Finlay suspected he needed more practice polishing his acting skills.
“I have to say I was surprised to hear you’d shown interest in political affairs,” the marquess said, propping an elbow on the armrest of his chair. “The Viscount Firthwell I’m familiar with from the gossip pages is infamous for trying to sing an aria over the principal performer so he could capture the attention of an Italian opera singer. He’s known for his elaborate storytelling. For being banned from Almack’s one night and then reinstated the next.”
“Princess Lieven has a soft spot for rogues.” Finlay clenched his teeth. “Have you heard any of these stories over the last year?”
Inverray stroked his chin as he studied him. With his towering, broad-shouldered form, rugged features, and long black hair he kept tied in a cue, he looked like a Highland warrior—if one ignored his expensive gentleman’s clothing. Finlay would be slightly intimidated if it weren’t for the man’s easy smile, complete with a dimple some might consider feminine. But there was nothing feminine about the Scotsman.
“No. I have not.”
“Of course you haven’t.” Finlay leaned forward. “Because I have been busy seeing to the Rockhaven estates. I had no incentive to be serious and stately before my father left to the Continent. Now…well, now my circumstances are quite different.”
“Indeed they are.” Inverray pinned him with a direct look. “I’m guessing that’s why you didn’t opt to stand for one of your father’s pocket boroughs.”
Finlay shifted in his seat, the wood creaking ominously under him. “I decided if I was going to stand for Parliament, it would be for a seat unconnected with my father.” He lifted his chin. “I don’t want to give anyone the impression the earl has any sway over my opinions or votes.”
The marquess tapped a finger against his cleft chin. “Admirable. So often people believe a son is merely an extension of his father, an extra limb, incapable of thoughts and beliefs of his own.” His mouth creased into something resembling a smile. “How I’ve delighted in correcting them of that foolish notion.”
Finlay nodded but held his silence.
“Considering I’m acting on gossip. Well, and the fact that you’re here tonight.” Inverray snorted. “Aside from that, Firthwell, what say you? Are you truly interested?”
Beads of sweat dotted his forehead. Was he ready for such a step? Debating the issues at his club and in coffee shops was one thing; standing for a seat in Commons was quite another.
Instinctively, he thought of his father and what the man would think of such a decision. The Earl of Rockhaven would have scoffed. The gesture would have been done good-naturedly, but it would not have lessened the sting. Finlay could almost hear the earl declare that a Swinton would never stoop so low as to barter himself for votes.
