Page 11 of To Tempt a Scandalous Lord
“What do you mean?” Firthwell asked before Niall could shape the words.
“You’re intent on gathering the necessary support for a child labor law, yes?”
Niall nodded when her gaze landed on him. “I am.”
“Then let this writer spread this information for you. Let his words court the public on your behalf, so they understand the issue and how it will affect their lives, whether good or bad.”
Her dark eyes, wide and sparking with fervor, held his. She made it sound so reasonable and yet…
“How do you propose I do that? No one has been able to determine who he is, so how can I seek his support?” Not to mention the idea of courting the goodwill of someone who’d actively hindered his campaign made him grit his teeth.
Lady Lindsay shifted in her chair and angled her body toward him. “Whoever the writer is, he’s shown himself to have access to various political and social circles. Thus, have your friends discuss with their friends the need for such a comprehensive bill, and the ways in which you’re trying to bring such legislation to a vote. I suspect this mystery writer will quickly pick up on the details.”
What a…brilliant plan. The countess made the proposition seem so simple, and the thought of using the same chapbooks that had haunted his candidacy to garner support for a cause dear to him would be a boon.
“How very clever of you, Alicia.” Lady Firthwell beamed a bright smile at her, a sight the dignified woman rarely shared.
A pink hue swept over Lady Lindsay’s cheeks, and Niall endeavored to ignore how fetching it was. “I doubt it’s clever so much as it’s strategic.”
“Strategic?” He considered her over the rim of his glass, his gaze sweeping over her face. “How did you learn such a skill?”
“What makes you believe I learned it from anyone?”
Niall bit back a chuckle at the challenge in her voice. “Are you declaring this skill was self-taught?”
“And if it was?” Unfolding her hands, the countess pierced him with a glare. “Men proclaim themselves to be self-taught in any number of things, yet I’m to be doubted if I claim the same?”
“When men claim to be self-taught, I usually assume they’re full of sh—”
“Niall, really?” Firthwell interrupted, with a chuckle.
“My apologies,” he offered, lifting his glass while the countess stared at him with the corners of her mouth trembling just so.
“Developing an eye for strategy is not hard to learn but it does take time. It requires an attention to details and a study of one’s opponent. Their habits, their beliefs, their strengths and weaknesses. And once you have learned those”—she raised a narrow shoulder—“devising a strategy to work for them is a matter of filling in the blanks.”
What a succinct way to view the whole process. The viscountess was right, Niall fancied; Lady Lindsay was clever.
Firthwell’s voice cut through his thoughts when he said, “I suspect you should direct Inverray’s campaign. No one would stand in your way.”
“Except for the man himself,” she drawled, smirking in his direction.
Yet for all Lady Lindsay took Firthwell’s suggestion as a jest, Niall knew the viscount might be right. Would anyone turn down such a gracious, poised countess? He suspected not.
When the conversation turned to other topics, Niall grasped his glass and took a healthy swig, listening rather than participating.
Of course his eyes went to the countess, who was laughing at something Lady Firthwell said. He wasn’t sure what he had expected from the young widow when he learned she would be in attendance tonight, but her whit and intelligence continued to surprise him.
Firthwell leaned toward him then, and in a hushed voice said, “I know the campaign is your focus, but there’s nothing wrong with enjoying the attention and company of a comely lady.”
Sliding his gaze to him, Niall quirked his mouth. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Of course you do.” Firthwell chuckled. “You haven’t been able to look away from her all night, and I’ve caught a few of the covert glances she’s sent your way.”
Niall immediately peered at Lady Lindsay, who met his eyes for a swift instant, and then returned her attention to the viscountess.
“I’m not saying you should court the woman, but maybe share a waltz with her. A ride in the park.” Firthwell shrugged. “You need something to look forward to separate from politics.”
Thankfully the butler interrupted the conversation with a note for Firthwell, and Niall was left to consider his suggestion. It was true he enjoyed the countess’s company—thanks to her nimble mind, witty repartee, and her winsome, hard-earned laugh—so why shouldn’t he seek out her company more often?
