Page 4 of A Devil in Silk
“My lord? NotSignore? What happened to your Italian accent, Contessa?” His arrogant gaze skimmed her mask like he could see the truth quite plainly.
She folded her arms. “It went the way of your manners. Misplaced somewhere between the masquerade and the moonlight.”
He glanced up at the night sky, as if the stars had aligned for their encounter. “Sit,Contessa. Or shall we dispense with formality, and I’ll simply call you Clara?”
Damn the man. He had ruined everything.
She arched a brow. “Miss Dalton, if you please. Now return my letter so I may get back to dancing with King Henry.”
“I’m not sure dancing is your forte.”
“Then we’ll drink champagne. I would rather keep company with a king than a buffoon.” She showed him her gloved palm and curled her fingers in silent demand. “Hand me the letter and?—”
“A buffoon because I’m the only man you find entertaining?” He gestured for her to sit, as if she were a pupil and he held the prize.
“A buffoon for coming here tonight when you’re to announce your betrothal in two weeks. Unless trifling with old acquaintances is how you prepare for married life.” She brushed her skirts and settled on the bench, choosing compliance for now. “Should you not be in a fine hotel with your mistress, taking advantage of what little freedom you have left?”
Or kneeling in a church pew, praying for salvation.
“I no longer have a mistress, as you’re well aware.”
“Then return my letter and leave me in peace. Find someone else to laugh at your tricks. I doubt we’ll see each other again once you’re married.”
The finality of those words settled like a stone in her chest. She had tried not to like him, but he was amusing, and he never mentioned her ugly scar. Under different circumstances, they might have been friends. What she couldn’t understand was why a man as wealthy as a king would marry a woman he found undesirable.
“Of course we’ll see each other again,” he said with some confusion. “I dine at your brother’s house every Friday. Ipresumed we were all attending the private regatta in Richmond next month.”
Attend a regatta with the viscount and his wife?
Had the man lost his marbles?
But then, he had always treated her as a family friend.
“I’m returning to Henley soon,” she said. To live a quiet, sensible life in the country. “I’ve no plans to visit town again.” Or seek thrills as a pastime.
He stared at her for a moment, silent behind the mask, then glanced down at the paper in his hand. “When you’ve accomplished the tasks on this list, you’ll have memories to last a lifetime.”
Her heart lurched. “You read it?”
“I took a peek while luring you to a secluded corner of the garden.” He grinned, his teeth biting lightly into his lower lip, a roguish glint in his eyes. “If you need help to arrange them, I’d be happy to lend a hand.”
Heavens! He must think her a fool, a child dipping her toe in the pond before hurrying back to the safety of her governess.
“I don’t need your help.” Not when she deliberately avoided his company. “Perhaps you should focus on falling in love with the wife you don’t want, instead of worrying about me.”
He didn’t scoff or jest about love being a dream for the misguided. The corners of his mouth turned downward. “I’m a practical man, Miss Dalton. I don’t waste my time on unachievable goals.”
“Is that why you’re marrying Miss Woodall? For practical reasons?”
She found it ironic that those with wealth and title wore the heaviest shackles.
“No. For reasons I would rather not explain.”
It seemed she would never understand him. “Then return my list so we might bring an end to this discussion.”
He didn’t. The infuriating man unfolded the paper and picked one to read aloud. “A curricle race? Interesting. I purchased a new curricle only last week. High-sprung, razor-lined, and black enough to swallow the daylight. I could let you race it on Rotten Row.”
“On the R-Row?” she stuttered, excitement stealing her breath. But beneath the thrill, a flicker of suspicion stirred. “Why would you do that?”
