Page 17 of Impeccable
“Fairly.” He cocked a brow at her. “Just in case, I shall demonstrate my excellent driving skills.”
“Well done, Lord Gregory. You are fast becoming a master flirt.”
“The credit, my lovely Mrs. Renshaw, goes entirely to you.”
As he turned the gig, Evie worked to keep from looking at him, focusing all her thoughts and energy on Ash. Things were far simpler that way.
And Evie preferred simple.
Chapter4
As when he’d gone to the assembly two nights earlier, Gregory left Ash in the care of his valet. At first, Harris had wrinkled his nose and asked if a footman or stableboy might be better suited for the responsibility, but Gregory had explained that they didn’t work for him. At Witney Court, it was all too possible, if not likely, that Susan would object to a footman wasting his time with a puppy, and Gregory didn’t want to consign Ash to the stables. The lads there worked hard enough as it was.
It had taken less than a quarter hour for Ash to win Harris over. Indeed, he reminded Harris of a dog from his youth, and now Gregory wondered if Harris secretly enjoyed having Ash to himself on occasion.
“It’s rather unimpressive, isn’t it?” Susan remarked as their coach came to a stop in front of Threadbury Hall.
Built in the late seventeenth century, the house was probably half the size of Witney Court. Even so, it boasted an attractive, symmetrical façade made of Portland stone featuring tall windows and a dormered top story.
“It’s charming,” Gregory said, refusing to let Susan provoke him. Not tonight when he was going to spend the evening in the company of the divine Mrs. Renshaw.
Susan sniffed. “I suppose.”
“You have to admire the man,” Clifford said as the coachman opened the door. “Creighton, I mean. He didn’t inherit this.”
She pursed her lips at Clifford. “I do not have to admire vulgarity.”
Gregory exhaled sharply. “What could possibly be vulgar about a family working to better its prospects?” He was instantly sorry he’d taken her bait.
“Well, we don’t have to befriend them. At least not in London.” She stepped out of the coach, and Gregory had an exceedingly uncharitable thought that perhaps she might trip and hurt her ankle so that she would return to Witney Court.
Alas, she made it to the ground without issue, and Gregory silently admonished himself to be kinder than she was. Clifford followed her out, and Gregory climbed down last. They made their way to the front door, where a smart, liveried footman greeted them.
The butler—Gregory assumed his identity since he possessed the confident carriage of any butler—stood in the center of the entry hall, with its shining marble floor and polished wood paneling. “Welcome to Threadbury Hall. Allow me to escort you to the formal drawing room.”
The footman took Gregory’s and Clifford’s hats and gloves and Susan’s cloak. Gregory trailed them as they fell in behind the butler, who led them through the staircase hall. They passed through two more rooms before entering the large formal drawing room.
The space was elegantly, if a bit spartanly, decorated and contained their hosts along with perhaps a dozen other people, including Mrs. Renshaw. Gregory spotted her immediately. She stood near the center of the room speaking with the vicar. A purple gown embroidered with gold flowers draped her frame, and an amethyst necklace sparkled against the flesh of her upper bosom. He could scarcely wait to begin his campaign of flirtation.
To what end? It was all practice with no hope for anything real between them. He’d realized last night as he’d tossed and turned, his body in a state of unrepentant arousal, that he wanted more. He thought of her almost constantly and looked forward to when they would next be together. After tonight, he didn’t know when that would be, and that was unacceptable. Thankfully, he had Ash to tie them together—at least he hoped that connection would continue. What would happen when they both ultimately returned to London?
“Remember, I am going to secure an invitation to the Phoenix Club before the night is out,” Susan whispered to both him and Clifford.
“I told you, I don’t think Mrs. Renshaw can do that.”
Susan stared at him as if he were daft. “She’s a patroness. Of course she can.”
Gregory gave her a slight smirk. “You think you understand the workings of the Phoenix Club better than she does?”
“Well, no,” Susan admitted. “But I refuse to believe she doesn’t carry enough weight to ensure our inclusion. She must.”
“And yet you were so eager to denigrate her dear friends the Creightons,” Gregory murmured.
“Let’s hope Mrs. Renshaw isn’t aware of that,” Clifford said with a flash of a smile.
Gregory stared at his brother a moment, wondering if he possessed any self-awareness whatsoever. He couldn’t possibly. Biting his tongue, Gregory quickly made his way to the Creightons.
Their hosts greeted Gregory, his brother, and Susan with warmth and smiles. “So glad you could come,” Mr. Creighton said. “I do plan to bore you with my refurbishment plans after dinner over port.”
