Page 45 of A Gentleman to Avoid (Sherton Sisters 3)

Chapter Sixteen

“Mr. Ashford Northcott to see you, my lady.”

Vicky’s head snapped up at the butler’s words. Rosabel was ‘Your Grace,’ so it could only be she herself the butler was speaking to. She glanced down at her attire. It was serviceable. She hadn’t dressed in her best despite being in a ducal residence, but she was relieved to note that Dolly had ensured she was appropriately gowned that morning.

Rosabel was staring at her with curiosity. “Mr. Northcott?” She said it as a question, as though trying to imply that her husband hadn’t, in fact, told her everything that had transpired at Crossley. Vicky had appreciated that none of them had twitted her about it, but she could see that she should have sought her sister’s counsel. She had never anticipated the gentleman would follow her here. Clearly, she had learned nothing from her experiences at Crossley. She sighed. He was probably here to make sure she didn’t consider them actually betrothed.

“Thank you, Mr. Boyle,” Rosabel answered when Vicky seemed to be at a loss for words. “You may show him in.”

It was to be Vicky’s worst nightmare. How perfectly awful to have this conversation in front of her beautiful sister, of all things. Not that it was Rosabel’s fault that Ashford Northcott still harboured feelings for her. Even he couldn’t be blamed for that, Vicky acknowledged with a sinking heart, even as her pulse picked up when the handsome man was shown into the room.

He must have ridden, she thought, as she took in his windswept hair and pinkened cheeks.

“Your Grace, a pleasure to see you again, I hope you are well,” Mr. Northcott greeted Bel first, of course. It was appropriate as she was now a duchess, but Vicky felt it like a slap. “Do you think it might be possible for me to have a private conversation with your sister?”

Vicky blinked. He hadn’t even really waited to hear Bel’s response to his greeting.

“It would depend whether or not my sister is interested in having a private conversation with you,” Rosabel answered in a cool tone, every inch the duchess and clearly in a protective mood. “And, of course, you cannot truly be private. But perhaps a stroll in the garden, if Vicky is agreeable.”

“I’ll fetch my parasol.” Vicky wasn’t going to bother postponing the inevitable. Within a moment, she was walking toward the gardens at Ashford’s side. She couldn’t feel her toes, and her stomach was a mass of clenched nerves. It was a most uncomfortable experience.

“Lady Crossley sends her greetings. She actually hopes I’ll escort you back to Crossley.”

“Does she? You remained?”

“Of course. I was actually hoping you would have returned before now.”

Vicky’s face heated, and she was glad they were walking side-by-side so she could avoid looking at him.

“I had intended to return after a se’en-night, but the time just slipped away.”

“Would you care for my escort back?”

“Surely, you didn’t have to come all this way for this, Mr. Northcott. Wexford would have certainly seen to my escort.”

“Well, I feel responsible for you.”

“You needn’t. I have plenty of people seeing to me.” The burn of tears threatened at the back of her throat. Responsibility was certainly not the emotion she wanted him feeling for her.

“Would it be so awful if I did?”

“Did what, Mr. Northcott?”

“Feel responsible for you,” he burst out. “And why can you not call me Ashford? There’s no one about, we’re perfectly private. I can assure you, if you managed to be found in my arms and not be ruined, you can call me by my given name.”

The blood rushing from Vicky’s head made her suddenly feel faint. “Mr. Northcott, you needn’t be crass.”

“Please, call me Ashford.”

They were near enough to a strategically placed bench that Vicky could sink onto it without falling to the ground.

“My dear, won’t you please allow me to speak freely?”

“I thought that was what we were already doing,” Vicky answered, wondering how things had become so topsy turvy.

“Lady Crossley said she thought you might not be indifferent to me. I know the entire mess with Bertram might have given you an unpleasant impression of me, but I can assure you, I’m not in the least bit traitorous.”

Vicky stared at him, nonplussed.

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