Page 44 of Earl's Well That Ends Well (The Way to a Lord's Heart 5)

The knock came at seven that evening. Teresa let Eliza answer it, but there was nowhere for her to wait but the main room. Lurking upstairs and then coming down seemed silly in this tiny house.

A slender man of medium height entered her home. His clothes were rich, though not quite fashionable, his smile sleek and self-satisfied. Black hair, dark eyes, smooth tan skin, an aquiline nose, she recognized him at once. He was no count. His namewasAlessandro, but an entirely common Alessandro Peron. The last time she’d seen him he’d been a member of the household of a Spanish duke. More than a servant, but not really a friend of the grandee. A hanger-on. There was an English word she’d come across—a toady. That fit him. He was rather like asapo, a toad.

Teresa greeted him in Spanish. This was likely to be a difficult conversation, and she preferred that Eliza have no idea what they said.

“Teresa,” he replied.

She felt a spurt of rage at his disrespectful use of her name and the caressing tone he used to speak it. She hid this. He would want her to react.

“I was so happy to learn that you were living in London. Though surprised at the address.” He looked around the room with a mixture of derision and pity.

“How did you learn?”

He raised one eyebrow.

He had learned that trick from the duke. He did it less well. She began to lose patience. “How did you find me?” She knew no Spanish people here.

“The embassy told me.”

She didn’t believe him. She’d had no contact with the Spanish embassy. Wanted none.

“Shall we sit down?” he asked.

She acceded with a gesture, taking the armchair while he settled on the small sofa.

“A glass of wine perhaps?”

“I have none,” she lied. “What do you want?”

“A cold welcome for an old friend, Teresa.”

“We were never friends.”

He put a hand to his chest as if wounded. “Was I not always pleasant to you?”

Outwardly, with a running undertone of insolence. He was the sort who fawned over those above him on the social scale and spurned those below. She had been a bit of both, so he had indulged in ambiguity. “What do you want?” she repeated.

“I have come to live in England,” he said, spreading his hands. “I wish to establish myself here.”

“As aconde?” Teresa indicated his visiting card, lying on a small table at her side.

“But I am, my dear Teresa. I recently inherited the title from a distant cousin.”

She gritted her teeth at his form of address. He was probably lying about the legacy, but the point wasn’t worth an argument. She didn’t care.

“Sadly, there was no property to go with honor.” He shrugged and smiled. “So I still must make my fortune. I heard that foreign titles impress the English, and so I have arrived.” He made an openhanded gesture meant to be charming.

“I know no one who would be of use to you,” Teresa said. Peron would be looking to attach himself to a rich man and benefit from the connection. That was his method.

He pretended surprise. “Have I asked?”

“You would, sooner or later. I saw no point in waiting. I tell you again, I have no connections.”

“That is hard to believe.”

“Why?” Teresa gestured at the room. “I live a frugal life. I do not go into society. How would I?”

Her unwelcome caller surveyed the place again. He appeared to find the sight distasteful. “I assumed you were simply waiting for your next…opportunity. Your charms have hardly faded.” He offered her a small bow.

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