Wondering whether to make a dash for the door, Anna shifted in her chair just as the newcomer came into view.
‘Good evening,’ he said, no trace of surprise at finding her sitting in the high-back chair evident in either his face or his voice.
‘Good evening.’ Despite her thumping heart Anna managed to sound poised and calm. Years of practice at maintaining a serene façade came in useful sometimes.
‘Looking for a little peace?’
‘Yes.’ Anna kept her voice clipped and icy, hoping the gentleman would understand she wanted to be left alone.
She watched as he sauntered around the study, opening cupboards and cabinets until he came across what he was looking for: a bottle of whisky and two short glasses.
‘Can’t abide champagne,’ the gentleman said, pouring out two generous measures of the caramel-coloured liquid. ‘And punch is even worse.’
He held out one of the glasses, waiting for Anna to take it before he sat down in the chair next to hers. Taking a gulp, he examined the liquid thoughtfully before chuckling softly.
‘What’s so funny?’ Anna asked, regretting the question as soon as it passed her lips. She knew better than to engage.
‘Prendy’s servants are watering down his whisky,’ he said, raising the glass to his lips for another taste.
‘Prendy’s?’
‘Lord Prenderson. Our host.’
‘You know him well?’
‘Doesn’t everyone know everyone else?’
Anna was just about to bid her companion farewell when he fixed her with a penetrating stare.
‘Although I don’t think we’ve ever met.’ He regarded her, letting his eyes sweep from the top of her head, across her features and down over her body. ‘I’m sure I’d remember.’
The polite thing would be to introduce herself, yet Anna stood abruptly, set her untouched glass on the table and took a step towards the door.
‘I wouldn’t go out there just yet if I were you.’
She took another step forward.
‘Bad idea.’
Two more steps. In another few seconds she would be out of the study and heading back towards the crowds.
‘It’s your choice, of course, but the gossips would be delighted to find you in here unchaperoned.’
Anna stiffened, closing her eyes for a brief few seconds before turning slowly and facing her companion.
‘Gossips?’
‘A group of middle-aged matrons are recovering from the heat of the ballroom out in the hall. I’m sure it would not escape their notice that you were in here with Lord Wilbraham and Mrs Featherstone.’ He frowned as if something had just occurred to him. ‘What were you planning on doing if they’d decided to further their intimacy?’
‘In the study? So close to the ballroom? I hardly think that was likely,’ Anna said, her voice dry and her face serene.
‘I understand some people find the danger exciting.’
Anna knew he was teasing her now, but instead of rising to the bait she changed the subject.
‘When will it be safe to exit, Mr Edgerton?’
‘Lord Edgerton,’ he corrected absently. ‘And now you have me at a disadvantage.’
‘Lady Fortescue,’ Anna supplied reluctantly.
He fixed her with a curious gaze that told her he’d heard the rumours. All the rumours.
‘The notorious Lady Fortescue,’ he murmured.
‘You’re not meant to say that,’ Anna said, adding under her breath, ‘At least not to my face.’
‘It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Fortescue,’ Edgerton said, standing and taking her hand, bringing it to his lips after a few seconds.
This close Anna could appreciate his physical size. He was at least a foot taller than her and sported broad shoulders that filled his jacket perfectly. For the first time since he’d entered, Anna realised the folly of being alone with this man. It wasn’t just the scandal that could occur if they were discovered, but the risk he might take advantage. Slowly she stepped back. He didn’t look as though he were about to pounce on her, but history had shown her to be a poor judge of character. Kind eyes and a relaxed manner didn’t mean a man was trustworthy.
* * *
Harry saw the flash of fear in Lady Fortescue’s eyes before the stony façade once again concealed her emotions. Quickly he stepped back, realising it was him she was afraid of. That had never been his intention, to scare the poor woman—he’d been called many things in his life, but frightening was not one of them.
‘Let me check the hallway,’ he said, summoning his friendliest smile.
Crossing to the doorway, he opened the door a crack and peered out. The group of meddling matrons still stood fanning themselves and chattering ten feet away. There was no way past them, at least not without being seen.
‘Still there. I’m sure they will return to the ballroom shortly.’
Harry returned to his chair and sat, watching Lady Fortescue out of the corner of his eye. When she’d introduced herself he’d been unable to stop from staring. Normally so in control of his reactions, he’d been thrown by her identity. She was notorious, perhaps the most notorious widow in society at the present time. Married three times before the age of twenty-five, her latest husband, Lord Fortescue, in the ground for twelve months now. He’d expected her to look different somehow, perhaps more exotic. Instead a perfectly pleasant-looking young woman stood before him. She was pretty, but not any more so than most of the young debutantes. He couldn’t deny she had poise and grace, but there was a coolness about her that hinted at a reserved character and a tendency to shun company. Her most intriguing feature were her eyes. Cool and grey, they seemed impenetrable. Normally a young woman’s eyes gave away her emotions, but not Lady Fortescue’s. If eyes were the window to the soul, then Lady Fortescue’s were shuttered and barred against intruders.
They remained silent for some minutes, Harry reclining in the armchair, Lady Fortescue standing in the middle of the room, her hands folded together in front of her abdomen, the perfect picture of demure womanhood.
‘So tell me,’ Harry said when he could bear the silence no longer, ‘are the rumours true?’
His companion sighed, a deep and heartfelt sound that hinted that she’d rather be anywhere but here.
‘I find rumours rarely are,’ she said evasively.
‘Very true,’ Harry murmured. He knew better than most the damage malicious gossip could cause. ‘How do you bear it? People talking about you, speculating?’
Lady Fortescue shrugged, an instinctive movement that she seemed to try to suppress at the last moment. ‘People will always talk. It doesn’t matter what they say if you don’t listen.’
Although she was younger than he, and undoubtedly hadn’t been exposed to as much of the world as he, she had a quiet wisdom about her that suggested she’d had more important things to cope with than a little gossip in her time.
‘Most women would not feel comfortable leaving the ballroom on their own, let alone wandering about a strange house,’ Harry said, changing the focus of the conversation. He was curious as to why she had put herself in this position in the first place. Although the ton were meant to be respectable, the cream of society, some of the men still got uncontrollably drunk at functions such as this and thought it their right to take advantage of any unchaperoned