The Capture of the Earl of Glencrae Read Free Page B

converse in private, so”—she waved at the expanse of deserted terrace before them—“here we are.”
    â€œWe’ve only just been introduced, and you’ve engineered a private interlude.” His tone held more resignation than complaint.
    â€œI see no point in wasting time, and”—she glanced pointedly at the salon’s wide windows—“trust me, there’s nothing the least illicit about this. We’re in plain sight of the entire room.”
    â€œAll the occupants of which are facing the dance floor.” He shook his head. “You’re as bold as brass.” His gaze rose to her hair. “Just like your curls. Your brothers have my sympathies. You have two of them, I believe.”
    â€œIndeed. Rupert and Alasdair—or Gabriel and Lucifer, depending on whether you’re within hearing of our mother or aunts.”
    â€œI’m surprised neither of them is here, lurking in the shadows, ready to step in and ride rein on you.”
    â€œI grant you they would try were they here, however, happily, these days they have better things to do—wives to attend, children to dote over.”
    â€œNevertheless, you strike me as the sort of mettlesome female who requires a permanent keeper.”
    â€œStrange though you may think it, not many would agree with you. I’m generally held to be remarkably sane and thoroughly practical—not the sort of female any perspicacious gentleman would attempt to take advantage of.”
    â€œAh—so that’s why no one seems to be keeping any close eye on you.”
    â€œIndeed. It’s an outcome of being viewed as twenty-five, rather than twenty-one.”
    He glanced back along the terrace; she did, too, noting the two other couples still strolling near the door.
    When she looked back at him, he said, “You said you wanted to talk. About what?”
    She studied his face, taking in the telltale features, the clean, strong lines that unequivocally placed him in her social class. “I’m puzzled that I can’t place you, that I can’t recall ever having seen you. When were you last in London? Theo thought it was four years ago.”
    â€œIt was five. I first came to town in ’20, and the last time I graced London’s ballrooms was in June of ’24. I’ve visited the city on business over the intervening years, but had no time for socializing.”
    â€œWell, that explains it—I wasn’t presented until ’25. But perhaps you remember my sisters?”
    He nodded. “Yes, I remember them, but in those days I wasn’t interested in young ladies. I spent more time avoiding them than chatting with them, and I don’t believe I ever spoke with your sisters. We were never introduced.”
    â€œHmm . . . so your return to the ballrooms in search of young ladies is something of a novel endeavor for you.”
    â€œYou might say that. But tell me, what of you?”
    They’d reached the end of the terrace; halting at the top of the steps leading down to a gravel path, she glanced out into the gloom of the garden. The light thrown by the salon’s windows ended several yards back; the spot where they now stood was enveloped in dense shadows cast by nearby trees.
    Drawing her hand from his sleeve and turning to face him, putting her back to the garden, she met his gaze and arched a brow. “What do you want to know?”
    â€œYou’re clearly very much at home in this sphere. Do you spend all your time in London?”
    Looking into his shadowed face, she smiled. “As a Cynster, I’ve been a part of the ton for all my life, so it’s hardly surprising that I’m at home within its circles. That said, I spend only the months of the Season in town, and perhaps a month during the Little Season. For the rest of the year I’m in the country, either in Somerset, where I was born, or visiting family and