Alice nodded. And then there were times she was grateful for Lucy’s sharp mind.
* * *
* * *
To Alice’s faint discomfort, Lord Tarrant called the following afternoon. Discomfort because, on reflection, she’d decided that she’d behaved foolishly the previous times she’d met him. She wasn’t a green, impressionable girl; she was a sensible widow who knew exactly what she did and didn’t want.
Just because a man had never sent her into a flutter before by his mere presence. And the way he looked at her . . . And his smile. It was no reason to get all hot and bothered.
She’d fallen out of the habit of socializing, that was all, and had read too much into the looks Lord Tarrant had given her. She wasn’t ever going to marry again, and even if he did intend improper overtures, it was nothing to be anxious about, because she was most definitely not interested in having an affair. All that horrid bedroom activity was, thank goodness, behind her.
She was a mature, grown woman, and she would behave like one.
Lord Tarrant was her third male caller that afternoon. Two of Thaddeus’s friends had visited—separately. Word had obviously reached them that she was receiving again. The first had suggested with a leer that he was more than willing to help assuage her loneliness. The arrival of other visitors prevented her from sending him off with a flea in his ear, and though she itched to smack his oily, presumptuous face, she had to make do with an icy response.
The second of Thaddeus’s friends, Sir Alec Grafton, had arrived just as several ladies were leaving, and just after Lucy had excused herself for a moment. He took advantage of her brief lack of company to lean forward, place a heavy hand on her knee and make an even more blatant offer.
She’d brushed away his hand like a repellent insect, and was in the process of coldly informing him that she was perfectly content as she was, thank you, and she’d be grateful if he never troubled her again—ever!—when Tweed announced Lord Tarrant.
He must have overheard her delivering the last part of her little speech. He gave Sir Alec a hard look as the man took his leave, but his expression was smooth as he greeted her and took the seat she waved him to. On the opposite side of the room.
There was a short, tense silence. If he so much as hinted that she might be lonely and in need of male company . . .
He rubbed his hands together. “Brrr, pretty chilly in here at the moment.”
Alice blinked. It was a sunny afternoon, and if anything, it was rather warm.
His expression was an odd mix of rueful amusement. “Finding some of your visitors tedious, I gather.”
“Not simply tedious—obnoxious, offensive and unwelcome.”
“Dear me. If any more of that kind arrive, give me a wink and I’ll toss them out on their ear.”
Was he serious? Or was he making fun of her? She couldn’t tell from his expression. Lucy returned, and two other ladies arrived. They exchanged greetings and made polite chitchat.
It quickly became clear that Lucy wasn’t the focus of these ladies’ visit. Alice was their target. Lady Fanstock, the older lady, was a grandmother, and she and her daughter had come with a view to presenting Lady Fanstock’s middle-aged son, Threadbow, as a potential—nay, ideal—husband for Alice.
Lady Fanstock waxed long and lyrical about Threadbow’s many fine qualities, and whenever she paused to draw breath, Threadbow’s older sister filled the gap with more encomiums. Threadbow was clever, he was sensitive, he would cause her no worries of the wandering sort—he’d never been in the petticoat line—and it was a complete fabrication on people’s part to suggest that he had weak lungs.
Alice nodded, murmured polite, noncommittal responses and wondered whether the clock was broken. The hands were moving so very, very slowly.
In the middle of one of these torrents of Threadbow praise, Alice happened to catch Lord Tarrant’s eye. He raised a dark, sardonic brow, winked, then jerked his head toward the door in query.
Give me a wink, and I’ll toss them out on their ear.
A bubble of laughter rose in her. She managed to turn it into a cough.
Tea and little iced cakes were then brought in.
Eventually Lady Fanstock and her daughter finished their tea and left. Lord Tarrant should have gone, too, but he made no move to depart, possibly because there were several little cakes remaining. It seemed Lord Tarrant had a sweet tooth. Before she could delicately suggest to him that his visit was well overdue to end, two more ladies arrived. He rose, greeted them politely and sat down again.
Alice resigned herself and called for a fresh pot of tea and more little cakes—somehow they’d all been eaten.
These lady visitors were visibly delighted with Lord Tarrant and pelted him with questions—attempting to discover, none too subtly, his marital status, fortune and plans for the future, as well as his war experiences. She was amused to see how he deflected the more intrusive questions by changing the subject so adroitly that the ladies didn’t realize it.
She wasn’t surprised by their interest. There was something about him, something compelling. It wasn’t just that he was tall and ruggedly attractive; he had an air of command—not the kind of swaggering arrogance that she associated with her late husband and some of his friends, but a quiet assurance. As if he were perfectly comfortable in his skin and had nothing to prove.
And of course there was the title and the fortune to go with it.
While his attention was on the other ladies—and the cakes—she took the opportunity to look at him, really look at him. Without those disturbing, knowing gray eyes observing her interest.
And that’s all it was, she told herself—interest. Curiosity. Nothing else.
He was not heavy, as Thaddeus had been, but lean, with a body well used to hard exercise. And fighting, she reminded herself. He’d arrived wearing fine brown leather gloves. He’d removed them and now drew them through his long fingers over and over, as if restless—though in every other way he seemed relaxed.
He was closely shaved. The thought prompted the memory of the faint scent of his cologne the evening of the party. His thick, dark hair was cut short, almost brutally so. She thought she detected a slight hint of curl.
Alice repressed a smile. A number of men of her acquaintance cultivated a head of artistically arranged curls. She suspected some went to bed with their hair in rags, or perhaps their valets used curling irons. Lord Tarrant cut his curls off.
He was plainly dressed in immaculate buff breeches, which clung to his long, lean legs, with their hard, muscular thighs. His linen was pristine, his neckcloth was neat but not ostentatious, and his dark blue coat, clearly cut by a master tailor, hugged his broad shoulders. His boots gleamed with polish, and unlike most fashionable gentlemen of her acquaintance, there were no fobs dangling from his waistcoat, just a plain gold watch chain.