Damn. He’d forgotten that.
She added in a dulcet tone, “Mr. Ffolliot has been setting my opinions right. I had no idea how ignorant I was, being a mere foolish female. Such a masterful man.”
Gerald snorted. If that’s the sort of fellow she admired, more fool her.
They drove on in silence. She sat beside him looking pretty and guileless and all butter-wouldn’t-melt, a little smile playing around her delectable mouth. But he knew—he just knew—that underneath that angelic exterior, she was as devious and deceitful and disingenuous as her scoundrel of a father. She had to be. She was the whole purpose of his vile scheme. The contrast, the cheek of her, infuriated him. He wanted to shake her until her teeth rattled. Or kiss her senseless. Which would be madness.
She sat there smiling gently to herself as if she knew something he didn’t, and enjoyed knowing it, all the while pretending to be simply enjoying the park and the sunshine and the wretched tweeting birds. Little Miss Innocent.
They reached a quiet corner of the park, and Gerald brought his horses to a stop and turned to her. “Miss Bamber.”
She turned to him and the soft, expectant light in her eyes caused him to catch his breath.
Female wiles. He hardened his heart. “I’ve met several men recently who knew your father.” He had to know whether she was involved with her father’s schemes, or if she even knew about them. And if she was involved, how much?
Her eyes narrowed. “Checking up on me, Lord Thorncrake?”
He refused to react. “Checking up on your father.”
“You mean raking up dirt.” Her mouth twisted cynically. “And hoping to find some dirt on me, too, I suppose.”
He arched a sardonic brow. “If the cap fits.”
Her mouth tightened. She gazed out across the park, saying nothing.
“You will admit, I hope, that I have a right to investigate your father, considering what he’s doing to my aunt.”
“You mean the blackmail.”
His brows flew up. “You know about that?” Alice had given him no indication that Miss Bamber knew anything about it.
She gave a careless flip of her hand. “Only that it exists, not what it involves.” She gave him a sidelong glance. “Why so surprised? There had to be some reason why Alice took me in, a perfect stranger. She told me about it when I tried to wriggle out of the whole mad scheme.”
“Mad scheme?”
“To marry me off to a lord.” She gave a scornful huff. “Ridiculous.”
Why ridiculous, he wondered. Most girls wanted to marry into the aristocracy. He had the evidence of his own sudden popularity after his uncle died and his father became Lord Charlton and Gerald became Viscount Thornton. Females who’d never given him a second thought now hung on his every word and gave every indication that he was the finest fellow in the world.
He wasn’t sure he believed her claim. “Why would you want to wriggle out of it?”
She turned her head and met his gaze squarely. “Because I don’t like lords, and I can’t think of anything worse than to be married to one.”
He blinked. “How do you know you don’t like lords? We’re not all the same, you know. ‘Lord’ is just a word, a title—it doesn’t tell you anything about the man who bears it.”
She snorted. “It’s not just a word. It’s an attitude, a belief about one’s importance in the world. A lord thinks—no, he knows—that the world is his oyster. And that everyone else is some kind of lesser being put on this earth for his pleasure and convenience.”
“That’s a revolting attitude!”
“I know, which is why I could never bring myself to marry a lord.”
“No, I meant your attitude toward lords. How do you that that’s what they think?”
“I’ve met plenty of lords, and I know.”
Her certainty annoyed him. “Where? How have you met this vast profusion of lords? You’ve only been in London a short while.”
“Lords also infest the countryside, you know. I met dozens when I lived with the c—a grand lady I was living with.”
“Another grand lady?” he said sarcastically.
“Yes, a French comtesse,” she said coolly. “And she had grand visitors—lords and ladies, marquesses and dukes—coming to stay with her all the time.”
“A French comtesse,” he repeated in a flat voice. What nonsense. “In France, was it?”
“No, in England, not far from Brighton. She kept a pet goose.” Her sherry-colored eyes taunted him. “The goose you tried to run over.”
“I did not try to run the blasted thing over. I stopped!”
She gave an indifferent shrug, dismissing his words as she so often seemed to do. Gerald held on to his temper. She was trying to annoy him, and he refused to let her win.
“And did your father blackmail her too?”
She sent him a scathing look. “No, he made a different arrangement. Do you think it will rain later?” she said, making clear the conversation was closed as far as she was concerned.
Gerald begged to differ. They drove down an avenue of trees, and something else she’d said occurred to him. “You said Alice took you in, ‘a perfect stranger,’ but I thought you were my aunt’s goddaughter. Was that a lie?” If so, he’d be surprised. Alice never told lies.
“No, she really is my godmother.”
“Then in what sense were you a stranger?”
“Oh, work it out yourself,” she snapped. Color rose in her cheeks. “Is this what this drive is all about? Getting me alone so you could confront me about the sins of my father? Looking for reasons to blame me? Because if so—”
“I have the right to look out for my aunt’s interests. She is family, after all.”
“Oh, ‘family,’ is it?” she flashed. “Then why has the current Lord Charlton—your father—done nothing to help Alice out of the financial difficulties her husband—his brother, your uncle, the previous Lord Charlton—left her in? Yes, of course I know about it. And don’t you dare imagine that Alice has breathed a word of it. She’s far too proud to say anything, but servants let things slip, you know. And I have eyes and a brain. It’s obvious.”
Gerald shifted uncomfortably on his seat. He completely agreed, but he wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of admitting it.
She continued in a low, vehement voice, “As for your mother”—Gerald winced in anticipation—“she loses no opportunity to belittle Alice in front of others. A fine family you can boast of. But do I blame you for your uncle’s selfishness or your father’s miserly neglect of his duty or your mother’s bitchiness? No! So don’t blame me for my father’s dirty dealing! I blackmailed no one, I stole nothing, and I’ve never cheated anyone in my life!” Unshed tears glittered in her eyes.