He turned a fiery look upon her. “Why shouldn’t I? If it will satisfy —”
“Because it’s embarrassing, you stupid creature!” Realising the rector was looking both amused and puzzled, she turned to him with a deprecating look, lowering her voice. “Pay no heed, sir. I’m sorry to embroil you in this, but Giff’s conduct —”
“My conduct? What of your conduct, pray?”
She turned on him. “But I haven’t done anything! Nor has he. Really, you are perfectly nonsensical about this, Giff. And for nothing.” She met his smouldering gaze and the fire slowly died out of it.
A self-conscious laugh escaped him. “I’m sorry, Delia. Can’t help it. Every time I think of you and him with your heads together…”
“If we had our heads together, which I strongly dispute, it was only so that we might not be overheard. For all you know, the man is married. Have you thought of that?”
“Ha! You think that would stop him flirting with you?”
“Oh, be quiet!” Exasperated, Delia turned to the Reverend Gaunt. “I am going inside, sir. Have you spoken to my aunt this morning?”
Throwing an amused look upon his nephew, the rector offered his arm. “Allow me to take you in. If I were you, my boy, I would waste less time on fripperies and concentrate on securing your inheritance.”
Giff let out a resigned breath. “Yes. Fine. I am clearly outnumbered here. I’m off!”
With which, he strode away to the door into the Rooms. Delia, seizing the moment, hung back when the rector would have urged her to follow.
“Wait! I must speak to you, sir! I have an idea and I think you may be able to help me.”
He frowned but allowed her to lead the way back to the boulder and sat down as she did. “I presume whatever it is has the purpose of furthering Giffard’s aims?”
“Yes, but you must say nothing of it to him, sir.”
“Why? Surely he ought to know of any plan concerning him?”
“Not this one. He would utterly condemn it and I’d find myself unable to carry it out.”
The rector looked amused. “I hardly know whether to be entertained or alarmed, Delia.”
She laughed. “It’s nothing dangerous, I assure you. Only Giff refuses to have anything to do with his family, and I am determined to go and beard his grandfather.”
“Lord Saunderton? Flora’s father? Good heavens!”
“Why, is there some difficulty?”
The Reverend Gaunt grimaced. “None beyond the fellow’s being quite as pig-headed as Giffard, and a good deal worse-tempered.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Within moments of being shown into an upstairs saloon in Saunderton House, it was plain to Delia that the Reverend Gaunt’s assessment of Giff’s grandfather was, if anything, understated.
The room itself was depressing enough, with its dark-panelled walls and the curtains half-drawn against the sunlight. Enthroned on a huge, leather-upholstered winged chair, one gouty bandaged foot raised up on a stool before him, sat the most crusty-looking old gentleman Delia had ever seen. His countenance must once have been comely, but was now marred by broken veins, pinched, thin lips, a long beak-like nose and grotesque overgrown eyebrows. He peered at the visitors through an eye horribly magnified by a quizzing glass.
“Gaunt? That you? What in hell’s quivering teeth brings you into my lair? Must know I ain’t receiving.”
The rector, with more courage than Delia could summon up, approached the man, holding out a hand. “So your butler informed me, my dear Saunderton. I overbore him, however, on the score of long acquaintance.”
Lord Saunderton gave him his hand but released it immediately, snorting in a fashion reminiscent of Aunt Gertrude. “Pah! Ain’t seen you for years! Not that I’ve any wish to see you now either!”
“But I have a strong desire to see you. I’ve brought someone to meet you, my friend.”
Delia, who had kept well behind, drew a tight breath as Lord Saunderton’s inimical gaze found her.
“Eh? Who’s this? What d’ye mean by trotting stray females into my house, Gaunt? Ain’t it enough I’m plagued with that niminy-piminy girl of mine?”