It was a little gauntlet, thrown down.
There was a silence.
“Neighbors?”
“Oh, yes. I think the building next door is a fine location for a gaming hell. It’s for sale, as it so happens, and I intend to purchase it. Which is the primary reason I am your guest.”
Interesting, her little hesitation here. She was good, Mrs. Breedlove was. Very cool. Not one eyelash flickered. Her lovely mouth did not so much as twitch.
But she’d gone quite still.
For a moment they did nothing but lock eyes.
“I suppose you would know better than I would about fine locations for gaming hells, Lord Bolt,” she said smoothly.
He narrowed his eyes.
He gave the rules a little smack again. “And this bit about the drawing room. What manner of mad—”
“Lord Bolt.” Her tone was practically a caress, and yet he had a feeling she could command the attention of a crowd with that tone. Certainly he’d be dying to hear anything she had to say if she used that voice. “If you’ll allow me to save you a little breath and time. Our rules are not negotiable. I believe they could not be more plainly stated, so prolonged discussion will not likely yield more clarity. None of our guests find them unduly onerous. Perhaps you won’t, either. Our party guests have dispersed, and if you like, I can introduce you right now to the guests you will come to know during your stay. If you choose to stay here.”
He listened to this little discourse as well asfeltit. And what he felt was a woman who knew herself well. She had confidence, no doubt earned. And more interestingly, this woman perhaps gave not one damn whether he stayed or didn’t, but perhaps had a slight preference for the latter.
Which of course made him determined to stay.
“Given how eventful your life has been, surely this shouldn’t pose an undue challenge?” This arrived sympathetically. They both knew this was a goad.
He wasn’t so stubborn that he would resist as a matter of principle. He knew winning strategies often involved an acquiescence or two.
At first.
“Lead the way, Mrs. Breedlove,” he said silkily.
To say Lucien’s presence was instantly felt in the little parlor was a bit like saying earthquakes were felt by the foundations of buildings.
Silence, of the confused and wary sort, descended. The room was full of guests—tonight it was Mr. Delacorte, Mrs. Pariseau, and Mr. Cassidy, along with Dot and Helga, their cook—who tipped their heads up to Angelique uncertainly. It was as though she’d left the room to bring in lemon seed cakes and nonchalantly returned with a leopard on a lead instead.
Mr. Delacorte was the first to offer her a tentative, forgiving smile: Did youmeanto lead a leopard into the parlor? We’ll all politely look the other way whilst you lead it out again.
Angelique cleared her throat, said brightly, “Good evening, friends. We’ve a new guest. We’re delighted to present Lucien Durand, Lord Bolt. I hope you’ll help us make him feel welcome.”
Another brief but notable silence ensued as the word “Lord” had its usual impact on mixed company. Suddenly no one was quite certain what to do. No one eyed her or Delilah with a sense of rank betrayal, but she had the sensation that they were tempted.
And then Lucien bowed. And it was so very polite, such a thing of beauty and grace, that lean body of his folding like an animal languorously stretching, that Mrs. Pariseau’s eyebrows flew upward like skeet and her mouth pursed in a silent whistle.
She was on her feet to offer him a rather rusty curtsy by the time he was upright again, and when she was finished, she gave her skirts a little fluff.
He favored her with a smile.
Everyone was on their feet by that time, so Angelique made the introductions.
Mr. Cassidy, any woman’s definition of handsome, was also courtly and well-spoken and had so far behaved faultlessly, but every now and then he deployed a sort of slow, crooked smile that lit up his blue-gray eyes and made the maids alternately act like idiots or bicker among themselves over who brought things up or started his morning fires. If he was not precisely an open book, well, that described most men. He hadn’t a pedigree and he wasn’t wealthy, which was a bit of a relief.
“Mr. Hugh Cassidy. A pleasure to meet you, Lord Bolt.”
“Likewise, Mr. Cassidy. An American, I see.”
“Indeed, sir. All the way from New York.”