Regina Scott - The Irresistible Earl

“Nothing of the sort,” Meredee said, wishing Mrs. Murdock had never coined the phrase. But she set her hand on his arm nonetheless and was surprised to feel a tension matching her own. What could possibly have discomposed the earl? Had he come to the inn for some other purpose?

“And I am the lucky one,” Sir Trevor said, offering one arm to Lady Phoebe and the other to Mrs. Price. “I have the pleasure of escorting two beauties to dinner.”

Phoebe’s giggle was nearly eclipsed by Mrs. Price’s.

The dining room was long and high, with the same pale blue walls edged in white and the ceiling painted with puffy clouds and pink-cheeked cherubs. Lord Allyndale led her to a gilded chair on his left, while Lady Phoebe took up the chair at his right and Mrs. Price sat beside the girl, leaving Sir Trevor to sit on Meredee’s other side.

Meredee was spared conversation as footmen brought in a tureen of steaming onion soup, platters of roast beef and salmon, and plates of buttered prawns, fresh asparagus and broccoli. She was a little surprised when Lord Allyndale did not ask her or his sister which dishes they preferred but filled their plates with what must have appealed to him.

“Is the beef not to your liking?” he asked her when she had stared down at the loaded gold-rimmed china for a few moments.

Meredee glanced up at him. “I’m sure it’s delicious, my lord. I would love to try the salmon, too.”

He blinked as if it had never dawned on him she might have a specific preference. “Certainly. Trevor, be a good man and find room on Miss Price’s place for the fish.”

Meredee turned to the baronet before he could reach for the plate. “If you’d be so good as to pass the plate my way, Sir Trevor, I’m certain I can serve myself.”

“Your servant, Miss Price,” he assured her.

She was thankful when Lady Phoebe monopolized the conversation for most of the first course. She had to find a way to ask the earl why he’d come to Scarborough. But every gambit seemed too obvious, too calculated. She glanced his way several times, and each time he smiled as if in encouragement. Yet she couldn’t seem to bring the words to her lips.

“Miss Price was telling me her theories on the earth’s magnetic fields,” the earl put in at one point.

Lady Phoebe blinked as if, for once, she could find nothing to say on the topic. Sir Trevor dug more deeply into his asparagus as if searching for hidden treasure.

“I’m certain you would know far more, my lord,” Mrs. Price said with a warning look to Meredee. “No one in my household could lay claim to being a bluestocking.” She laughed as if the very notion was absurd.

“Interesting,” he replied with a smile. “I’ve always found the study of scientific topics to be commendable, in either sex.”

“Well, well, certainly,” Mrs. Price stammered. “Might I have some more of that delightful salmon, my lord? I must have the recipe for my cook.”

Chase passed her the plate. As he returned to his meal, his left eyelid drifted closed for a second. Heavens, had he just winked at her?

The second course was even more elaborate, with herbed pheasant, sole smothered in mushrooms, a ragout of celery, tart apple pie, sweet trifle and strawberry ice cream in a silver bucket. This time, she noticed, Lord Allyndale made certain to pass each dish to her for her choice, his hands firm on the fine china. Yet she couldn’t help wondering whether they would hold a pistol so steadily if it were aimed at her stepbrother’s heart.

“Still not to your liking?” he murmured. “You have the most determined frown on your face.”

Meredee forced her lips upward. “I have never had so many wonderful dishes, my lord.”

He nodded as if satisfied. “I’ll be sure to pass your compliment on to Mrs. Downthistle.”

So he took the trouble to praise his staff, and he knew their names. Her father, God rest his soul, had found it more convenient to call them by their purpose—Cook or Coachman.

Determined not to wait another minute, she set her fork down. “What brought you to Scarborough, my lord?” she asked.

Mrs. Price, who had been drawn into an animated conversation with Lady Phoebe, broke off in midsentence to listen to his answer. Even Sir Trevor paused, fork halfway to his mouth. Lord Allyndale must have noticed he was suddenly the focus of every eye, because he raised his brows.

“There’s no great secret,” he said. “I dislike London summers. Scarborough is close enough to our estate to be both a distraction and a convenience.”

Lady Phoebe made a face. “He means he can hurry home whenever he likes.” She shook her finger at him. “You lack all spirit of adventure!”

His chuckle made Meredee smile. “Perhaps I do have a preference for my own fire.”

“And what of you, Miss Price?” Sir Trevor asked on her left. “What brings you and your sister to Scarborough?”

Mrs. Price batted her lashes and answered for Meredee. “Why, to be entertained by young scamps like you, sir.”

Sir Trevor smiled at her sally but turned his attention immediately back to Meredee. As Lord Allyndale offered to refill her stepmother’s plate, his friend lowered his voice. “And are you also here for the company, Miss Price?”

Those green eyes were far too watchful. “I go wherever my stepmother needs me, sir.”

“Ah, then you were not left with an independence.”

How rude! Did he think to win an heiress with so bold a question? She frowned at him, but her eyes were drawn to the stickpin in his snowy cravat. It gleamed dully, as if the diamond had been exchanged with paste. And surely those stitches at the lapel of his coat indicated where it had been skillfully patched. The baronet, it seemed, had to economize. Small wonder finances were of such interest to him.

“No,” she said. “My father left me no dowry.”

“A shame,” he replied. “I don’t believe I’m familiar with your father or the Price family. Where are you from?”

Why did he persist? He could not be interested in her. His financial circumstances would demand a wealthy bride. And his pride would likely demand a beautiful one.

“Are you a student of genealogy, Sir Trevor?” she asked, taking up her fork and spearing the sole.

He blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“Genealogy, the study of one’s antecedents. You seem keenly interested in mine. Is it your hobby?”

His mouth opened and closed, as if he could not find the wit to respond.

“Many gentlemen have hobbies,” she offered, taking pity on him. “You may have seen Colonel Williams at the spa—tall fellow, favors his right leg—he studies rocks. Mr. Cranell, who you may have seen partnering my stepmother at cards, deciphers the meaning and origin of names. My father collected seashells.”

“How delightful,” he said, managing to sound anything but delighted. “And what do you collect, Miss Price?”

“Apparently, gentlemen intent on quizzing me,” she replied.

“More sole, Miss Price?” Lord Allyndale put in, forcing her to turn away from Sir Trevor before the baronet could formulate a reply. Lord Allyndale’s mouth was held in a tight line as he offered her the plate, but his blue eyes twinkled. He was obviously trying not to laugh.

But was it Sir Trevor or her who had amused him?

What a cipher Miss Price was. She smiled readily at quips, responded appropriately to most questions. She was the picture of loveliness, all shades of gold, sitting beside him. But when she thought no one was watching, her face betrayed her least emotion. At moments, he caught her gazing at him with such perplexity that he wondered what she was seeing.

“She has no money, no family to brag of and a cutting wit,” Trevor said after the ladies had left them to their conversation. “I see no need to prolong the acquaintance.”