said Clare, stepping forward and laying a hand on Lady Harriet’s arm. ‘Do not let him annoy you. I am perfectly happy to give you any help I may, since you are being so kind as to have me stay with you at what anyone with a modicum of sensitivity—’ she shot Lord Rawcliffe a look loaded with reproach ‘—would know is a very difficult time to entertain strangers.’
‘Besides, Clare isn’t used to being entertained in any manner whatever,’ he said coldly. ‘She is far more used to being a drudge. Put her to work and she will immediately feel at home.’
She whirled on him. ‘What a beastly thing to say!’
He shrugged. ‘The truth? I thought you had been exhorting me to tell the truth. And not to be economical with it.’
‘Yes, but that is quite different from wielding it like a weapon!’
‘I think I’d better ring for some tea,’ said Lady Harriet, darting across the room to a bell pull and yanking on it with a slight air of desperation.
‘You have somebody to bring it now, do you? When last I came here,’ he said to Clare, as though they had not just been on the verge of yet another quarrel, ‘I had to come in by the back door because she had neither butler nor footmen to answer the front.’
‘Clearly, I have rectified my lack of staff,’ said Lady Harriet, ‘since Stobbins let you in and announced you. Oh,’ she said, clasping her hands together in agitation. ‘What kind of hostess am I? Please, Miss... I forget your name, but it is Clare something, isn’t it?’
‘Cottam,’ supplied Lord Rawcliffe.
‘Please, won’t you sit down? You must be exhausted if you’ve travelled up to town today.’
‘And it was such a long way,’ said Lord Rawcliffe sarcastically.
‘I am sure it felt like it, if she was shut up in a coach with you the entire time,’ shot back Lady Harriet.
‘Fortunately,’ said Lord Rawcliffe, turning to subject her to one of his lazy-lidded, stomach-melting smiles, ‘Clare is not you. Clare and I have known each other practically all our lives, you see. And we...understand each other.’
He took her hand. Kissed it.
And her heart soared.
Because he’d declared he preferred her to another woman. True, he’d only implied he thought she was more capable that Lady Harriet and that he was glad she’d been the one in the coach with him, but for the first time, he’d made it sound as though she wasn’t a total disaster.
And he wasn’t laughing at her. Or mocking her. Or provoking her into an argument.
Suddenly she had to sit down. Because her knees were buckling. Oh, dear, whatever was she going to do? She was used to sparring with him. But if he started paying her compliments and kissing her whenever he felt like it, however was she going to resist him?
Because she had to.
Or he would, one day, casually break her heart without even noticing.
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