she said. By this time they were in a large vestibule with doors on either side and the main staircase, wide and curving, facing them. It was furnished with a small table holding a silver salver, a bench and a number of rout chairs. The muffled sound of male voices came from somewhere above. She speculated momentarily as to who the gentlemen might be and then ignored the sound. She indicated the chairs and said, “Sit down while you wait for me.”
Sinclair, knocking on a door on the left near the foot of the stairs as he opened it, announced, “Miss Vincent, my lord.”
His tone was deferential yet there was an undercurrent of amusement in it that told Leonora that this man, a personable creature approaching the age of forty, she imagined, was on intimate terms with the Earl. He turned to usher her in and she could see something else in his blue eyes, something she had come to recognise over the years. He found her pleasing.
She did not care whether the man Sinclair found her pleasing or not. Her business was with his employer. She lifted her pretty, firm jaw and sailed past him into the lion’s den.
The manager withdrew, closing the door behind her. A tall youngish gentleman rose languidly from behind the desk, where he had been sitting perusing some papers, and stepped out to make his bow.
“Miss Vincent.”
He made no attempt to be more than civil. Leonora dipped a polite curtsy and acknowledged the greeting. “My lord.”
They studied each other. Leonora saw a tall, lean, but well-built gentleman of some thirty years—certainly he was a deal younger than his manager—with short brown hair arranged in the latest careless style, who wore his well-tailored garments with easy elegance. The hair framed a face whose individual features would have been difficult to criticise—a broad forehead; slate-grey eyes set beneath brows of a lighter hue than his hair and fringed by enviable lashes; a straight nose and shapely mouth.
Only his chin gave her cause for concern. It looked formidably firm and determined.
To Blaise Dancer, Earl of Kelsey, heir to the Marquess of Whittonby, Miss Leonora Vincent looked the epitome of a strait-laced governess well beyond her youthful prime. The way she dressed, the way she held herself, the severe expression with which she was attempting to intimidate him, told the tale. But, despite her years, he could not fault the perfection of her complexion, the accumulation of fine features that gave her an appearance of classical beauty which, given the matching stoniness of her expression, he did not find attractive.
Light brown hair tending towards fair strayed from beneath the brim of an elderly velvet bonnet trimmed with wilting silk flowers. It matched the colour of the brown pelisse he could glimpse beneath the enfolding cloth of a grey travelling cloak. Her skirts, by what he could see of them, were of a lighter colour, a dull buff muslin sprigged with brown and green. Her eyes, an interesting mixture of grey, green and blue, were narrowed between gold-tipped lashes with something suspiciously like vexation. He allowed himself a secret smile of satisfaction.
“You,” said Leonora at length, quelling the dismay she felt at having so young a gentleman occupying the rooms beneath hers, “are Lord Kelsey, my tenant?”
“I am, madam.” They were still standing. He waved her to a seat facing his desk and, once she had settled herself, sank back into his own chair. “Naturally,” he went on easily, “I am devastated by the death of Mr Charles Vincent. We dealt well together. That he had left his property to a great-niece came as a surprise to me. Not to say a shock.”
“And to me, my lord. I had not seen my Uncle Vincent for many a year. Not since my mother’s death.”
“So you were not expecting to inherit anything,” remarked his lordship with evident satisfaction. “In that case, madam, you must be grateful for your good fortune. I am prepared to make you an offer for this building. The money, well invested, will enable you to live quite comfortably wherever you may choose.”
Leonora stared at him. To think that she had once contemplated taking lodgings elsewhere! That had been before she saw the wonderful house Uncle Vincent had left her and met this infuriating, domineering creature. Now, she was determined to make this her home.
She said, “On the contrary, my lord, I am prepared to buy out your lease. It must be quite immaterial to you where you reside. There must be many more convenient places in Bath.”
“But I have established a business in these rooms, madam.”
Leonora’s eyebrows rose. “Business, my lord? I had not imagined that a gentleman of your rank would indulge in trade!”
“Trade, Miss Vincent?” His haughty tone could not have been more chilling. “You mistake. I have established an exclusive Gentleman’s Club on these premises. Even now, if you will listen, you will hear a party of members being admitted. You must see how inconvenient it would be for you to have such an activity taking place on the floors beneath you.”
Her hands had begun to tremble. She clasped them tightly in her lap, on top of her reticule. “What activity?” she demanded. “Drinking? Gambling?”
He smiled. The devil had the most fascinating smile she had seen in a man. Creases radiated from his eyes, which sparked with wicked amusement, and bracketed his mouth, which had assumed the most alluring of curves.
She fought down a desire to smile back. Her hands gripped each other harder. She would not be seduced by his charm.
“Both of those things, Miss Vincent. But I also provide a Reading Room and serve food as well as drink in the Dining Room. Only two of the rooms are given over to cards and gaming.”
Leonora’s lips compressed. “You are operating a gambling hell in my house,” she accused.
The chilly hauteur returned. Eyes which normally looked upon the world with audacious challenge became cold and repressive. “If you say so, madam.” He would not deign to argue with the prudish creature. “I collect that, since you so obviously disapprove of my activities, you will have changed your mind about taking up residence here yourself?”
To his surprise she smiled. Pleats curled round her perfect mouth. Unexpectedly, his body reacted in an all-too-familiar way.
Her eyes challenged his. “On the contrary, my lord. If it would not inconvenience you too much—” the irony did not escape him “—I will have our boxes carried up the main stairs to my rooms. It will be easier for the servants to carry them up that way, rather than being compelled to negotiate what I imagine are the much narrower service stairs.”
He stirred. He had not expected her to outface him and his annoyance grew. Would nothing deter her? He smiled on a sudden thought. “You have not yet seen the accommodation, Miss Vincent,” he reminded her.
“Nor have I inspected your gambling hell,” she returned with patently false affability. “At what hour do you close?”
“At three in the morning, Miss Vincent. And I open again to serve breakfasts at ten. If you are interested, I shall be pleased to show you round one day before we open.” He raised his quizzing glass and inspected her through it with undisguised challenge, though his lips twitched with quite irrepressible amusement. “You are determined to stay? It would be highly improper in you to do so.”
She chose to ignore his last inconvenient remark. “It is my right to live in and to inspect my property, Lord Kelsey. I shall move in immediately and you may
