Lady Kincade’s virulent complaints continued for a moment, but Tensford didn’t hear it. He was quite occupied with another novel sensation—a warm buzz of amazement and gratitude. Lady Hope Brightley was defending him. Him. Lord Terror. Lord Tender.
It was entirely new. And surprisingly . . . touching. It kindled a small, warm flame in his chest, in the dark, echoing chamber where he usually stored his stoic indifference and stubborn determination.
“ . . . and you didn’t even have the wits to ask for your brother’s escort tonight!” The countess was still complaining. Her voice sounded closer now, though. They must be coming downstairs. “Who knows if a man like that can even afford a carriage to get you there and back?”
He’d heard enough. In a breach of manners he couldn’t give a damn about, he stood and strode out into the hall.
And completely forgot his ire for a moment.
Damnation, Lady Hope was lovely. Her gown, dark pink with an embroidered white overlay, made her skin gleam. Against the pale expanse her hair looked like dark, rich silk. She looked expensive and elegant—and entirely too good for him.
But then she spotted him—and her smile lit up the hall like a beacon.
Too good for him? The whisper came from somewhere deep. The hell with that.
“Good evening,” she called, rounding the last landing. “I apologize if I’ve kept you waiting.”
Behind her, her sister-in-law pursed her lips shut.
“Not at all,” he replied. “But we should be going. You’ll be pleased to hear, Lady Kincade, that Miss Nichols and her mother are waiting in the carriage outside. Although I can well afford to transport Lady Hope about London, tonight I can save a few shillings. I’ll be sure to rub them together in your honor.”
The countess’s mouth snapped open, then closed again. Lady Hope was trying not to grin as she let the footman help her into her cloak.
Tensford took her arm, nodded to the countess, and strode for the door. Yes, indeed. It was a good start to what he hoped would be a better night.
* * *
The receiving line at Lady Westmore’s snaked, unexpectedly long, through the fine London townhouse. Hope didn’t mind. Miss Nichols and her mama, just ahead, were occupied greeting their many friends and acquaintances. She, on the other hand, was quite occupied admiring her escort.
So tall and erect, he stood. Stern. Unmistakably assured. And everyone stared. They tried and tried to knock him down with their whispers, raised brows and sly glances, but he refused to be cowed. It had the opposite effect, in fact. He looked like a sleek cat set amongst the pigeons, too proud to be interested in such, dull, uninspiring prey.
How annoying they must find him.
How alluring she found him.
But now was not the time for that. Only a tigress could tame the tiger. She had to be smart and stealthy.
“I’m sorry if you were uncomfortable in the carriage,” she told him. “I didn’t expect Mrs. Nichols to warn you off her daughter so bluntly.”
He shot her a wry grin. “It was unexpected, but actually I found it refreshing. She stated the situation plainly and now we all know where we stand. I think we’ll all get along the better for it.” Looking ahead, he lowered his voice a little. “I did find it surprising that Miss Nichols has no intention of marrying soon. Is not the firing off of daughters the whole idea of the Season—and quickly, with the least expense?”
Hope glanced fondly at her friend. “Not for that family. She is an only child and her parents quite dote on her. Miss Nichols is quite the favorite this Season and I believe all three of them are having a grand time. It’s no wonder they would wish to repeat it next year.”
“What of you?” he asked. “I gather your sister-in-law wishes you to marry. This is your first Season, I believe? What do you wish out of it?”
“Catherine wants me out of her house, it’s true, but she only wishes me to consider her candidate.”
“Bardham,” he said with disgust.
“Yes. He’s vile—and persistent.”
She hadn’t thought it possible for him to grow more intense, but he stiffened and every plane on his face sharpened. “He’s bothered you again?”
“Not bothered, precisely. But he does seem to pop up everywhere when I am out. The park, the shops, the lending library. Suddenly, I’ll look up—and there he is.”
“I’ll warn him off.” His tone had gone tighter, too.
“Thank you, but I don’t think it will be necessary. Truly, I believe he’s flabbergasted. I’m not sure anyone has ever refused him anything, before.”
Tensford frowned. “He never liked to lose, or be denied anything. Only so much fuss a gentleman can make about either, but he did always skirt the boundaries.”
She shrugged. “Something will distract him soon enough. In any case, to answer your question—I came to Town just hoping to enjoy myself,” she said wistfully.
“Your first Season was delayed—and your parents are gone. I gather those two are related?” he asked with sympathy.
“Yes. Papa died unexpectedly and swiftly.” She tried to keep her tone brisk and matter of fact. “Mama’s illness began just after we left off mourning—and it lingered.”
In the most horrid manner, it had gone on, sapping the strength and everything else from her gentle mother. For so long, Hope’s world had consisted of darkened rooms and long nights and endless attempts to tempt her mother’s nonexistent appetite or distract her from her ever-present pain. When she had finally emerged from her second mourning, she had wanted only
