“I should think, now you are duke, you could wear an earring and no one would dare to comment upon it. They may think you eccentric, but the rich are allowed their eccentricities. Nice try, Your Grace, but I do not think I would consider that reckless behavior, not in your case.”
Sinclair watched as she set down her teacup. What did she consider reckless behavior then? When she rose to her feet he felt his own stab of disappointment. “I’d better find my brothers before they wear out your staff.”
He opened the French doors onto the terrace and she paused to admire the potted orange trees in flower, enveloped in their sweet, heady scent. The sunlight caught the red tints in her hair, where the curls were evading the confines of her straw bonnet.
She was no classic beauty.
Nevertheless there was something very fetching about her, something that drew him and made him want to . . . well, to kiss her.
A pulse began beating in his throat as she turned to smile at him, and he wondered what would happen if he did kiss her. Here. Now. Would that be wild and dangerous enough for her? Could he do it? Did he dare?
He leaned closer and she gazed back at him, her lips slightly apart, her pupils enormous and dark. Her scent came to him, an undertone to the orange blossom, sweet and fresh and womanly.
“Eugenie . . .”
But just before he took her into his arms, a familiar voice drifted toward them. Sinclair straightened up. Across the lawn and under a tree was his sister, seated on a swing, and pushing her rather too vigorously was Eugenie’s appalling brother.
Sinclair leaped off the terrace and began to stride toward them with ominous speed.
Eugenie hurried behind, skirts held up above her shoes and stockings, more curls tumbling from beneath her straw bonnet.
“Whatever is the matter, Your—Your Grace?” she called, her voice fading as he outstripped her.
“Annabelle?” he said in his most glacial tone. “Where is Miss Gamboni?”
His sister stopped swinging and looked at him, her beautiful face mutinous. “I wanted some air, brother. Do I need a chaperone for that? Surely you would not begrudge me some air? There will be little enough to be had in London once I am residing there.”
Sinclair eyed Terry with displeasure. “I see you have met Mr. Belmont.”
“Mr. Belmont was kind enough to accompany me for a stroll around the garden,” she replied primly, but with a sly sideways glance at her companion.
Eugenie arrived, breathlessly trying to straighten her bonnet. “Terry, I think we must go now,” she said anxiously, reaching for his arm.
As if, Sinclair thought with surprise, she was drawing him away from danger. Was he the danger? Did she think he was going to punch her brother in the nose? He might deserve it, certainly, for inveigling himself into Annabelle’s company, but Sinclair knew he was far above such petty behavior. Still, he took a moment to calm himself.
“Let me introduce Miss Eugenie Belmont,” he said in a milder tone. “This is my sister, Lady Annabelle.”
Caught off guard, Eugenie gave a wobbly curtsey.
Just then a fair-haired girl came hurrying toward them, flushed, her gaze anxious. “Your Grace,” she said breathlessly.
“Miss Gamboni,” he retorted coolly. “We will discuss your failure as a chaperone for my sister later.”
Eugenie felt sorry for the girl, but Annabelle was more interested in persuading her brother to let her have her own way. “Mr. Belmont says there is a ball in the village on Saturday night, Sinclair. Shall we go?”
“Annabelle, you know that is not possible.”
“Why not?” Her voice had grown a little shrill. “He says they have a ball every year at this time and we have never gone. Don’t you think that is a little odd, when we have lived here so long? I want to go, Sinclair. Just because I am marrying Lucius does not mean I cannot have a little treat. Indeed, I think I deserve a treat. Please. You know I love to dance. It is the one thing I miss about London. We have never attended the village balls and yet Mr. Belmont tells me they are a great deal of fun.”
“Rather tedious, sometimes,” Terry put in. “Very strict when it comes to manners, aren’t they, Eugenie? No high jinks allowed.”
Eugenie looked as if she might say something else, but her brother nudged her and instead she reluctantly nodded in agreement.
Despite all of his inner doubts, Sinclair felt himself waver. Annabelle was going to London soon. There would be no time to form a tender for the appalling brother, so what harm could it do? She would probably find the village ball boring and uncomfortable; she would not enjoy being jostled among so many smelly farmers and local worthies. And Sinclair and Miss Gamboni would be there to keep an eye on her.
“We shall see.”
She pouted and tossed her head, but he thought it was more for Terry’s benefit than his own. “You’re so stuffy, Sinclair. You never have any fun and you want everyone to be as boring as you.”