Alastair shook his head and she returned to drinking her lemonade. It did seem to clear the fogginess of her thoughts.
“Nevertheless,” he said, “you are connected to the d’Aubigne family now.”
“And since when do you trouble yourself with regard to anyone?”
“Since… You think me that heartless?”
She paused. She did not think him so wholly uncaring. If she had, she would never have bothered with speaking to him. But it was best not to think better of him at present. “I thought you prided yourself on your indifference to others?”
“I do.”
“Then why waste your breath on me?”
“Because there is one person I do care for: my aunt. And she concerns herself greatly with you.”
“Ah, you are doing her a favor.”
“I am.”
“But she wishes me here, wishes me to partake of what Château Follet offers. Are you not doing her a disservice by attempting to thwart her plans?”
“Her wishes are misguided. She will see that soon enough.”
“Or she will find you insufferably arrogant.”
He grinned. “She has already accepted and made peace with my conceit.”
Mildred sighed. The man had an answer for everything! She thought of Devon and the redhead. “Will you not tend to your scarlet beauty before she is charmed by the Viscount?”
He followed her gaze and seemed to hesitate, but said, “She will have to wait.”
“And why is that? I think our tête-à-tête has lasted long enough, and I had said to Lord Devon—”
“Devon and Miss Hollingsworth can keep each other company tonight.”
Taken aback, she asked, “I thought you took an interest in the redhead?”
“I did, but I informed Marguerite that for tonight, I am choosing to claim you.”