That Scandalous Summer by Meredith Duran

Author:Meredith Duran [Duran, Meredith]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Romance, Adult
ISBN: 9781451607024
Publisher: Pocket Books
Published: 2013-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWELVE

“So curious,” Katherine Hawthorne said, her voice cutting clearly through the conversations of the six people who sat between her and Liza. “How on earth does one miscalculate the number of place settings?”

The answer was simple: one did not know that a rat would crash one’s party. But one did not confess such, lest one wished one’s relationship with said rat to receive a very uncomfortable degree of speculation.

Instead, from her place at the head of the table, Liza pretended not to hear. Her wine made a good excuse for inattention. She reached for it—her third glass; she’d managed to drink two, very quickly, as the table settings were rearranged. Yet somehow she wasn’t tipsy. Or perhaps the wine’s effect was indistinguishable from the shock that had already set her head to spinning.

Not only a liar, but brother to the Duke of Marwick. No playwright could have designed a better irony. How Nello would have laughed!

Lord Weston leaned in from her right elbow, his face full of sympathy. “Good help can be very hard to find,” he said.

He had a very nice nose, did Lord Weston. Straight and firm, not at all oversized. His lips were not so full as one might wish, but they were honest and did not speak lies. “How true,” she said.

“Is Ronson slipping? I’ll be glad to steal him away.” This from Sanburne, who sat at her left and, until this moment, had been entertaining himself by flirting with his wife. They made a curious couple, Lydia being a prim and reserved scholar, James being one of England’s handsomest men—and, until recently, one of its most dissolute scapegraces, to boot.

“There is nothing wrong with Ronson,” Liza said. He was probably standing behind her right now. She didn’t dare look. Her butler was capable of the most tremendous scowls.

“Dementia, is it?” James asked with interest.

Liza looked very quickly over her shoulder—but Ronson had abandoned his place by the sideboard, probably to check on matters in the kitchen. Thank God! “Only bad tempered,” she said as she turned back. “But his hearing is excellent, mind you.”

“All the better,” said James cheerfully. “We can sic him on my father, and hope for a homicide.”

“James,” said Lydia in a chiding tone.

He sighed. “You’re right, Lyd. It would be too cruel to Ronson.”

Liza finished her wine and was gratified by a footman’s quick approach with more. Her staff was excellent. And very prideful. “If you don’t wish your soup poisoned, James, I would confine your witticisms to the guests.”

Lydia abruptly laid down her spoon.

Goodness. That was a clumsy misstep. She cast a quick look at Weston, who was frowning into his own soup. “Only a joke,” Liza said, and tried to laugh reassuringly, for nobody liked a bitter hostess. Instead her laughter squeaked like a rusty hinge. Or perhaps like something unhinged.

No wonder poison was on her mind! Against her will, her gaze swung across the table, to the man who sat diagonally across from Lydia.

Michael de Grey was doing a splendid job of ignoring her.

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