Lord Deverill's Heir, Catherine Coulter [the best motivational books .TXT] 📗

and not wanting to seem discourteous, endeavored to return a bow of similar style. His cumberland corset creaked in protest.

Gervaise preened, there was no other word for it. He looked about complacently. He was quite pleased that he’d made a fool of the viscount.

Even though he’d succeeded, no one was about to reward him. He saw an angry gleam in Arabella’s eyes. To his further chagrin, Elsbeth, who had stood quietly at Lady Ann’s elbow, stepped forward and said in a clear, sweet voice, “Lord Graybourn. I am most delighted to meet you, sir. We have heard many nice things about you.” She extended her small hand, and the viscount, who in a flight of confident gallantry, brought her fingers to his lips. She blushed charmingly and dipped a curtsy.

“But look, Bella,” Suzanne whispered behind her hand, “your French cousin has had his nose much put out of joint. And to think that I dreaded this visit. Oh, the enjoyment of it all.”

“It’s true,” Arabella said, “that one can never tell what any one of us will say next.”

She was angry. There was no doubt about it, she wanted to yell at the comte, tell him that he was a rude ass. The earl saw that she was keeping quiet with an effort. So she was displeased with her lover—no, surely the comte was her former lover—she certainly didn’t appear to even like him now. He smiled at her, nodding. She met his eyes for a brief instant. Her face was very pale, but her eyes, the gray was so brilliant yet strangely soft, as if she were looking at him with something akin to affection.

That was possible, wasn’t it? Hell, his shin still hurt from the kick she’d given him. Probably not possible at all. But what was going on here? He wished he could tell the lot of them to disappear. He wanted to speak to her, badly. He wanted to kiss her even more badly. He wanted to make love to her—that the worst of all.

Arabella said, “Come, let us all be seated. I shall ring for tea and morning cakes.”

Once they had taken their places, Arabella turned to Lord Graybourn, trying her best not to look toward her husband. “What news can you give us of the fighting in the Peninsula, sir? I hope you can tell us something positive.”

Lord Graybourn sought frantically to piece together bits of news that came from time to time to his grudging ears. While always ready to denounce Napoleon with patriotic fervor, he found the details of battles and the precarious fates of the European countries to be tedious in the extreme. He was an Englishman, thus England would remain supreme for all time.

He cleared his throat, and replied with what he hoped to be the voice of informed authority, “Most proper that your ladyship should inquire.” He suddenly remembered that the former Earl of Strafford was a renowned military man, as was the current earl. Bedamned. He cleared his throat again, looked toward the earl, and gave him a big smile. He said quite honestly, “I know very little compared to his lordship. Why I have heard it said that he was a hero in more battles on the Peninsula than any other officer. What have you heard lately, my lord?”

“No,” Gervaise said, sitting forward, “I want to hear what you have to say, Lord Graybourn. You have been in London, it is you who should know exactly what is happening.”

He wasn’t content to want everyone to smack him, the earl thought, frowning. What was his purpose then? Was he so obtuse that he didn’t realize his rudeness would soon have even the gentle, most charming Lady Ann pounding his head? He started to tell the comte to shove his rudeness down his malicious throat when Lord Graybourn said easily, “Very well, but understand comte, that not much is given out in London. We are fighting a war, after all, and I would expect our leaders to keep some secrets.” He looked over at Lady Elsbeth. Such a gentle creature she was.

She was looking at him with her full attention. He found suddenly that he didn’t want to disappoint her. “Of course, all of England still suffers from Napoleon’s blockade,” he said, praying the earl wouldn’t leap up and call him a bloody fool. “I understand, too, that Percival is under continuous pressure from both at home and abroad. His is a very difficult undertaking, poor man, but he is doing splendidly.”

“Exactly so,” the earl said. “Not many folk in London understand the pressure that Percival is under. You are very wise, Lord Graybourn, to perceive the matter so clearly.”

Had Lord Graybourn been a woman, he would have kissed the earl for his generosity and goodness. As it was, he would only nod and wish fervently that the earl would continue to find him wise.

“It is repulsive,” Lady Talgarth announced in a very loud voice. She wanted some tea and some of Evesham Abbey’s delicious lemon cakes. Where the devil were all the servants? Then again, with Arabella now in charge, what else could she expect? They were probably all dancing in the orchard. Ah, but the lemon seed cakes were delicious.

“Yes, but what precise news of the Peninsula?” the comte pressed on, his eyes battened on Lord Graybourn.

Arabella nearly leapt out of her chair at him. She sucked in her breath, preparing to fire cannon at him, but the earl, winking at her, said smoothly, “Did I not tell you, comte? Massena is now in Portugal with sixty thousand men under his command. From my information, I understand that Wellington will launch an offensive against him in the fall. With the experience and pluck of Wellington’s men, I believe we will taste victory. Forgive me, Lord Graybourn, but there was no way for you to know this. It is just now being doled out in very small amounts to the public.” Lord Graybourn nodded, and thanked the heavens