Page 9 of More or Less a Countess
“Your pianoforte performance. The Haydn,” he offered, careful to keep his voice gently modulated, lest she fly into a panic and dart from the room. “I’m fond of his piano sonatas, and you played beautifully.”
“Oh.” Her brows drew together in a puzzled frown, but then her face cleared. “Oh. Yes. The Haydn. Of course. What else could you possibly mean? I, ah—well, thank you. You’re very kind, my lord.”
“It gave me a great deal of pleasure to listen. I don’t know that I’ve ever enjoyed a performance more.” He curled his lips into the practiced smile that never failed to charm young ladies, and waited for her answering blush.
But Miss Somerset didn’t blush. Instead she scrutinized him with an intensity that put him in mind of his aunt right before she delivered a blistering scold. “Pleasure. Yes, I daresay one doesn’t always get quite so much pleasure from a dinner party as you enjoyed tonight.”
It was an odd thing to say, and Nick stumbled over his reply. “Yes, well, not many young ladies play as well as you do. Might I call on you tomorrow, Miss Somerset, to inquire after your health?” He flushed at the abruptness of this request. Damn it, he was never so clumsy, particularly with ladies, but all of his smooth charm seemed to have withered in the face of Miss Somerset’s forthright gaze.
She must have found his address as lacking as he found it himself, because she shook her head. “No, I think not, my lord. We haven’t been introduced.”
“I’m Lord Dare, and you are Miss Somerset.” He bowed a second time, then held her gaze as he took her hand and brought it to his lips. “There. Now may I call on you?”
Ah, much better. That had been charming. Surely she’d capitulate now—
“No, thank you, Lord Dare.” Her tone was polite but brisk, and she draped the blue wrap over her arm with a finality that indicated the discussion was over, and she was ready to leave.
Nick’s mouth fell open. For such a timid little mouse, she’d dispensed with him rather neatly. But he had no intention of arguing with her. A gentleman never argued with a lady, after all. Pity, for she would have proved rather useful in his dealings with his aunt, but he’d wasted enough time on Miss Somerset.
He offered her a cool smile and a polite bow. “Very well. I wish you a pleasant evening, then.”
She nodded and made her way to the door, but before she disappeared through it she paused to look back at him, and the mischievous smile he’d noticed earlier flirted at the corners of her lips. “Oh, Lord Dare? I enjoyedyourperformance this evening, as well.”
“My performance?” He hadn’t the faintest idea what she was talking about, but he had the distinct impression she was laughing at him.
“Oh, yes. I was greatly entertained by your…vigorous efforts.”
What the devil did that mean? Nick’s mouth opened, but before he could come up with a lucid reply, Miss Somerset was gone.
Chapter Three
Someone had sewn his tongue to the roof of his mouth. Nick couldn’t imagine who’d do such a fiendish thing, but the villain was likely the same person who’d stuffed his head full of cotton wool.
A faint shuffling sound made him crack open one eye just wide enough to catch a movement near the bed, and a defeated groan escaped his dry, cracked lips. He’d fallen asleep in Lady Uplands’s bed, hadn’t he? Damn it, he was going to have a devil of a time escaping her this morning without a repeat of last night’s debauchery, and the ache in his temples made further acrobatics impossible—
“Ah, very good, my lord. You’re awake.”
Nick cracked open his other eye to find a long, dour face peering down at him, and a quick stab of temper chased away the last hazy remnants of sleep.
Christ. He was in his own bed, thankfully, but his aunt had sent up Gibbs to chase him out of it again.
Lady Westcott had been happy enough to leave Nick to himself when he’d first returned to England, but once it became clear his dissolute behavior was habitual, she’d set Gibbs on him like a Bow Street runner after a thief.
Gibbs had been Graham’s valet for the past five years, but Nick seemed to have inherited him along with the title and the country estate. Neither he nor Gibbs were particularly happy about it. Gibbs was accustomed to serving Graham, who’d been the epitome of English gentlemanliness. Nick was accustomed to being left alone to do as he bloody well wished, and hedidn’twish Gibbs’s frightening visage to be the first thing he saw every morning.
Or the second thing, come to that.
“Awake? How optimistic you are, Gibbs. I’m not certain I’m evenalive.”
“Death is, I believe, an adequate excuse for not rising before dusk, my lord. Shall I inform her ladyship you’re deceased?”
Nick rolled his eyes. Gibbs specialized in sarcasm. “Certainly, if it will get you to cease plaguing me. What the devil do you think you’re doing gawking at me while I’m in my bed, Gibbs? I didn’t send for you.”
Heneversent for Gibbs, but the man kept appearing like an unlucky penny.
“No, my lord. Your aunt sent me to you. Her ladyship expressed some anxiety at your persistent fatigue. She’s concerned you may be ill.”
Nick scowled. He never rose before dusk, and he didn’t intend to start today. “As you can see, there’s not a damn thing wrong with me four more hours of sleep won’t cure. Go and inform her ladyship I’m perfectly well, and don’t come back until I send for you.”
