A Lady Never Tells(54)

The earl cast a sideways glance at Royce, who opened his mouth to attempt an explanation of the dog’s presence among them.

“No.” The earl shook his head. “I don’t want to know.”

Raising two fingers to his lips, the earl let out a piercing whistle that had the effect of stopping everyone in the room. The girls turned, and Pirate raced back, once again flinging himself into the air in a frenzy before the earl. Mary dreaded what the earl would have to say.#p#分页标题#e#

“You!” Stewkesbury fixed the dog with a stern gaze and snapped his fingers once. He pointed to the ground. “Stop. Sit.”

To the amazement of everyone, Pirate promptly plopped his hindquarters on the floor and gazed up at Stewkesbury, his tongue lolling out of his mouth in a fatuous grin.

The earl gazed at the animal for a long moment. “That is perhaps the ugliest dog I have ever had the misfortune to meet.”

“He’s quite bright,” Camellia offered. “And see how well he minds?”

“Quite.” The earl pressed his lips together tightly. “Well, he cannot stay here unless he has had a thorough washing.”

The Bascombes, who had all sagged in disappointment at the first part of his sentence, immediately erupted in an explosion of thanks. Stewkesbury, shaking his head, held up a hand and began to back away.

“And when you have done that, I would like to see all of you in my study.”

He turned and left the room. The girls glanced at one another.

“Oh dear.” Mary reached down and scooped up the dog. “I fear we are in for a scolding.”

“At least we get to keep Pirate,” Camellia pointed out.

“Yes.” Mary looked down at the creature in her arms and had to chuckle. “A mixed blessing, no doubt.” She handed him over to Camellia. “Here, go find a tub or something to bathe him in. I will be there in a moment.”

The other three girls trooped out of the room, and Mary turned back to Sir Royce. During the walk home, she had talked with him easily enough. It had been hard to hold on to her anger, given his rescue of them, and the presence of her sisters had made it seem more natural. But now, standing here alone with him, she felt suddenly awkward.

“I-I wanted to thank you for what you did back there. With Mr. Fanshaw and the coachman and all. And for pretending to the earl that you had been with us much longer than you were.”

Royce shrugged. “It was little enough.”

“No. It was quite a bit. It’s the second time you have rescued us—no, the third time, really, since you brought us here to meet our cousin when I could not get in to see him.”

He smiled. “Yes, well … I shall have to keep my armor polished. Never know when you’ll need a knight again.” He paused, then moved closer to her. “Mary …”

He was standing so close that she had to tilt back her head to look into his face. She could smell the subtle scent of him, and it stirred something deep within her. She could not help but remember the way his lips had felt on hers, the pressure of his hand upon her waist, the strength of his arms around her. What did it say about her that, even knowing his disdain for her, she could still think with longing of that kiss? Could still wish, deep down, to feel it again?

“I am truly sorry for what I said the other night,” he told her, his eyes warm as they looked into hers. “And I am even sorrier that you should have heard it. I was annoyed with Oliver and his high-handed ways, and I spoke without thinking. I would not have hurt you for the world.”

Royce was far too easy to like, she thought. And, as she had found out this afternoon, it was difficult to remain angry at him, especially when he said something that made her laugh, or smiled in that way he had with the corners of his eyes crinkling up, or, as he was doing now, looked deep into her eyes, so that it felt as if he could see into the very depths of her.

Mary shifted away from him. “I know,” she said, choosing her words carefully, “that you would not have said what you did had you known that I was listening.”
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However angry she had been, Mary did not think that Royce would knowingly have hurt her. But that did not change the fact that he believed what he had said. Royce frowned, obviously aware of the lack of full forgiveness in her words.

Mary went on quickly, “You need not continue to seek my forgiveness. They say one will not hear good about oneself if one listens outside doors. I should not have intruded upon your conversation with your stepbrother. Besides”—she shrugged—“given the situation you found us in this afternoon, I can hardly claim that your description of us was wrong or unfair. How can I blame you for speaking the truth? My sisters and I are not, I fear, suitable wives for Englishmen. I do not envy this governess’s task of molding us into proper ladies.”