Westcliff laughed huskily. “No,” he admitted with a slow smile, “I don’t.” The smile transformed the stern contours of his face, banishing his natural reserve and imparting an appeal that was a thousand times more potent than mere handsomeness. Lillian felt an odd, pleasant little chill chase over her skin.

“Now will I be allowed to ride your horses again?” she dared to ask.

“Lillian!” she heard her mother scold.

Westcliff’s eyes glittered with amusement, as if he relished her audacity. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

Caught in the velvet snare of his gaze, Lillian became aware that their perpetual discord had changed into a kind of friendly challenge…tempered with something that felt almost …erotic. Good God. A few amiable words from Westcliff, and she was close to making a fool of herself.

Seeing that they had made peace, Mercedes bubbled over with enthusiasm. “Oh, dear Lord Westcliff, what a magnanimous gentleman you are! And you were not high-handed in the least—you were clearly moved by concern for my willful little angel, which is yet more proof of your infinite benevolence.”

The earl’s smile became sardonic as he slid a speculative gaze over Lillian, as if considering whether the phrase “willful little angel” was an apt description. Offering Mercedes his arm, he asked blandly, “May I escort you to the dining hall, Mrs. Bowman?”

Euphoric at the idea that everyone would see her being accompanied by Lord Westcliff himself, Mercedes accepted with a sigh of pleasure. As they undertook the journey from the study to the parlor where the dinner procession would be arranged, Mercedes launched into an excruciatingly prolonged discourse about her impressions of Hampshire, throwing in several little criticisms that were meant to be witty, but caused Lillian and Daisy to glance at each other in mute despair. Lord Westcliff received Mercedes’s crass observations with careful politeness, the polish of his manners making hers appear even worse by contrast. And for the first time in Lillian’s life, it occurred to her that perhaps her deliberate flouting of etiquette was not quite as clever as she had previously thought. Certainly she had no wish to become stuffy and reserved …but at the same time, it might not be such a bad thing to conduct herself with a bit more dignity.

No doubt Lord Westcliff was infinitely relieved to part company with the Bowmans when they arrived at the parlor, but he did not reveal it by word or gesture. Impassively wishing them a pleasant evening, he took his leave with a slight bow and made to join a group that included his sister Lady Olivia and her husband, Mr. Shaw.

Turning to Lillian, Daisy regarded her with wide eyes. “Why was Lord Westcliff so nice to you?” she whispered. “And why on earth did he offer Mother his arm, and escort us all the way here, and listen to her endless babbling?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea,” Lillian whispered back. “But clearly he has a high tolerance for pain.”

Simon Hunt and Annabelle joined the group on the other side of the room. Absently smoothing the waist of her silvery-blue gown, Annabelle glanced over the crowd, caught Lillian’s gaze, and made a distressed face. Obviously she had heard about the confrontation at the jumping course. I’m sorry, Annabelle mouthed. She seemed relieved as Lillian nodded in reassurance and sent her the silent message, It’s all right.

Eventually they all proceeded into the dining hall, the Bowmans and the Hunts being among the last in line, as they were of very low rank. “Money always brings up the rear,” Lillian heard her father say cryptically, and she guessed that he had little patience for the rules of precedence that were always so clearly defined on these occasions. It struck Lillian that on the occasions when the countess was absent, Lord Westcliff and his sister Lady Olivia tended to arrange things far less formally, encouraging the guests to enter the dining hall naturally instead of in a procession. With the countess attending, however, it appeared there would be strict adherence to tradition.

It seemed there were nearly as many footmen as there were guests, all of them clad in full dress livery of black plush breeches, a mustard-colored waistcoat, and a blue pigeon-tailed coat. They seated the guests deftly and poured wine and water without spilling a drop.

To Lillian’s surprise, she had been seated near the head of Lord Westcliff’s table, only three places away from his right hand. Occupying a place so close to the host was a mark of high favor, very seldom given to an unmarried girl with no rank. Wondering if the footman had make a mistake in seating her there, she glanced cautiously at the faces of those guests nearest her, and saw that they too were puzzled by her presence. Even the countess, who was being seated at the very end of the table, stared at her with a frown.

Lillian gave Lord Westcliff a questioning glance as he took his place at the head of the table.

One of his dark brows arched. “Is something amiss? You seem a bit perturbed, Miss Bowman.”

The correct response would probably have been to blush and thank him for the unexpected honor. But as Lillian stared at his face, which was softened by the influence of candleglow, she found herself answering with brazen frankness. “I am wondering why I am sitting near the head of the table. In light of what happened this morning, I assumed you would have me seated all the way out on the back terrace.”

There was a moment of utter silence as the guests around them registered shock that Lillian would so openly refer to the conflict between them. However, Westcliff astonished them all by laughing quietly, his gaze locked with hers. After a moment, the others joined in with forced chuckles.