“No, indeed,” St. Vincent assured her. “It’s the morally upright ones who do the worst things in private. Whereas with an obvious reprobate such as myself, you couldn’t be in safer hands. Here, you had better return to the dining hall under my protection. God knows what sort of lascivious scheme is lurking in the earl’s mind.”

Giggling, Lillian stood from the bench, enjoying the sight of Westcliff being teased. He regarded his friend with a slight scowl as he too rose to his feet.

Taking St. Vincent’s proffered arm, Lillian wondered why he had bothered to come out here. Was it possible that he had some kind of interest in her? Surely not. It was generally known that marriageable girls had never been a part of St. Vincent’s romantic history, and Lillian was obviously not the kind whom he would pursue for an affair. However, it was rather entertaining to find herself alone in the company of two men, one of them the most desirable bed partner in England, and the other the most eligible bachelor. She couldn’t help grinning as she thought of how many girls would commit outright murder to be in her shoes at this very moment.

St. Vincent drew her away with him. “As I recall,” he remarked, “our friend Westcliff forbade you to ride his horses, but he said nothing about a carriage drive. Will you consider accompanying me on a tour through the countryside tomorrow morning?”

As Lillian considered the invitation, she allowed for a brief silence in anticipation that Westcliff might have something to say on the matter. Naturally, he did.

“Miss Bowman will be occupied tomorrow morning.” The earl’s brusque voice came from behind them.

Lillian opened her mouth to deliver a sharp retort, but St. Vincent sent her a sideways glance as he opened the door, conveying a mischievous admonition to let him handle things. “Occupied with what?” he asked.

“She and her sister are meeting with the countess.”

“Ah, what a magnificent old dragon,” St. Vincent mused, drawing Lillian through the doorway. “I’ve always gotten along famously with the countess. Let me offer a bit of advice—she loves to be flattered, though she’ll pretend otherwise. A few words of praise, and you’ll have her eating out of your hand.”

Lillian glanced over her shoulder at Westcliff. “Is that true, my lord?”

“I wouldn’t know, as I’ve never bothered to flatter her.”

“Westcliff considers flattery and charm a waste of time,” St. Vincent told Lillian.

“So I’ve noticed.”

St. Vincent laughed. “I shall propose a carriage drive for the day after tomorrow then. Does that sound agreeable?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Excellent,” St. Vincent said, adding in an offhand manner, “unless, Westcliff, you have some other claim on Miss Bowman’s schedule?”

“No claim at all,” Westcliff said flatly.

Of course not, Lillian thought with sudden rancor. Obviously Westcliff had no desire for her company, unless it was to spare his guests the sight of watching her cast up her crumpets on the dinner table.

They rejoined Daisy, who raised her brows at the sight of St. Vincent and asked mildly, “Where did you come from?”

“Were my mother alive, you could ask her,” he replied pleasantly. “But I doubt she knew.”

“St. Vincent,” Westcliff snapped for the second time that evening. “These are innocent girls.”

“Are they? How intriguing. Very well, I’ll try for propriety…What subjects may one discuss with innocent girls?”

“Hardly any,” Daisy said glumly, making him laugh.

Before they reentered the dining hall, Lillian paused to ask Westcliff, “At what time shall I visit the countess tomorrow? And where?”

His gaze was opaque and cool. Lillian couldn’t help but notice that his disposition seemed to have soured since the moment St. Vincent had invited her on a carriage drive. But why would that displease him? It would be laughable to assume that he was jealous, since she was the last woman in the world in whom he would entertain a personal interest. The only reasonable conclusion was that he feared that St. Vincent might try to seduce her, and he did not want to deal with the trouble that would ensue.

“Ten o’clock in the Marsden parlor,” he said.

“I’m afraid that I am not familiar with that room—”

“Few people are. It is an upstairs parlor, reserved for the family’s private use.”

“Oh.” She stared into his dark eyes, feeling grateful and confused. He had been kind to her, and yet their relationship could not, by any stretch of the imagination, be considered a friendship. She wished that she could rid herself of her growing curiosity about him. It had been much easier when she had been able to dismiss him as a self-important snob. However, he was far more complex than she had originally thought, revealing dimensions of humor, sensuality, and surprising compassion.

“My lord,” she said, ensnared by his gaze. “I …I suppose I should thank you for—”

“Let’s go in,” he interrupted curtly, seeming eager to be out of her presence. “We’ve tarried long enough.”

“Are you nervous?” Daisy whispered the next morning, as she and Lillian followed their mother to the door of the Marsden parlor. Although Mercedes had not been specifically invited to meet with the countess, she was bound and determined to be included in the visit.

“No,” Lillian replied. “I’m certain we have nothing to fear as long as we keep our mouths shut.”