“She is, isn’t she?” Miss Picklewood had actually pinkened. She stroked the spaniel’s head, and it interrupted its rumbling to lick her fingers. “Would you like to pet her?”
“Ah.” Griffin examined the dog warily. It hadn’t started growling again, but then its protuberant brown eyes didn’t look particularly friendly either.
Beside him, Lady Phoebe’s eyes were positively dancing behind her spectacles. “Don’t be frightened. If she bites, we’ll send for a doctor, I assure you.”
“Bloodthirsty baggage,” Griffin muttered under his breath before extending a hand toward the dog’s nose. If he were going to be bitten, he might as well get it over with. “Mademoiselle Mignon.”
The spaniel sniffed daintily and then opened her mouth in a doggy grin as he gingerly fondled her ears.
“I don’t understand it,” Miss Picklewood said. “She usually hates gentlemen.”
Griffin’s outraged gaze flew to Lady Phoebe’s own, and she covered her mouth to stifle a giggle.
The girl shrugged. “She’s never actually bitten a gentleman before. Just threatened to.”
“She came close with me,” Thomas remarked drily. “You must’ve rubbed your fingers in bacon, Griffin.”
“Perhaps she just has very good taste,” Griffin said as he scratched Mignon’s chin.
“In any case, she certainly seems fond of you,” Miss Picklewood muttered. She nodded as the butler made some sort of signal. “I think we’re ready to go in. Perhaps you can see what’s taking your sister so long, Phoebe?”
Lady Phoebe slipped from the room, and Thomas made a social remark, but Griffin wasn’t paying attention. He absently stroked the little spaniel and wondered if he was the reason Hero was reluctant to come to luncheon.
Damn, damn, damn. He’d made the worst mistake of his life.
“Here she is.”
He looked up at the sound of Lady Phoebe’s voice. Hero was standing beside her, composed, though color still flew high in her cheeks.
She walked straight to Thomas and held out her hand. “My lord, it is good to see you.”
Thomas bent over her hand in a polite, everyday gesture that in no way could be construed as passionate, and pain arched through Griffin’s body in a searing flame. In that moment, he wanted to shove aside his brother, lift up Lady Hero, and bear her away. Take her someplace where he could wipe that look of bored serenity from her face and replace it with lust. Lust for him.
Instead he took a breath and offered his arm to Lady Phoebe. “Will you accompany me into luncheon, my lady?”
She smiled up at him, her round, rosy cheeks merry. “I’d be delighted, my lord.”
The luncheon, like the room, proved to be a feminine affair. A clear soup hardly more than a broth, delicate little pastries more pretty than filling, and a variety of breads and cheeses. The wine was good, though, and in ordinary circumstances, Griffin might’ve enjoyed himself.
“I understand you manage the family estates,” Miss Picklewood said with a queer look fixed on her face. She sat at the head of the table. One of her hands drifted beneath the table.
“Manage is surely too strong a word,” Thomas drawled from the foot of the table. “My brother is preoccupied with his amusements, and we do have several land stewards.”
Griffin picked up his knife. “What my brother is trying to say is that, yes, I do oversee the Mandeville estates as well as my private ones.”
Thomas gave him a blank, unfriendly stare as he sipped his wine.
To Thomas’s right, Lady Hero straightened as her hand disappeared beneath the table. “Are your lands in Lancashire as well, Lord Griffin?”
“Yes.” Griffin toyed with his knife. “A result of prudent marriages by my ancestors.”
“But that’s so far from London,” Lady Phoebe exclaimed. “Surely you must get lonely in the country.”
She bit her lip and stared straight ahead as her hand, too, suddenly darted underneath the table.
Thomas, seemingly oblivious to all this, snorted. “My brother can find excitement no matter where he is. And he has his trips to London should he find a need to debauch himself.”
Griffin narrowed his eyes, staring at Thomas, feeling the blackness boil at the back of his eyeballs. He smiled and dropped the knife. It clattered onto his plate.
The ladies started.
Thomas merely raised his eyebrows.
Griffin shifted his gaze to Lady Phoebe, who sat between him and Thomas. “I enjoy riding and hunting, my lady, and overseeing the planting and harvest takes up much of my time, so no, I’m not lonely, though I do thank you for your concern.”
She was frowning, her eyes darting between him and his brother, but at his words she smiled tentatively. “Well, we shall have to be sure to see that you are properly entertained when you are in London, won’t we, Hero?”
Lady Hero pressed her lips together. “Phoebe…”
“What?” Lady Phoebe looked confused.
Lady Hero’s expression was wooden. Even Miss Picklewood’s face looked more welcoming.
At that moment, Griffin felt tiny paws on his knee. They tapped quite imperiously.
“I’d be delighted to go anywhere you have a mind, Lady Phoebe.” He smiled and broke off a piece of pastry, feeding it to Mignon beneath the table.
“Our time is largely taken up by wedding arrangements,” Hero said repressively.
“But you must shop.” He picked up the knife again, idly twirling it between his fingers. “And eat and go to fairs and the like.”
Lady Phoebe giggled nervously.
Hero’s eyes dropped to her plate. Her cheeks had gone pale, her mouth crimped in a straight line.
He shrugged easily, though his heart had shriveled. “Or perhaps not.”
Thomas stirred in his seat. “I wouldn’t think you’d be inclined to go to any more fairs.”
Lady Phoebe perked up. “Why do you say that?”
Griffin arched an eyebrow at his brother, a sudden memory lightening his mood.
“Because Griffin nearly got himself killed by a pack of traveling tinkers at the last fair he attended,” Thomas drawled.
“Really?” Phoebe leaned forward.
“Indeed. He was in the act of stealing—”
“Merely examining,” Griffin interjected.
“Stealing,” Thomas rolled over him with his parliamentary voice, “a trinket of some kind.”
“A penknife,” Griffin murmured to Phoebe. “It had a ruby on the hilt.”