Page 16 of The Scot’s Seduction (Heirs & Spares #2)

“A pleasure, my lord,” Mrs. Smithwick said.

Her gaze roamed over the earl as though he was a delicacy, and Drusilla felt a pang of something in her chest. Not jealousy, of course.

She was never jealous; there was no cause for her to be, since she didn’t want to hold on to her gentlemen for too long.

There was always the risk they would develop feelings, as Lord Cavendish had.

Better to remain distant emotionally, even if they were close physically.

And she hadn’t even gotten that physical with the earl, and yet she had to admit—since she wasn’t very good at lying to herself beyond a few moments—that she was jealous.

Hm. Interesting. Something she would examine at a later time.

“Let me take your lovely niece and introduce her around,” Mrs. Smithwick said, addressing the earl.

“Mnf,” he replied, giving her another elegant bow.

Mrs. Smithwick swept Miss Emily away, but not before glancing back at the earl, her hungry expression making Drusilla want to fling herself in front of him so that the other woman couldn’t ogle him so obviously. She huffed in annoyance.

“What are you doing?” he asked in a low rumble.

“Pardon?”

“Just now—you made an odd noise, and then began to move but stopped.”

“Uh—oh, nothing,” Drusilla replied, feeling her face flush. Drat. Even the apparently oblivious earl had noticed her behavior. Must act naturally, Drusilla , she reminded herself.

“My dear Lady Drusilla!”

Drusilla turned, relieved that there was an interruption, so she didn’t have to explain that she had suddenly become fiercely protective of this man who very clearly could protect himself.

Until she saw who it was.

“Oh, Lady Montclair,” she said, pasting a smile onto her face. “How delightful to see you.”

“I hadn’t expected you to show your—that is, to make an appearance this Season,” the other woman said, speaking in a honeyed tone that didn’t fool Drusilla for a moment.

Lady Montclair was the older sister of one of Drusilla’s past amours, and he’d taken it badly when Drusilla had broken it off—he’d wanted to marry her and had made a public spectacle of himself about it all, making the entire Montclair family the subject of gossip for at least a month, which was a decade or more in Society’s measurements.

Eventually, he’d wandered off to Greece to compose poems to his goddess, Drusilla, but the last she’d heard, he’d married a local Greek woman and refused to return to London.

She couldn’t blame Lady Montclair for holding a grudge. She would, if the situation was reversed, but that didn’t mean she liked it when she was made to feel uncomfortable.

“I am the Earl of Cragmore,” the earl said, when Drusilla didn’t speak.

And now she’d compounded Lady Montclair’s bad opinion by being rude. Excellent work, Drusilla , she thought sarcastically. The earl is certainly going to trust his niece is in the best hands when you can’t even observe the basic tenets of propriety.

“Yes, my lady, this is my guest, the Earl of Cragmore. He and his niece are staying with me for the Season. I am helping with her debut.”

Lady Montclair’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “You’re helping a debutante? I wonder, since it’s been so long since your own debut, if you still remember everything?”

Drusilla considered just how bad it would look if she stomped on Lady Montclair’s satin-clad foot. Very bad, probably. So she shouldn’t do it.

Though she dearly wished to.

“I appreciate Lady Drusilla’s expertise on the matter,” the earl said. “Since she has spent so many years navigating Society, I believe she can quickly discern the difference between a Merino and a Shetland.”

Both women gave him puzzled looks, and the earl cleared his throat, his expression abashed. “Sheep types. A Merino is the rarest breed, and the Shetland produces wool that is nearly as fine, but not quite.”

“And what is the lowest breed of sheep?” Drusilla asked, with a pointed glance toward Lady Montclair. If the woman was going to be openly rude, she was going to do the same right back.

“The Dishley Leicester, I suppose,” the earl said, as though he was taking the question as an earnest one and not a jab. He was a better person than she was, clearly. “Though it’s a bonny enough sheep. I’ve got a few myself.”

“Sheep farming discussed at a party!” Lady Montclair exclaimed. “I would have never imagined such conversation, but then again, Lady Drusilla, you are anything but usual.”

“Indeed, my lady,” Drusilla replied, nodding to the other woman.

“Well, I must be off,” Lady Montclair said. She looked annoyed, which pleased Drusilla to no end. That meant the other woman hadn’t seen how much her remarks had stung.

“A pleasure, my lady.”

“Yes, a pleasure to meet you,” the earl said.

The two of them watched as the woman strode away, the feathers in her hair seeming to quiver with irritation.

“What was that all about?” He sounded sharp, not like the simply sincere gentleman who’d answered her question of a few moments ago.

“Do you want the truth, or do you want me to skip to the part where I reassure you that I am indeed the right person to assist your niece?”

“The truth. That will help persuade me as to the latter point.”

She flinched under his direct stare. She hadn’t expected he would be so perceptive, what with being a Scottish oaf and all.

But that was wrong. She already knew he was intelligent; she’d seen that herself.

She’d just assumed he was naive as to Society, since he’d been clear about how little he was acquainted with it.

She supposed women like Lady Montclair—and women like Drusilla—were everywhere.

They just wore different clothing or spoke in different accents.

He put up his hand as though to stop her speaking right away. “Do you think any of this will affect Emily?”

She felt a warmth bloom in her chest that his first concern was for his niece.

“It shouldn’t,” she replied.

“Actually, then, you can explain or not. I leave it up to you.”

What world was he from where he was actually comfortable enough to accept if she didn’t wish to speak of something? Most people, and all the men she’d met thus far, insisted that they learn everything, even if the person speaking didn’t want to share it.

“Lady Montclair continues to be irritated that I didn’t agree to marry into her family,” she said. “Her brother and I”—and she made a vague gesture, indicating her meaning—“but I have no desire to wed, and neither of them could accept that.”

“You never wish to wed?” he asked.

She shook her head. “No. So you need not be concerned that I will—”

“Will insist on something more permanent?”

“Precisely.” She canted her head to look at him. “When I say ‘no obligation’ in terms of that, that is what I mean.”