Affair of Pretense

Four

"Do I understand, my lord, that this young person is to join us henceforth?" Ranley, his lordship's valet, asked in a voice of incredulity. Since this young person, who had spent the night on a couch, looked very disheveled in a rumpled coat and cravat, and her hair, hastily run through by a hand, was in dire need of a comb, the gentleman's gentleman naturally could not forbear an inward shudder. Miss Kentsville was blissfully unaware of the critical glance cast upon her, for she had passed the night tolerably well, and thanked the Marquis for his kindness as to let her have his parlour. Much amused, Lord Denver answered her gravely that he was only too willing to oblige.

"You understand it perfectly right, Ranley," replied his lordship placidly, his dexterous hand folding his cravat into intricate style that held his protegee in fascination. "Be so good as to send up breakfast to my parlour for me and for Mr Kentsville." The valet bowed mechanically, and since his lordship offered no explanation at all, he kept his dire reflections to himself and retreated the room quietly.

Georgie's brows knitted as she stared at the closed door behind them. "I wonder if he dislikes me?"

"I daresay he dislikes the way you arrayed yourself. It might interest you to know that we share the same sentiments."

Her hand involuntarily reached for her cravat, and she said defensively: "Well, I did my best to tie this one before you sent for me! Only that mirror above the mantlepiece was a trifle high and I couldn't very well see what I was doing." Denver tore his gaze from his own mirror and studied her for a while. Like his valet, he shuddered and said disparagingly: "You've never looked more urchin-like than you are right now. Come here!"

Georgie obeyed meekly. "If you please, will you fix my cravat for me?"

"Certainly not! Besides, it will be quite useless to make that thing into a semblance of cravat." He picked a small comb from the table and ran it none too gently through her tangled red locks. Then, out of the blue, his lordship laughed.

"Why, what is the matter?" asked the young lady, bemused.

"Nothing. I am thinking how I present a very unlikely picture, combing a brat who looks no better than an urchin from the gutter. My relatives, had they been here, would have been appalled, thinking I have gone mad."

"Are they so very bad?"

He murmured: "Not quite. They are just — ah, a little too nosy, and more often have the lamentable tendency to irritate me. Never fear, though; I daresay you will deal with them fairly well."

She was silent for a moment. Observing this, his lordship asked coolly: "What, are we vacillating again?"

"I am thinking that I could not do it after all," she blurted out. "My lord, if you'd just let me go to London, I would be very much obliged to you. I cannot undertake so outrageous a scheme — indeed, I just can't!" The Marquis laid down the comb very gently. There was a dangerous gleam in his eyes that made Miss Kentsville suddenly nervous. How could a man laugh with her one moment, and be so ruthless the next? She thought she had not met anyone who could be so quickly transformed; indeed, it wouldn't have surprised her to discover that his lordship was used to torment people to serve his caprice.

Denver said, in his unpleasantly soft voice that she began to detest, "Well, well. You disappoint me, Miss Kentsville. I am afraid I shall be forced to take some — er, drastic — and perhaps a little reprehensible — measures. You must know that among other things, dithering is what I hated the most. Moreover, if my memory serves, you have agreed to do what I asked of you."

Her face, which evinced signs of trepidation, was pale white. "What — what sort of measures?" she asked in a small voice.

He shrugged. "Oh, I can think of several, I assure you. For one, I can turn you over to the Excisemen for withholding from them a very vital information about your smuggler last night. And where will you be after that?"