“I’m truly going to be ill, Griffin,” Asteria said as he escorted her below stairs during intermission. Calliope and Phoebe had stayed behind. He suspected, however, that the younger of the twins was speaking for all of his sisters. “Miss Mallory is in our box this instant, leaning across to Lady Amherst—one of the most notorious gossips in all of London—making claims against Lord Rathburn and Miss Danvers. You should march up there this instant and come to her defense.”
“I hardly know Miss Danvers. Such an act by a gentleman who is not amongst her or her family’s coterie might incur more damage than assistance.” Although, he could see his sister’s point. He needed to put a stop to the gossiping ninny before she sullied someone’s reputation.
Miss Mallory’s barely veiled innuendo of Rathburn’s previous involvement with an actress had been enough for him to clear his throat and mention that his younger sisters were new to the sights and sounds of town. Unfortunately, she hadn’t taken the hint. In fact, she’d actually offered to escort the twins to more functions and help him act as chaperone.
He’d had enough. Clearly, a private and very blunt conversation was needed.
“I meant you should come to Miss McFarland’s defense.” His sister stared at him as if he’d half a brain. “Surely, you’ve heard the rumors that Miss Mallory is a cousin of hers.”
“I have,” he admitted and ignored the twinkle of mischief in his sister’s blue eyes, as if he’d just been caught raiding the kitchen for gingerbread. “Still, I don’t see what that has to do with Lord Rathburn and his betrothed.”
“Miss Danvers is a particular friend of Miss McFarland’s. Therefore, it stands to reason that Miss Mallory is merely attacking her by way of Miss Danvers’s reputation. After all, Phoebe and I have heard from more than one person who remembers the way Miss Mallory stood in the McFarlands’ ballroom last year, gloating all throughout the . . .” She pursed her lips as if searching for a delicate way to put it.
“Incident,” he supplied. Oddly, the term sparked a glint of unexpected warmth through him.
“Incident sounds much better than abominable horror, which is how Phoebe and I refer to it.” She nodded in acceptance but gave him the knowing look she’d adopted recently. “It’s fortunate that Miss McFarland has a friend in you.”
He ignored the comment. “When we return to the box, we’ll make a very public exit with Miss Mallory, sending a clear message of intolerance.”
“Oh, yes! That will be perfect.” She nodded eagerly but then turned thoughtful. “No. That will not do. A public exit will cause more people to wonder at the reason, and then Miss Mallory’s gossip will only spread faster.” Her gloved finger tapped against her chin as she frowned. “She’s put us in a terrible predicament. I’m not afraid to say that I do not like her one bit. Although . . . it was clever of Miss McFarland to put her in your path, pretending disinterest.”
“You manage to see pretense where there is none.” The only reason a woman would put another woman in a gentleman’s path would be to ensure that he understood she had no interest. Griffin used the same tactic when introduced to a debutante with whom he didn’t want to dance—he simply introduced her to the nearest gentleman and quickly took his leave. “Not every person’s actions are part of a grand plot, as you and Phoebe seem to imagine.”
“Oh, but you are wrong. Phoebe and I have a chart that helps us.” She paused and looked askance at him. “Well, the reason isn’t important. You’ll have to trust me.”
He knew by now that it was better not to ask.
Just then, he saw Miss McFarland and her friend Miss Wakefield turn the corner from the refreshment area, heads bent together as they whispered. Their collective frowns told him well enough that they’d heard Miss Mallory’s claims. A fresh sweep of irritation at the young woman in his uncle’s box fell over him.
Griffin escorted his sister directly in their paths and greeted both of them in turn. “How are you enjoying the play?”
The two exchanged a look.
Miss McFarland’s expression transformed into one of fiery determination in the quick jut of her shapely chin. A gleam flared in her gaze. “Better, now that we have spent all this time conversing with our good friends, Miss Danvers and Lord Rathburn,” she said, elevating her voice slightly, seemingly so that the few still lingering in the gallery might overhear.
While he’d given her credit for being clever, now he witnessed her devout loyalty as well. He suddenly decided that her friends were most fortunate indeed.
“But I thought . . . oh.” It took Asteria a moment to catch on, but she quickly recovered. “When I saw you leave before intermission, I’d wondered if you were off to speak with your friends.”
Miss McFarland reached out and squeezed his sister’s hand, an affectionate smile on her face. “Yes, and we have great news as well, but it would be wrong of me to boast about it.”
“Surely not too boastful,” Miss Wakefield chimed in, as if the entire exchange had been rehearsed. “Naturally, it would pain us to conceal our glee for having received an invitation to picnic at Hawthorne Manor.”
This was news. There hadn’t been a party at Hawthorne Manor in years. From the corner of his eye, he caught sight of the eavesdropping Leticia Cumberland—a particular friend of Lady Amherst’s—and quickly knew Miss McFarland’s plan would work.
“Although since it is only for the wedding party, it would be wrong to let everyone know. So it will have to be our secret.” The moment when Miss McFarland said those words, her gaze met his. A familiar tint of pale pink blended with the freckles on her cheeks.
They shared a secret as well. He inclined his head, trying to ignore the sudden rush of heat. “You honor us with this confidence.”
“Might I share this news with my sisters, once I return to the box?” Asteria asked, rather too slyly.
“Of course,” Miss Wakefield responded and stepped forward to link arms with her. “Just as I will share the news with my aunt.”
Miss McFarland glanced to her retreating friend and his sister, and then to him. She drew in a quick breath. “I must be off as well. Thank you, Mr. Croft, for—”
“Keeping our—I mean, your secret?” He couldn’t help the teasing grin that curled the corners of his mouth. “It was entirely my pleasure, Miss McFarland.”
That lush violet gaze narrowed for an instant, and he felt another stab of heat. “I do hope you are enjoying my cousin’s company this evening,” she said. “I must warn you, however, if she has a cup of punch waiting for you, I would not drink it.”
He tucked the odd remark away for the moment since the orchestra went from tuning their instruments to the beginning of the score. “Trying to dissuade any potential interest I might have in another woman, Miss McFarland?” Extending his elbow, he silently offered to escort her to her father’s box.
Surprisingly, she accepted. Together, they moved up the stairs behind his sister and Miss Wakefield. With each step, the lavender flounces over Miss McFarland’s bodice shimmied, drawing his attention and increasing his desire to explore what lay beneath. He had no idea how such a small bosom could entice him so.
“Hardly,” she said, her tone edged with saucy provocation. “I put her in your path solely to bring you misery.”
He allowed his gaze to roam over her slender throat, her freckled face, her flaming, unruly hair, not understanding how such a combination could appeal to him.
Yet unaccountably, it did. “Then why the warning?”
“You did my friend a service just now, and I thought it only right to return the favor.” She reached up to tuck a curl behind her ear, where two silver combs attempted to keep the mass of auburn curls from tumbling free.
When the lock sprang forward again, this time he reached out and tucked it in place. The intimacy of the gesture was not lost on Miss McFarland. She looked up at him, eyes wide.
Griffin abruptly lowered his hand. “Sometimes a firmer hand is all that’s needed,” he mumbled by way of an excuse.
The curl bounced free again. A look of firm resolve replaced the shock in her violet petal irises. “And some things rebel against any type of restraint, Mr. Croft.”
Without another word, she turned to join her friend under the dome of the rotunda, not realizing the havoc clambering through him whenever she was near.