window and shoved back the edge of the curtain. Standing on his tiptoes, he pressed his face to the glass. “Bloody hell, that’s a smack-up set of blood and bones.”
“George!”
He had the grace to look slightly shame-faced. “I apologize. But come and look, Honoria. You’ll say the same thing when you see them.”
“I’ll look at them when I return. We mustn’t keep our guest waiting.” She glanced at the housekeeper. “Where is this marquis?”
“In yer sittin‘ room, miss!” Mrs. Kemble fanned herself vigorously. “A real marquis! Who’d have thought?”
Honoria wondered which marquis it could be. She knew of five, all of them avid collectors. Perhaps it was the Marquis of Sheraton, recently returned from Italy. Ah yes, that must be it. No doubt he’d come to inquire about the Indian pearl desk his wife had so admired in the shop just two months before. “I will join the marquis shortly. I assume you offered him some refreshment?”
“Indeed I hadn’t. What with opening the door and finding a real live marquis on the step and wondering if I should put him in the front sitting room, there not being a proper fire and all—” Mrs. Kemble brightened. “Do ye think he’d like some of Mrs. Hibbert’s apple tarts?”
“With some tea, if you please.” Honoria glanced at George, who was still looking down at the horses. “George, I must go to our visitor, but I won’t be a minute.”
“Very well,” he said, though from the sound of his voice, his mind was a million miles away. “If I had a coach and six, I’d have white horses and not gray.”
Honoria smiled, glad to see him so distracted. She quietly left him to his dreams and made her way to the sitting room. In her haste, Mrs. Kemble had left the door open, so Honoria merely walked in, her feet making no sound on the thick rug.
The marquis was standing beside the fireplace, looking into the small flicker of flames that pretended to chase the chill from the room. Honoria took two steps into the room, then came to a sudden halt, her skirts swinging forward. It wasn’t Sheraton at all, but the irascible, annoying and thoroughly irritating Marquis of Treymount.
Ye gods, what did the man want with her? She glowered at him silently, almost wishing she was wrong, but there was no mistaking those broad shoulders covered in a neatly cut morning coat of unfashionable black, that arrogant tilt to his head. The insufferable man carried himself with an annoying combination of blinding masculine arrogance and unnerving personal command. But why was the Marquis of Treymount here!
Honoria glanced around as if looking for clues, absently noting the weak blaze that barely cast forth heat. She wished she’d ordered a nice roaring fire, though she could hardly see the reason when the room was so rarely used. Still… it was one thing to keep the fires small to conserve what they could, and downright beastly to let a man like Treymount see evidence of what straits the Baker-Sneeds were facing.
Well, there was only one way to find out what the blasted man wanted. Chin up, heart steeled, she said as coolly as she dared, “Lord Treymount.” She closed the door and came forward with what she hoped was a polite smile since she was fairly certain it was not pleasant. “What an unexpected surprise.”
“Miss Baker-Sneed. How kind of you to receive me on such short notice.” His voice rumbled pleasantly through her, jangling her nerves a bit more.
Really, it was unfair of God to make a man so incredibly handsome and then imbue him with the most pasteboard of personalities. Honoria swallowed a regretful sigh, noting that the sunlight from the window slanted across his face in a most intriguing way, marking the strong cheekbone, the firm jaw, the line of his mouth in a way that would have caused her pause had she not faced the man so many times before.
The sad truth was that she knew Treymount far too well to be put off by his masculine beauty. They’d
Learning to Kill: Stories