Page 61 of Scandalous

Martín focused his attention on Hugh and Lady Ramsay rather than on whatever Sarah and the Dutchman were whispering about.

He needed to hide his irritation from Ramsay. If Hugh guessed for a moment that Martín felt anything for Sarah—not that he did, of course—he would dig until he got to the bottom of the issue. Martín’s teeth hurt at the thought. Becoming fodder for Ramsay’s well-developed sense of humor was not something he wanted.

They’d just completed their meal when Hugh’s mad aunt entered the dining room. Martín groaned inwardly as she drifted in with a pack of noisy dogs.

“Ah, Aunt Amelia, we’re so glad you could join us,” Ramsay boomed over the din of her barking dogs. He made brief introductions, and the men resumed their seats after the old lady took hers. Conversation ground to a halt. The only one who didn’t seem to notice the deafening barking was Lady Amelia, who shared her food with her dogs and directed questions in her penetrating voice to the various people in the room.

“So, you are back, are you?” she asked Martín, her question surprising him. He wouldn’t have thought she’d taken any notice of him the last time he’d stayed at Lessing Hall, a few years earlier. Her next words proved him wrong. “I certainly hope you will leave the servant girls alone this time.” She paused in her tirade to give half the fowl on her plate to one of her baying dogs.

Martín pursed his lips and stared at his glass, turning it in restless circles on the table.

“I’m pleased to see you are decently dressed this time,” the old witch continued in a ringing voice, fixing him with a quelling stare when he looked up. “After all, this isn’t the—”

“Aunt Amelia.” Lady Ramsay’s soft voice was unusually penetrating. “Have you spoken to Cook? I believe she was not able to get those calf livers you wanted.”

Martín met the baroness’s cool blue eyes, surprised she’d decided to rescue him. Ramsay certainly didn’t look as if he’d had any plans to stop the old lady. In fact, he looked like a man trying not to laugh.

“I cannot understand what the problem is,” Lady Amelia groused, taking a tiny mouthful of food before placing yet another plate on the floor. “Why is it so difficult to procure calf liver?” She directed this question at her one-eyed nephew.

“Well, there is only one per calf, you know. Perhaps you could find some other part of the calf to feed to your pugs, something less exclusive—more common. Feet perhaps. Even ears.”

She gave him a withering look before raising her quizzing glass, an even gaudier specimen than the one Ramsay wore. She turned her grossly magnified eye on Graaf, examining him for a long moment.

“You are Caroline Balfour’s grandson,” she stridently informed him, her stern look and inaccurate supposition causing the Dutchman’s jaw to sag. Martín felt a flare of pleasure at the other man’s discomfort. “I gather your grandmother has finally come to terms with your mother’s shameless behavior at Lord Atherton’s ball? There is no hiding that your brother inherited Atherton’s ears.”

Graaf opened his mouth. “Er—”

“I’ll have you know we do not tolerate that type of nonsense here at Lessing Hall.” Her eyes, usually a hazy gray, were like the sharpened points of rapiers.

“Uh—” the Dutch peer began.

Choking sounds came from Ramsay’s direction.

Graaf opened his mouth again to say God-knows-what, but Lady Amelia had already lost interest in whoever she thought he was.

“I am going to go speak with Cook about the appalling lack of liver,” she declared to nobody in particular, her eyes slewing back to her nephew, who appeared to be in actual physical pain.

She frowned at him. “Dyspeptic? I shall have Klemp make you a posset.” She heaved her tall, thin form up from her chair and almost careened into the approaching footman, who was bearing a tray with several dishes she’d requested.

“You are too late. I have finished my meal, young man.” She dismissed him with an irritable wave while several of her hounds nipped his ankles. She shot Martín a narrow look, as if he were somehow responsible for the deplorable liver shortage, and then sailed from the room.

The silence was broken only by the sound of Ramsay’s choking and snorting. Martín glared at the red-faced baron and shook his head.

Ramsay saw Martín’s disgusted expression, and the room shook with his laughter.

* * *

They retired to the library after dinner, where Sarah proceeded to thrash both Graaf and Ramsay at chess. Martín enjoyed watching her deliver the setdown to the arrogant baron.

“It seems you have learned a new lesson tonight, my lord.”

The one-eyed man grinned at Martín’s taunting. “Judging by your refusal to play Miss Fisher, you’ve learned the same lesson already.” His green eye slid from Martín to Sarah, who was blushing, but smiling.

“I must be off,” Martín said.

“But Lady Ramsay has readied a room for you here, Martín.”

Martín shook his head at his mischievous former employer. “I have business on the Scythe.” He bowed to the baroness. “But I thank you for the kind offer.”