Page 14 of A Rogue Worth the Risk

Nottingshire Court Dining Room

The next morning

Despite forbidding her wayward attention to drift to the dining room’s entrance, Corinna darted an inconspicuous glance to the double doors. At least five and twenty other guests had risen early and enjoyed the succulent spread Lady Osborne had provided.

However, Lord Strathmore was not among them.

Corinna owed him an apology.

She’d not been able to finagle a way to meet him in the library. After her waltz with the baron, Lady Sewell had descended upon Corinna like winter fog on the Thames. The woman simply refused to go away. What was more, she didn’t have a single complimentary thing to say about his lordship.

When Corinna said his scar was rather dashing, her ladyship had gaped at her agog as if Corinna had served her toads or dung beetles for tea.

From the straight blade of his nose, full, well-formed lips, and the regal contours and planes of his face, Caspian, Baron Strathmore was an attractive man—despite the scar marring his left cheek. His amber-brown eyes held intellect, humor, and kindness, and his wavy sable hair fell over his forehead in a charmingly boyish manner.

He affected her like no man ever had before.

It disconcerted and fascinated.

Part of Corinna wanted to explore these novel feelings, and another part of her warned her to stay as far away from Caspian, Baron Strathmore, as was feasible for the rest of the house party.

Not one to forgo a challenge, she knew what course she’d take without a great deal of introspection.

Corinna didn’t know Lady Sewell well, and after their encounter, she had no desire to further their acquaintance. Due to the woman’s barnacle-like attentiveness and incessant banal diatribe, Corinna hadn’t enjoyed another dance before supper, let alone been able to keep her assignation with Lord Strathmore.

By that time, she’d no choice but to concede defeat and go into supper with Mercy and Ronan. Strathmore wouldn’t have waited an hour and a half—if he’d shown up. Corinna hadn’t seen him for the remainder of the evening.

She didn’t let herself question why that mattered so much.

Confound Lady Sewell.

Who gave a rat’s rump whether cerulean or saffron would be fashionable next season or if silk flowers were all the rage for adorning gowns? And who, by all that was holy, considered the symptoms of la grippe or bunions—bunions!—a pleasant topic of conversation?

Assuredly not Corinna.

Worse yet, Lady Sewell’s pointed and indiscreet questions regarding Corinna’s marriage prospects bordered on an inquisition. By the time her ladyship finally departed, Corinna had begun to consider a faux fainting spell. And in twenty plus years, she’d not once succumbed to the vapors.

Having filled her plate at the sideboard, Corinna searched for a vacant chair at one of the many round tables seating eight or ten arranged throughout the room. Preferably one at a table with a familiar face.

Mercy and Ronan hadn’t come below yet.

Mama and Papa weren’t coming, and her dear friend Cathryn Knighton had chosen to spend the winter with her brother, Henry, Earl of Towler, rather than attend the frenzy of winter house parties.

Corinna returned Garland Claiborne’s exuberant wave to join her from a table near the mullioned windows. Only Garland and her plump twin sisters, Edmonia and Joanna, occupied the table. Their other sister, Louise, and their parents must not have come down yet. Or perhaps they’d chosen to break their fasts in their chambers.

Cheerful, unpretentious, and with a propensity to rotundness, the Claibornes’ wealth had been attained via commerce and therefore smelled of the shop. A transgression that made them practically immoral amongst the self-important upper ten thousand.

Ridiculous and reprehensible.

The eldest of four daughters, Garland was quite firmly on the shelf at one and thirty, but she didn’t seem to mind spinsterhood. Many of the usual tonnish families with eligible sons and daughters were present, but Corinna couldn’t help but notice the majority of the younger, married couples were not.

Most peculiar, that.

An appalling and oh-so unwelcome thought nearly made Corinna stumble, putting a strawberry tottering on her plate in danger of plummeting onto the floor.

Was Lady Osborne up to her infamous matchmaking machinations again?

Was this…?