The Dangerous Lord by Sabrina Jeffries Page A

away.”
    Overwhelmed by the gracious greeting, Felicity hesitantly took her hostess’s hand. “Some business kept me in town quite late; then I was afraid to venture out at night with the snow. Most of it had melted this morning, however, so I pressed on.”
    At the sound of her voice, one of the gentlemen pivoted to stare at her. The Viscount St. Clair. She froze and her pulse quickened treacherously as his gaze locked with hers. Oh, why must he be here? And why must the sight of him strike her with both fear and anticipation?
    Within the cramped confines of the cottage, he appeared even larger and more menacing than she remembered. Although his unruly hair and the color in his cheeks enhanced his masculine appeal, the flintlock rifle he held with casual ease did nothing to assuage her fears. In doeskin breeches and a forest green frock coat, he was the very picture of a hunter ready to fire on any troublesome creature thwarting him. Judging from the bulging game bag at his feet, he could use his weapon with great accuracy.
    Her muscles tightened in alarm, but she forced them to relax. She was being silly. Even the arrogant Lord St. Clair dare not shoot her, for pity’s sake. Still, she’d feel far morecomfortable if he clutched a cane instead of a gun.
    Of course, his knowledge of her identity was nearly as dangerous. Would he expose her? Or had he taken her threats to heart?
    â€œI’m delighted you went to so much trouble to get here,” Lady Worthing said warmly, her gaze flitting from Felicity to Lord St. Clair. “Now our party is complete.”
    Felicity wrenched her gaze from the formidable Lord St. Clair. Only six of them? And so conveniently—or inconveniently—paired off? Oh, this would be disaster. “But Lady Worthing—”
    â€œYou mustn’t stand on ceremony with me. You and I are nearly the same age, and if you’re as nice as your father said, I’m sure we’ll be friends. So please call me Sara.”
    Stunned by this further evidence of her hostess’s graciousness, she stammered, “I-I’d be honored. And you must call me Felicity.” She paused. “Have all your guests arrived then?”
    â€œActually, yes. We expect a hundred at tonight’s ball, but no one else is staying at the manor. Mr. and Mrs. Kinsley were prevented from coming by a sudden emergency. And the Hastings were going to attend with Ian, but at the last minute, they couldn’t.” She cast Lord St. Clair an uncertain glance, then added, “Oh, but I’m forgetting myself. You haven’t met everyone, have you?”
    At Felicity’s quick shake of the head, Sara turned to a man as tall as Lord St. Clair and introduced him as her husband Gideon. Felicity murmured a greeting as she studied him. This man had been a pirate? Why, his hair was short, and he bore himself like a gentleman. Perhaps the rumor had been overstated after all. She must find out while she was here, if only to assuage her own curiosity.
    Sara introduced the older couple, who proved to be the Marquess and Marchioness of Dryden, Gideon’s parents. What an illustrious—and unusual—group she’d stumbled into, thanks to Papa’s talent. They’d make interesting companions for the next few days, but sadly wouldn’t provide her with material. Their familial association made it impossible to use what they said, for they’d guess that the only stranger in the group had been the one to pass on the rumors. Besides, she could never speak badly of people who were so open and lacking in haughty airs.
    Drat it all. Not only had this been an almost pointless excursion, but it had thrown her into the company of the vexing viscount.
    Then she brightened. At least the ball tonight would be rife with rumors.
    â€œFelicity’s father designed Worthing Manor,” Sara was explaining to her mother-in-law. “I thought she might like to see how it