Lucius put his boots up on the seat across from them.

“Lady Clavering, I don’t believe you are familiar with my hunting box, where we will reside until we may remove to my estate. I hope you will find it to your liking. True, there are occasionally damsels in distress who knock on the door at odd hours, but otherwise, it is quite tolerable, I assure you."

Read Book II of Clavering Chronicles

“Miss Clavering!” Jack hesitated then advanced to greet her, annoyed that his heart sped up. Very irksome since he had no intention of pursuing the woman.

Miss Clavering stood, and if her heightened color could be believed, was experiencing a touch of embarrassment at meeting him unexpectedly, as well. "Mr. Blythefield, I do not live at your house, though you must sometimes think it. Susan has only gone upstairs to change because she believes Mr. Merrick will call today."

Jack bowed, willing his nerves to be steady. Just pretend you are about to address the Commons. “Do you believe Mr. Merrick will call today? You cannot wish it—you’re not one of his devotees.”

Miss Clavering had removed her gloves, and she ran a slender hand over her muslin sleeve. “To own the truth, I do not care whether Mr. Merrick comes or not. I am of the mind that Mr. Evans will be here today, for he paid my brother a visit yesterday and declared his intention of doing so. I wished to lend my support and also to see him, since I was out when he called.”

Jack looked at her with amusement and was relieved that his equilibrium seemed to be returning after the initial jolt. Perhaps his common sense would return with it. “You really are bent on this scheme of yours to fix my sister with your friend. I own to some curiosity to meet the man myself."

"Then, by all means—stay." Miss Clavering sent him an impish smile. "And have a seat."

Jack had to laugh at being offered a seat in his own house. The woman had no shame. If nothing else, she was amusing.

He sat, and Miss Clavering poured him a cup of tea as if it were the most natural thing in the world that she should play hostess in his drawing room. His heart rate threatened to speed up again, but he tried to focus his attention elsewhere. Miss Clavering leaned forward to lift the cup, then paused. “I should have asked if you take milk.”

"I do," he said in a mock-stern voice. “And now you’ve ruined a perfectly good cup of tea."

"No. I shall merely add a cloud of milk into tea that has”—she gasped—“already been poured into the cup and shock the entire English world. Do you take sugar as well?”

"Three spoons,” he said.

"So many?” She handed him his tea. “Is it in hopes of balancing out your bitter nature?"

Jack’s lips twitched, although he tried valiantly not to smile.