Why should he be any different from any other gentleman she ever met?

Heavens knew he was eager to make his escape. When he’d left her in the gardens she thought he would be leaving then.

But he’d remained. Now she had a second chance at him. A second chance to change his mind about her before he ruined her reputation and the only patient she would be allowed to treat in Brambledon would be the random chicken.

Charm, however elusive for her, was something she was going to have to implement. She cleared her throat. “What made you decide to stay, Mr. Sinclair?” She fixed a smile to her face.

He stared at her thoughtfully as though debating whether or not he would answer her.

Speak. Please speak. It would only heighten the awkwardness if he chose to ignore her.

At last, his voice filled the air between them. “Your brother-in-law can be very persuasive.”

“Nathaniel?” She blinked in some surprise. Nate had gone after him and convinced him to remain? Why had he done that? What had he said? He was not a garrulous sort, and she hardly thought he cared enough about Sinclair to make such an effort to keep him here.

“Yes. Although I believe he was prompted by your sister.”

“Ah.” That, she could believe. Nathaniel would do just about anything for her. “I think it’s more accurate to say my sister is persuasive.”

“I did spot her through the window looking rather hopeful as he invited me.”

“There you have it.” She nodded. It was all Marian’s doing.

“Well, I don’t know how to feel about that.”

“What do you mean? Because Warrington was nudged into inviting you for the night?” She shrugged. “Do not most wives control the guest lists?”

“I suppose. I don’t have a wife.”

“Allow me to enlighten you then. The lady of the house controls all. At least socially.”

“If it was important to your sister that I spend the evening here, why has she abandoned me to your tender clutches?”

Obviously Nora couldn’t reveal her suspicions—that her sister was playing matchmaker. She shot a furtive look at the silent footman, bothered that he was a silent witness to their conversation.

“Danny?” she inquired.

His gaze snapped to her face. “Miss?”

“Leave us please.”

His gaze shifted uncertainly to Sinclair before looking back at her. “Begging your pardon?”

“Please leave us.”

“Are you certain—”

“Quite.” She nodded, and then watched in silence as he turned and exited the room.

“I don’t think that was necessary,” Sinclair murmured once they were alone.

“And risk you airing the matter of my . . . charade?”