“Apparently not,” she muttered.

“You are cousin to Lord Winstead,” he stated. “I know your name if not your face.”

She gave a nod—the first gesture she’d made that even hinted of civility. Her voice, too, was slightly more tempered when she spoke again. But only slightly. “You should not have come tonight.”

He paused. Then said, “I have known Charles Dunwoody for over a decade. I wished to congratulate him on his betrothal.”

This did not seem to impress her. “Your presence was most distressing to my aunt and cousin.”

“And for that I am sorry.” He was, truly, and he was doing everything he could to set things right. But he could not share that with the Smythe-Smiths until he met with success. It would be cruel to raise the hopes of Daniel’s family. And perhaps more to the point, he could not imagine they would receive him if he paid a call.

“You’re sorry?” Lady Sarah said scornfully. “I find that difficult to believe.”

Again, he paused. He did not like to respond to provocation with immediate outburst. He never had, which made his behavior with Daniel all the more galling. If he hadn’t been drinking, he would have behaved rationally, and none of this would have happened. He certainly would not have been standing here in a darkened corner of Charles Dunwoody’s parents’ home, in the company of a woman who had obviously sought him out for no other reason than to hurl insults at his head.

“You may believe what you wish,” he replied. He owed her no explanations.

For a moment neither spoke, then Lady Sarah said, “They left, in case you were wondering.”

He tilted his head in query.

“Aunt Virginia and Honoria. They left as soon as they realized you were here.”

Hugh did not know what she intended with her statement. Was he meant to feel guilty? Had they wanted to remain at the party? Or was this more of an insult? Perhaps Lady Sarah was trying to tell him that he was so repellent that her cousins could not tolerate his presence.

So he said nothing. He did not wish to make an incorrect reply. But then something niggled at his brain. A puzzle of sorts. Nothing more than an unanswered question, but it was so strange and out of place that he had to know the answer. And so he asked, “What did you mean earlier, fourteen men?”

Lady Sarah’s mouth flattened into a grim line. Well, more grim, if such a thing were possible.

“When you first saw me,” he reminded her, although he rather thought she knew precisely what he was talking about, “you said something about fourteen men.”

“It was nothing,” she said dismissively, but her eyes shifted the tiniest bit to the right. She was lying. Or embarrassed. Probably both.

“Fourteen is not nothing.” He was being pedantic, he knew, but she’d already tried his patience in every way but the mathematical. 14 ≠ 0, but more to the point, why did people bring things up if they didn’t want to talk about them? If she hadn’t intended to explain the comment, she bloody well should have kept it to herself.