Lady in the Stray by Maggie MacKeever Page B

Both eluded her. She fell. Lord Stirling caught her in mid-tumble, leaving Lionel to deal with the overturned chair.
    Vashti stared up into Lord Stirling’s handsome countenance, memory of which had kept her awake a large portion of the night. Doubtless he thought she had been searching for his accursed memorandum. “You startled me, sir!”
    “Did I?” murmured Yves. “You were not on guard. I already issued you warning, did I not?” She winced. The jade—if she was a jade—deserved to receive her comeuppance, he thought. And then he mused, quite irrevelantly, that she fit as snugly as ever into his embrace.
    Lionel, having dealt with the chair, and by so doing having earned from Calliope a snarl, was at a loss as to what he should do next. Lord Stirling and Mademoiselle Beaufils were staring at each other in a manner that left the solicitor feeling distinctly de trop. He cleared his throat. “The two of you are acquainted?” he ventured.
    Thus made aware that he had clasped Vashti’s narrow waist a great deal longer that was seemly, Yves abruptly released her. “We are very old acquaintances.” He looked very narrowly at Vashti. “Are we not?”
    “Hm? Oh, yes!” Recalling her speculations upon the supposed manner of their acquaintance, Vashti blushed. What would Valérie have done in a situation such as this? Vashti could not imagine. She took refuge behind the long table and offered the gentlemen coffee.
    “Thank you, no!” Lionel eyed the remnants of Vashti’s breakfast with a certain wistfulness. Sparse as that repast seemed—consisting of cold oatmeal pudding, sliced and toasted and buttered—it was more ample than his own had been, Lord Stirling having appeared on his doorstep at a very early hour. “We have come on a matter of business. Lord Stirling has made a very handsome offer that I must advise you to consider.”
    “An offer?” Vashti’s hands clenched around her coffee cup, her wide amber eyes fixed on the solicitor’s face. Had Stirling engaged Lionel to act in his behalf concerning the memorandum? An odd way to go about the thing, surely. “Has he, indeed?”
    “You find it hard to believe in your good fortune.” Ignoring Calliope’s hostile demeanor, Yves drew up a chair. Vashti looked doubtfully at him. He smiled, and availed himself of the coffeepot. “Old acquaintances such as ourselves need not stand on ceremony. But Mr. Heath looks confused. Perhaps you would like to tell him how we come to know each other, Vashti.”
    What Vashti would have liked to do was end this charade—however, there was the missing memorandum to think of, and the possible loss of her inheritance, and what little Valérie might have left of her good name. Through lowered lashes, she studied Lord Stirling. His blue eyes were fixed on her fingers, clenched so tightly on the cup.
    Vashti dropped her hands to her lap. This wasn’t the way she would have chosen to ascertain if her speculations had been correct. “We met here in London, several years back,” she ventured, and held her breath.
    Impostor or no, she knew that much. “Approximately ten years back,” remarked Lord Stirling irritably.
    Lionel glanced from one of his companions to the other, and then at the crumbs of the buttered oatcakes. Perhaps it was the lack of an adequate breakfast that caused him to feel such unease. That, and the growling cat, and the noises in the walls. He frowned in the direction of the sound.
    Vashti followed his glance. “Rats,” she gloomily observed. Calliope snarled all the louder. Vashti picked up the cat and dropped it on the floor. Calliope withdrew beneath the table, tail a-lash.
    “Ah, yes, rats.” Lord Stirling leaned back in his chair. “I failed to take the presence of vermin into consideration when I set my price.”
    “Your price?” Again, Vashti wore that bewildered expression which left his lordship quite unreasonably enraged. “What price, sir?”
    “Moonshine! The old house is just