The Bride Hunt by Jane Feather

the honors.” Sir Gideon looked up and gave her a smile that made her feel she was in the presence of a quite different man. The smile crinkled the skin around his eyes in a most attractive fashion, and gave to the clear gray gaze an appealing gleam.
    She shook her head in brief negative and the clerk poured tea into two delicate cups that Prudence would have sworn were Sèvres china. She took the one handed to her because to refuse now would be simply churlish, but she shook her head again when she was offered a crumpet. Dealing with all that melted butter while perched on a chair in her coat and hat would detract from the dignified air of hauteur she was trying to maintain. Sir Gideon seemed to have no such reticence and ate both crumpets with relish even while he continued to read, pausing now and again to make a notation on the pad at his elbow.
    At last he looked up, after dabbing the last morsel of crumpet into the remaining butter on his plate and conveying the whole to his mouth without a single drip or smear of grease.
    “Very well, I admit that I saw no point in reading the background material once I had read the article. Maybe I acted in haste, but that said, I see nothing here to substantiate the accusation of financial misconduct.” His voice now was as cool as it had been earlier, the smile gone from his expression, his eyes sharp and assessing.
    “There is a certain lack, we all agree,” Prudence said calmly. “However, we’re convinced of the truth of the charge.”
    “Your being convinced is hardly the same as a jury’s conviction,” he pointed out, the tinge of acid once more in his voice.
    “We have a fairly good idea where to look for evidence to substantiate the accusation,” Prudence told him, setting her empty cup on the table.
    He regarded her rather quizzically. “Would you care to explain, Miss Duncan?”
    “Not at present,” she said, thinking it might be wise to keep a few cards up her sleeve until he’d committed himself to the cause. If she told him about her father’s dealings with Barclay and he still refused to represent them, then she would have exposed her father unnecessarily. It didn’t matter that it would be confidential, she just didn’t like the idea of this supercilious bastard looking down on her father . . . not unless the revelation would serve a purpose. “But I can assure you we know exactly how to go about it.”
    He merely raised his eyebrows and said, “You said your sister wrote the article in question, as I recall.”
    “Yes, Constance.”
    He nodded. “Is she responsible for the lion’s share of the writing?”
    “When it comes to political issues, particularly those relating to women’s suffrage, yes.”
    He acknowledged this with another slight nod. “And what is your role in the production of this . . .” He gestured to the paper on the table. “This publication?”
    Prudence detected the trace of derision again in his tone and her anger rose anew. She got to her feet as she spoke. “I take care of the business end, Sir Gideon. The finances and matters of that nature. Now, if you will excuse me, it’s clear that we have nothing further to discuss, so I’ll not take up any more of your valuable time. Thank you for the tea.” She swooped onto the pages that contained Constance’s notes and swept them into her bag in one movement, conspicuously leaving the banknotes where they were.
    Gideon stood up abruptly. “It’s not at all clear to me that we have nothing further to discuss.”
    Prudence paused as she was putting on her gloves. “You have made no attempt to disguise your contempt for
The Mayfair Lady.
I’m sure it strikes you as the work of rank amateurs. What you perhaps don’t understand—”
    “Don’t put words into my mouth, Miss Duncan,” he interrupted. “Or thoughts in my head.”
    “Do you deny it?” she demanded.
    “I won’t deny that I’m doubtful about the merits of this case,” he said. “But I’m willing