him, he sipped his wine as he continued watching her.
He'd been on the town far too long to take whatever anyone told him at face value. There was no question in his mind what the old man wanted—none at all. The retainer, the dinner invitation, all of it, were but lures to draw Patrick in, to intrigue him with the girl. As he looked at her, he wondered whether she protested too much, whether she and the old man had their caps set on him.
If so, it wasn't the first time someone had set the parson's mousetrap for him, and he'd alreatly proven himself more than adept at extricating himself from the matrimonial ambitions of a number of heiresses. He'd been an eligible parti long enough to recognize nearly every possible blandishment designed to attach him.
Elise pushed her peas about her plate without eating them until her father noticed. "Eh, what's this? You don't like ‘em? Paid the greengrocer—"
"I know, they are quite dear," she said tersely.
"Would you care for some more of them, Bat?" her mother asked quickly.
"Take some—" He stopped to belch loudly, then lifted his glass. "More port, boy!" he called out to one of the servants.
When she dared to look up, Elise was well aware that Hamilton studied her. He was a handsome man, no doubt about that. The light from the center candelabra made his brown hair shine softly. He turned his head briefly to address her mother, showing a profile as strong and well defined as that of a statue—straight forehead, chiseled nose, good chin. When he looked back to her, the light caught hazel eyes far too beautiful to belong to a man.
But even if there had never been Ben, even if she'd met the barrister under different circumstances, she would not have thrown her cap over the windmill for him. As handsome as he was, Patrick Hamilton was of a different class, and no matter how much her papa wished otherwise, money could not bridge the gap between a merchant's daughter and the poorest younger son.
"Tell me, Mr. Hamilton, how do you choose your clients?" her mother asked him, trying to draw him into conversation again.
"Usually I believe in them—or I believe the punishment does not fit the crime."
"Oh. Well, I am afraid I know nothing of the law, sir."
When he turned his attention to her again, Elise met his gaze steadily until he began eating once more. The next time he looked up, his hazel eyes betrayed a glint of amusement that irritated her.
"Mr. Hamilton, are you in the habit of staring at females?" she asked acidly.
"Only the pretty ones," he assured her, smiling. "And—" He let the word hang for a moment, then finished with, "—I could ask a similar question of you, Miss Rand."
"You do not keep your bargains very well, do you?" she told him tartly, fixing her gaze on her plate. As
she carried a bite to her mouth, she was acutely aware that she hadn't deterred him at all. Defiantly, she forced her thoughts to Ben, trying to bring his face to mind. It would not come.
"Puss!" her father called out, startling her.
"What?"
"Wash th' matter with th' food? First the peash, and now you ain't eathing nothing." "I'm not very hungry."
He turned bleary, reddened eyes to Patrick. "Hate a sh-shinny female," he mumbled.
"You wouldn't wish me fat," she countered evenly.
Once again, an uneasy silence settled over them, broken only by an occasional, polite inanity uttered by Emmaline Rand, while her husband abandoned his food in favor of his wine. Every time he drained his glass, he held it up to be refilled, until Patrick wondered how long it would be before the old man slipped under the table. Not that it was an unusual occurrence for a man of any class, he conceded. Despite his best intentions, he found his gaze straying again to the fair Elise.
"Well, lookee at that!" Rand shouted drunkenly. "Moon-—moonin' like they wash calflingsh, eh? I got fifty thoushand saysh you can 'ave 'er, boy!"
Humiliated, Elise flushed to the roots of her hair. She rose angrily, dropping
He'd been on the town far too long to take whatever anyone told him at face value. There was no question in his mind what the old man wanted—none at all. The retainer, the dinner invitation, all of it, were but lures to draw Patrick in, to intrigue him with the girl. As he looked at her, he wondered whether she protested too much, whether she and the old man had their caps set on him.
If so, it wasn't the first time someone had set the parson's mousetrap for him, and he'd alreatly proven himself more than adept at extricating himself from the matrimonial ambitions of a number of heiresses. He'd been an eligible parti long enough to recognize nearly every possible blandishment designed to attach him.
Elise pushed her peas about her plate without eating them until her father noticed. "Eh, what's this? You don't like ‘em? Paid the greengrocer—"
"I know, they are quite dear," she said tersely.
"Would you care for some more of them, Bat?" her mother asked quickly.
"Take some—" He stopped to belch loudly, then lifted his glass. "More port, boy!" he called out to one of the servants.
When she dared to look up, Elise was well aware that Hamilton studied her. He was a handsome man, no doubt about that. The light from the center candelabra made his brown hair shine softly. He turned his head briefly to address her mother, showing a profile as strong and well defined as that of a statue—straight forehead, chiseled nose, good chin. When he looked back to her, the light caught hazel eyes far too beautiful to belong to a man.
But even if there had never been Ben, even if she'd met the barrister under different circumstances, she would not have thrown her cap over the windmill for him. As handsome as he was, Patrick Hamilton was of a different class, and no matter how much her papa wished otherwise, money could not bridge the gap between a merchant's daughter and the poorest younger son.
"Tell me, Mr. Hamilton, how do you choose your clients?" her mother asked him, trying to draw him into conversation again.
"Usually I believe in them—or I believe the punishment does not fit the crime."
"Oh. Well, I am afraid I know nothing of the law, sir."
When he turned his attention to her again, Elise met his gaze steadily until he began eating once more. The next time he looked up, his hazel eyes betrayed a glint of amusement that irritated her.
"Mr. Hamilton, are you in the habit of staring at females?" she asked acidly.
"Only the pretty ones," he assured her, smiling. "And—" He let the word hang for a moment, then finished with, "—I could ask a similar question of you, Miss Rand."
"You do not keep your bargains very well, do you?" she told him tartly, fixing her gaze on her plate. As
she carried a bite to her mouth, she was acutely aware that she hadn't deterred him at all. Defiantly, she forced her thoughts to Ben, trying to bring his face to mind. It would not come.
"Puss!" her father called out, startling her.
"What?"
"Wash th' matter with th' food? First the peash, and now you ain't eathing nothing." "I'm not very hungry."
He turned bleary, reddened eyes to Patrick. "Hate a sh-shinny female," he mumbled.
"You wouldn't wish me fat," she countered evenly.
Once again, an uneasy silence settled over them, broken only by an occasional, polite inanity uttered by Emmaline Rand, while her husband abandoned his food in favor of his wine. Every time he drained his glass, he held it up to be refilled, until Patrick wondered how long it would be before the old man slipped under the table. Not that it was an unusual occurrence for a man of any class, he conceded. Despite his best intentions, he found his gaze straying again to the fair Elise.
"Well, lookee at that!" Rand shouted drunkenly. "Moon-—moonin' like they wash calflingsh, eh? I got fifty thoushand saysh you can 'ave 'er, boy!"
Humiliated, Elise flushed to the roots of her hair. She rose angrily, dropping
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