Country Flirt Read Online Free

without being an actual hermit. There wasn’t much she enjoyed more than a quiet evening alone, or with Clifford, who wasn’t a roisterous sort of man.
    Dinner proceeded quietly for two courses. The roast of lamb was just being placed on the board when there was a raucous hollering heard in the front hall. “Holloa, boy! Boy!” The sound reverberated through the house, followed by a rattle as of a box falling.
    “Good gracious! What is that?” Lady Monteith demanded.
    Her son smiled at the assembled party. “It sounds as though Uncle Howard has come to dinner after all. No need to disturb yourself, Mama,” he said to his motionless parent. “I’ll do the pretty and welcome him.” He rose languorously and glided from the room.
     

Chapter 3
     
    A moment later Lord Monteith reappeared with his uncle, Lord Howard. Every eye in the room gleamed with avid curiosity as it turned to see the infamous black sheep. Samantha looked, and felt a nearly overwhelming urge to laugh at the striking similarity between nephew and uncle. Lord Howard looked as if someone had taken Monty into a tanning factory and treated him. The general face and figures were similar, but the uncle’s skin was darker and coarser. He was obviously older, more dissipated, more wrinkled, and heavier than Monteith. His hairline had receded an inch or so, but the eyes that surveyed the room had the same youthful gleam. The head sat at the same proud angle. Lord Howard’s toilette lacked the elegance of the younger man’s; Stultz had padded his shoulder wider than necessary and nipped the waist in too tightly.
    When Lord Howard spoke, the strange feeling of similarity faded. His accents were not the cultured ones of his nephew, nor were his words as polite, though they showed some concern for the company. “Good evening, all. I’m Lord Howard, the nabob. Don’t interrupt your eating on my account. I’ll just slide into any empty chair and will soon catch up with you.”
    As he spoke, he glanced around the table and spotted the vacant chair. Before taking up his seat, he turned to one of the hovering footmen. “I’m ravenous as a lion. I haven’t had a bite since noon. Bring me a platter of meat, lad. Hop, hop.”
    Then he sat down and began a perusal of the female faces that surrounded the table. The sharp-eyed dame at the head of the table —that would be Irene, of course. She used to be a good-looking lass when she married Ernie. The ladies lasted a little better here than in the tropics. She didn’t look over fifty, which she must be. She’d married Ernest thirty-six years ago.
    “Lord Howard, I’m happy you could make it for dinner,” Lady Monteith said, through thin lips.
    “Ho, I’d forgotten you keep country hours. We dine after nine in India. The heat, you know. We live half our lives in the dark. It’s that or be parboiled. I’d have been here hours ago if that demmed dubash I left off at John Company’s office in London hadn’t detained me by getting himself lost. I brought him along to England to handle my affairs with the company, to save me from pelting off to the city. Well, Irene, you’re holding up well for a lady of your years.” He smiled.
    Lady Monteith ignored this two-edged compliment. “Pray allow me to introduce you to my guests,” she said stiffly, and ran around the table, mentioning everyone’s name. While she performed this thankless job, Lord Howard reached out and grabbed a piece of bread, which he buttered and ate in great bites. He glanced up from time to time to acknowledge introductions with a brief nod.
    Then a plate of mutton was placed before him. He squared his elbows, lowered his head, and tore into it. The sight reminded Lady Monteith of nothing so much as a wild animal at a carcass. She winced and shook her head at her son, that paragon of suavity, who smiled blandly.
    Other than making a spectacle of himself, Lord Howard proved a bore while at his meal. He conversed little. Any question was