Miss Carlyle's Curricle: Signet Regency Romance (InterMix) Read Online Free Page B

throw him, but never left any tiny sliver of food behind. That was the word for Mr. Sinclair, perhaps: sleek.
    He was so even in his conversation: smooth, urbane, witty. He lounged upon the chair across from her with a dandy’s negligent, lazy posture. He seemed to be familiar with most of the tales of the
ton
, or at least the ones she had heard when she had her come-out some years ago, and some others she had not heard—all frivolous, insignificant news. She glanced at him and for a moment her eyes met his. Yet, there was a
watching
manner about him, as if he were trying to search past the social smile she kept pinned on her face. Her polite smile turned wry. He was a cat, indeed, watching potential prey. Well, she was not prey, no mouse to be caught.
    “Why are you here, Mr. Sinclair?” she said abruptly. This time she did not blush. Impatience rushed through her, wanting to be done with facades, for she felt suddenly sure that Mr. Sinclair was presenting just that. She had had little patience with pretense when she had been in London, and the relief she had felt in coming home was the relief of discarding the masks that society had placed upon her those torturous few months.
    There was a short silence, while Mr. Sinclair continued to gaze at her. Then he straightened in his chair, and though his legs were still casually crossed, she could not feel that the word “frivolous” any longer applied to him. His hands slid to the edge of the arms of the chair and his long fingers tapped out a short rhythm, but his eyes never left her.
    “I assume the will is to be read soon?” he asked.
    “Yes,” Diana replied. “This afternoon, in this room—” She glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. “In about a quarter of an hour.”
    He nodded. “I am here for the reading of the will.”
    “Yet, if I am not mistaken, you did not know of Lord Brisbane’s death until today.” She frowned. “Do not toy with me, Mr. Sinclair.”
    He smiled widely. “I see it would be useless to do so.” He picked up a cup and drained it of tea. “But it is true. I was contacted some weeks ago by Lord Brisbane regarding his will.”
    A maid entered the library to clear away the dishes, but Diana forestalled her when she reached for the tea tray and requested more hot water and tea. “More tea?” Diana asked Mr. Sinclair, managing to hide her skepticism. When he nodded, she poured the rest of the tea into his cup, then gestured the maid to take away the pot. “Are you a solicitor, then?”
    “No, I am not. His lordship wished to bequeath something to me, and was insistent I come here to discuss it with him.”
    “Then you
are
related to us.” She gazed at him curiously, and wondered why she had not heard of him before.
    Mr. Sinclair smiled again. “I suppose I must be.”
    Diana nodded. “So I thought. You have a look of the Carlyles.”
    “Do I? I suppose you must have discerned it when you examined me an hour ago.”
    She winced. “I . . .I was rude, I suppose.” She glanced away. “I apologize.”
    “I did not mind it. Naturally, you were curious,” he replied, and his voice was gentle, giving her an excuse. She took the excuse, nodding, and felt relieved.
    Diana was about to ask him more questions about his presence, but the door opened, and her mother entered, followed by her cousins, and then her uncle’s solicitor, Mr. Barrett.
    She had two distant cousins, Sir James Rackbury and Mr. Lionel Southworthy, who looked so very much alike that anyone would think them brothers. But there was a space of fifteen years between them, and they were unlike in nature as a stick from a stone. Sir James Rackbury cast her a smiling glance from his dark eyes, then his humor fled as he caught sight of Mr. Sinclair. Sir James’s brows rose as he looked at Diana again—perhaps he wondered at this intrusion from a stranger. Certainly she did!
    Mr. Southworthy gazed at Mr. Sinclair curiously, as if in recognition—and there, she was