for avoiding me these past two weeks.”
He snapped a gloved finger back toward the entrance. “All of those men are seeking your acquaintance?” he demanded in an exasperated tone. “With a view toward matrimony?”
She grinned and leaned forward on her crutches, wondering if he was jealous. “Yes. And though I have no idea as to how they all came to be here at once, I find it rather endearing to know there are so many fine gentlemen in London capable of recognizing a woman of quality.” She stared him down tauntingly. “Unlike yourself.”
He lowered his shaven chin against his knotted silk cravat. “Who are you?”
She tsked. “That is rather rude. I suggest we retire into the drawing room if you seek an introduction.”
He hesitated and gestured toward her crutches with his top hat. “Are you unwell? Did you twist an ankle?”
The butler cleared his throat and turned away.
Zosia glared at Mr. Lawrence, wishing she had the ability to smack him and dismiss him. The impudence of the man to openly mock what couldn’t be detected beneath the fullness of her gown.
She scanned Lord Moreland’s lean but impressive physique, knowing she might not have the ability to dismiss the servants His Majesty had hired, but she could certainly intimidate them. “Lord Moreland?”
He eyed her. “Yes?”
“If I were to ask you to toss my butler out into that crowd, would you? Not only did the man refuse to execute my orders, he also had the audacity to encourage the footman to assault me. That scream you earlier heard was me politely fending him off.”
Lord Moreland’s husky features tightened. He swung his large frame toward the butler, who shrank back. “How about I give you a reason to tote your own set of crutches, sir?”
She bit back a grin. “There is no need for that, my lord. If he and the footman don’t retire within the next few minutes, then you may proceed to break however many legs you want.”
Watkins cleared his throat and stepped back. “Please ring if I may be of any further assistance.” He offered a curt bow and scurried down the corridor.
Mr. Lawrence lingered before stoically providing, in an amiable tone, “As it appears you are already well acquainted with the gentleman, Countess, I will permit an hour, despite his visit being unapproved. I hope you will consider my offer generous, as I am going against orders.”
She set her chin. “That is very generous of you, Mr. Lawrence. Now, see to Lord Moreland’s hat.”
“Of course.” The butler turned and extended his gloved hand toward him.
Lord Moreland shifted away. “I will not be staying long, thank you.”
The butler hesitated, then awkwardly rounded them, veering out of sight.
Hopefully, His Majesty would hear all about her blatant defiance in accepting an unapproved gentleman caller. Maybe it would enrage the fat fellow enough to make him ride out from Windsor. She had a few Polish words for the man regarding the manner in which he was going about finding her a husband. She only needed one husband. Not four hundred.
Lord Moreland turned fully toward her and assessed her with the wry coolness she’d encountered the first night they had met.
Her heart raced, knowing he now stood only a few crutch lengths away. No more silly overtures from the window or a passing carriage. The next hour would define whether or not an alliance between them was even plausible. Attraction and banter was one thing. Getting him to understand her cause and genuinely support it, was quite another.
She drew in a shaky breath and let it out, trying to appear regal and confident. “Did you come to talk? Or did you come to stare?”
“Both, actually.” His smooth jaw tightened as he closed the respectable distance a man usually offered a woman. He paused and towered directly before her, the tantalizing scent of cardamom faintly drifting toward her from the heat of his body.
She flicked her gaze past the buttons on his gunmetal waistcoat, up toward his face. Tilting her chin upward, she boldly met his gaze. “I do hope you are not overly disappointed to find me supported by a pair of crutches.”
“Only all the more intrigued, I assure you.” He shifted closer, his leather boots almost touching the hem of her gown. “Who are you? And how is it you know my name, considering we were never formally introduced? Who have you been talking to?”
The man was standing much too close, causing the weight of her amputated limb to weaken the one leg and ankle she did have for support. She actually fought to remain indifferent. “A lady ought never to disclose her sources. That is gossip. All you need know is that I pride myself on knowing everything about anyone I choose to get involved with.”
He leaned toward her. “I already have a woman like that in my life. I don’t need another one.”
“Oh, is that so?” she tossed up at him, cheering herself on to be bold, bold, bold. “Are you referring to your mistress?”
The edges of his masculine mouth crinkled. It wasn’t a smile, but it wasn’t an uncivil snarl, either. “I was referring to my grandmother, who, much like you, revels in violating other people’s right to privacy.”
She winced. So much for being bold, bold, bold. “I meant no disrespect to you or your privacy, Lord Moreland. I merely sought to know more about you.”
“Did you?” He hesitated and lowered his gaze to her mouth without bothering to conceal his apparent interest in it. “What is your name?”
She wet her lips, conscious of the attention her mouth was receiving, and set her shoulders more firmly against her crutches, trying to give herself a more regal stance. “I am Countess Kwiatkowska. But you may call me Zosia.”
“Zosia.” His brows came together, his attention shifting away from her lips. “Are you Russian?”
She snorted and rolled her eyes. “I would sooner hang myself. No. I am Polish. And as for who I am, I am the granddaughter of King Stanislaw August Poniatowski. Sadly, my poor grandfather was forced to abdicate his throne after Russia partitioned the last of our land.”
His dark eyes brightened with keen interest as he searched her face. “Might I inquire as to why a royal descendant from another country would journey all the way to London in search of a husband? Are there no men where you come from?”
Her throat tightened, knowing she had yet to understand why she’d been banished, although she sensed it trailed back four years earlier to the death of her mother. After all, that was when everything had changed. Her cousin, who had become her guardian, had grown cryptic, constantly checking her correspondences both coming in and going out, while forever warning her not to associate with men she didn’t know. Which was laughable, since after her amputation even the men she did know didn’t want to associate with her. She always had to force men to associate with her.
After four annoying years of that, Karol had suddenly insisted that an impending uprising was going to endanger her life, since she was a descendant of the former crown, and it was best she relocate. Considering Karol and the rest of her cousins were all royal descendants themselves, yet had all remained in Warszawa without any concern for their own safety, she knew there was far more to the story than was being told. For if her safety was of any concern, guards would have been assigned. And yet … not even His Majesty had favored her with a single one.
She sighed. “In truth, I have yet to understand why I am really here and what is expected of me.”
He shifted toward her. “I find that very odd and unconvincing. What little I do know about your grandfather is that he wasn’t very popular with anyone, let alone his own people. I imagine someone connected to a man responsible for the demise of an entire country is likely to have a few enemies.”
She lifted a brow.