Taking his supper into the library a few minutes later was an ordeal that Anne avoided for as long as she could. Twice she picked up the tray from the kitchen table and put it down again, her heart thumping uncomfortably against her ribs. What was she to do when she got there? She would have to stay and give the viscount her company. She would have to play the hostess and converse with him. But of what would she talk? She knew nothing about London or any topic that could be of the remotest interest to him. He would see how dull and unattractive she was, and she would have the humiliation of seeing boredom and disdain on his handsome face. Finally, she picked up the tray once more and walked determinedly to the library.

Viscount Merrick had made himself comfortable in her brother's favorite chair and looked far less formidable than he had in the hallway earlier. He smiled at her with an unforced charm and invited her to be seated. It was ridiculous, of course, that he invited her to sit in her own home, but in truth she had felt awkward and had not had the presence of mind to take a seat as soon as she had set down the tray.

But Anne could think of nothing to say. She sat staring at him, aware of how foolish she must appear. She found what she had found all her life: that the more she racked her brain for an interesting topic of conversation, the blanker her mind became. She was grateful to the stranger for the way he smiled at her and seemed genuinely to appreciate the hospitality she had shown. If only he had not been quite so handsome and quite so fashionable, and if only his smile did not indicate a quite irresistible charm, perhaps she could have been more at her ease. As it was, she was so flustered that she hardly knew what she did. It was with a feeling of the utmost relief that she jumped to her feet when he suggested that she show him to his room. His experience in the storm, of course, had made him very ready to retire early. She would give him Bruce's room.