Indiscretions. Gail Ranstrom

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СКАЧАТЬ on the bottom step as she waited for her gig to be brought around from the stables. She could still hear the strains of a waltz, and sighed. She’d enjoyed her dance with Lord Lockwood. Perhaps too much.

      Back in London, the year she had been presented to society, she had loved to dance and had often waltzed until dawn. Barrett had dogged her every footstep and courted her relentlessly. At first she’d been flattered, but when he’d somehow bribed her brother, she ceased to be amused. In the days and years that followed, Lord Douglas Barrett proved to be as bullish and relentless a husband as he had been a suitor.

      She shuddered at the memory and closed her eyes against the visions. She had lived the horror too often and dared not give it a foothold now. Her peace had been too hard-won.

      A breeze tugged a few long strands of hair loose from their pins and caressed her cheeks. She brushed them back impatiently, thinking that she was coming undone in more ways than one.

      “Do you have a chill, Mrs. Hobbs?”

      Oh, that deep baritone! She did not need to open her eyes to know who had joined her. A frisson of warning raced up her spine. She placed a smile on her face before she turned. “Lord Lockwood. Shouldn’t you be at your party?”

      He grinned and shook his head. “I’ve met everyone, Mrs. Hobbs, and as far as I’m concerned, the best part of the party is right here.”

      A scorching heat infused her cheeks. How could he unnerve her so? Could anyone so glib be trustworthy? “Then it is a pity that I am going home.”

      “Can I persuade you to honor me with one more dance?”

      In the moment of her hesitation, a stable boy brought her gig around from the stables. She shrugged. “Sorry, Lord Lockwood, but here’s my gig. Nellie doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

      “And who can blame her?” He went forward and stroked Nellie’s forehead. The mare blew out softly and pushed her nose against Lockwood’s shoulder. “A beautiful girl should never have to wait. Where’s your driver?” he asked.

      “Here,” she admitted, tapping a finger against her chest.

      He seemed at a loss for words for a moment, then regained his composure. He took the ribbons and flipped the boy a coin. “Bring my horse around, will you, lad?”

      The boy was off at a run and Daphne realized what Lockwood intended. “Please do not inconvenience yourself, Lord Lockwood.”

      “You cannot expect me to stand by and allow you to hazard weather, brigands and a broken axle alone?”

      “I am not your responsibility, sir. And I drive the road alone every day.”

      “In the daylight,” he amended. “There are hidden dangers in the dark.”

      Not the least of which was him. “Really, my lord, there is no need—”

      “I won’t hear of it. If you will not permit it for your sake, permit it for mine. How would you expect me to live with myself if anything should happen to you on your way home tonight? What if you were attacked by brigands? How could I ever call myself a gentleman again?”

      She paused. This was not like Barrett’s heavy-handed manipulation. Lockwood was half cajoling and half serious. She almost believed he really was anxious for her safety. “There are no brigands on St. Claire,” she said, only half convincing herself.

      His forehead creased and doubt narrowed his eyes. “Are you certain?”

      Was she? Crime was more prevalent on St. Claire than in London. The waterfront brought all types here, most of them trying to hide aboard a ship or lose themselves in a new land.

      Her indecision made up his mind. The stable boy arrived and Lockwood looped the reins of his horse to the box behind the passenger compartment of the gig. He handed her up and waited for her to settle herself before climbing in and taking the ribbons. At the end of the drive, he asked, “East or west, Mrs. Hobbs?”

      “West. Are you certain I am not taking you out of your way?”

      “I am now.” He turned west at the end of the drive onto the coastal road.

      She looked sideways at him and realized that this was what she’d wanted. Despite her protests, she’d been secretly hopeful that he’d find a way to persuade her. Oh, but what was she thinking? She should be avoiding him, praying he wouldn’t remember her face five minutes after he embarked for London!

      Tomorrow. She’d avoid him tomorrow. And every day after that until he was gone.

      “How long will you be on St. Claire, Lord Lockwood?”

      “Longer than I’d originally planned.” He gave her a crooked smile and her heart lurched. “And we need to come to an agreement about the way you address me. Reginald, Hunt or Lockwood would be my choices. I’d rather leave my title behind, if it’s all the same to you.”

      “But why? A title is a great advantage in society.”

      “Not when it puts distance between me and what I want.”

      “What do you—” She cleared her throat and turned back to the road. “A fortnight, then? Or longer?”

      He laughed and she knew he was amused by her embarrassment. “A fortnight at the least,” he said. “A month at the most.”

      She gazed out at the passing landscape, eerie in the night shadows, and clasped her hands in her lap, wondering what she should do. Lord Lockwood was an outrageous flirt, yet she was captivated by his easy charm and intrigued by the hint of danger beneath it. And tempted—for the first time since…

      “What brought you to St. Claire, Mrs. Hobbs?”

      “A frigate, Lord Lockwood.”

      He grinned but did not press. Instead he reminded her of his wishes. “Lockwood. Reggie. Hunter. Hunt. Surely you can find one you like?”

      She breathed deeply and exhaled her tension. It was only a ride home. He did not seem like a Reginald and Hunt seemed somehow too…intimate. “And what brought you here, Lockwood?”

      His pause was fractionally longer than natural and she realized he was hiding secrets of his own. “I’ve been debating whether to sell my interests here or to keep them.”

      “Are they profitable?”

      “Moderately so. Since I am a planter, my profits are tied to seasonal vagaries.”

      She nodded. “As are those of most islanders who are not engaged in shipping and trade. But since St. Claire is small, I doubt it will ever compete with other islands in goods or shipping.”

      “Is that your conclusion, or that of most islanders?”

      “Mine, I suppose. When the St. Claire Planters’ Society decided not to cultivate sugarcane, it limited growth. Most of our exports, with the exception of mahogany, are delicate or perishable, which makes transport difficult.”

      “Do you disapprove of that decision, Mrs. Hobbs?”

      “I СКАЧАТЬ