Lord Ravenscar's Inconvenient Betrothal. Lara Temple

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      His brow rose. He added well educated to his assessment. Not many women...not many people knew the tale of Dido’s clever manipulation of calculus to capture land from the Berber king.

      ‘A bluestocking with a penchant for the medieval.’

      She considered.

      ‘I would consider that a compliment, but that isn’t quite accurate and certainly not what I was referring to. One last try.’

      Before he could respond, the door opened and Alan turned to face an exceedingly burly man. The mace hit the ground definitively as the young woman let it go.

      ‘Finally. Where have you been, Jackson? Distracting him is tiring work. I thought he might be the one who did this, but probably not, so do escort him out. Oh, and please leave the book as you exit, sir. You haven’t earned it yet.’

      Alan considered the glowering man. She might not be a criminal, but her henchman certainly looked the part. He added it to his collection of facts about her, but he still drew a blank.

      ‘I have one last try, don’t I? Just like that fairy tale with the spinning wheel, no?’

      She laughed and nudged the mace with one pale yellow kid shoe. An expensive one, he noted. He should know, he had paid for enough female garments.

      ‘That’s true,’ she conceded. ‘I’m nothing like that silly woman, though. Who on earth would barter with their unborn child’s life? I would have either thought of some better way out of that fix or something less valuable to bargain with. Well? One last try, sir.’

      He moved towards her, ignoring the movement behind him. Her head lowered and she looked more wary now than when they had been alone in the room together. At first glance he had thought her pretty but unexceptional, but either closer examination or her peculiar chatter had affected his judgement. Her warm hazel-brown eyes, like honeyed wood, captivated him, and when she smiled, her mouth was practically an invitation to explore the soft coral-pink curve. She would taste sweet and sultry, honey and a hint of spice, he thought. It was a pity she was one of the most despised subcategories of the already despised species known as respectable young women. His only consolation was that they usually feared him almost as much as he wished to avoid them.

      ‘Very well,’ he replied. ‘My last chance at Aurelius. You’re a member of that dreaded breed of females who believe themselves deserving of all forms of homage and adoration for qualities that they have done nothing to deserve. You are, in short, an heiress.’

      He had expected outrage, not amusement. She might be respectable, but she was not predictable. That at least might be a point in his favour when it came to negotiating the purchase of Hollywell House.

      ‘How do you know I have done nothing to deserve it? I’ll have you know being an heiress is hard work and not just for me as Jackson here will attest.’

      ‘Does this bruiser keep fortune hunters at bay, then?’

      ‘In a manner of speaking. Well, you have earned your Aurelius. Goodbye, sir.’

      ‘In a moment. We still have the matter of the sale of the house to discuss. We will offer you the same price as we did your cousin. It is quite generous, I assure you.’

      ‘As you pointed out, until after probate is granted, there is no point in discussing anything. Who is “we”, by the way? I thought you said you merely represented the prospective buyers. The use of the pronoun “we” seems to indicate otherwise.’

      For a moment he debated telling her the truth about Hope House. She was just unconventional enough that she might not see it as a disadvantage, but he and his friends had long ago learned to keep their involvement in the Hope House foundation for war veterans private. It was no one’s business and certainly not the business of a pert and overly perceptive heiress he was still not convinced wasn’t also a little unhinged. Intelligence and madness often went hand in hand.

      ‘Does it matter, as long as we offer you fair price? You can’t possibly live here.’

      Her mouth flattened and a light entered her eyes that in a man would have conveyed a distinct physical menace. Perhaps he had misstepped.

      ‘Do you hear that, Jackson? Here is another man who has an opinion about what I can and cannot do.’

      The giant clucked his tongue.

      ‘I heard, miss. Shame.’

      Alan tried not to smile.

      ‘I dare say now you are going to tell me the last fool who dared do so is buried under the floorboards?’

      ‘No, but I am very tempted to be able to tell the next fool precisely that. The door is behind you, sir.’

      ‘Do you really think you could carry out that threat? Or is it just a variation on the age-old cry of the spoilt heiress when her will is thwarted?’

      ‘You keep a civil tongue in your head around Miss Lily,’ the giant rumbled behind him.

      ‘Jackson, no!’ she cried out as a bulky hand settled on Alan’s shoulder.

      Alan turned in time to intercept the anvil-sized fist heading his way. It wasn’t hard to dodge and the counterblow he delivered to the giant’s solar plexus was more by way of a warning than an attempt to do damage. But clearly this Jackson was in no mood to heed warnings. Even less did he appear to appreciate being tripped and sent sprawling on to the pile of books.

      ‘Careful of the books,’ the girl cried out with a great deal more concern for them than for her protector. The giant grunted, stood up, dusted himself off, smiled and lunged.

      Alan did not in the least mind brawling. He and his friends often indulged in sparring either in the accepted mode at Jackson’s Boxing Saloon or in the much less respectable tavern yards and village greens occasionally set aside for such sport. This giant clearly also appreciated the fancy, but despite, or perhaps because of, his size, he was used to winning by force majeure rather than by skill and it was no great stretch of Alan’s skill to avoid or deflect most of his blows. He was just beginning to enjoy himself and was even considering offering the giant a pause so they could both take off their coats and make the most of this opportunity for some sport when the door opened and an elderly woman entered the library. But her shriek, either of shock or outrage, wasn’t enough to stop Alan’s fist from making contact with the giant’s face.

      ‘Alan Piers Cavendish Rothwell! What on earth is the meaning of this?’

      Luckily the giant fell back under the blow and conveniently tripped over the books again, because the sight of his grandmother dealt Alan the stunning blow his opponent had failed to deliver.

      Though they were a mere mile from his childhood home, the last person he had expected to see in the doorway of Hollywell’s library was Lady Jezebel Ravenscar, the only woman on earth he could safely say he despised and who fully reciprocated his disdain and had done so ever since he could remember. The only person whom he disliked more was her thankfully defunct husband, his grandfather and the late and most unlamented Lord Ravenscar.

      Before he could absorb and adjust to this ill-fated turn of events, the girl spoke.

      ‘You needn’t have come, Lady Ravenscar. I merely wanted СКАЧАТЬ