The Reckless Love of an Heir: An epic historical romance perfect for fans of period drama Victoria. Jane Lark

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СКАЧАТЬ had never thought walking away rebellious. She looked back down at her painting. “I will eat luncheon with you, yes.”

      She expected him to acknowledge her answer and turn away, but instead when he reached the desk he leant over, as Samson nudged at her hip for some Henry-style attention. “Very pretty.” The crisp, masculine scent of his cologne hung in the air between them.

      His presence and proximity sent discomfort spinning out into her nerves. The awkwardness it engendered pressured her to continue talking. “It is not rebellious to walk away or leave a room, though I admit to having little patience with conversations that do not interest me or—”

      “People,” he inserted as he straightened up.

      She met his gaze, still wiping her brush although it must be clean. “People?”

      “Or people who do not interest you.” One eyebrow rose, and his implication said, people like me…

      Warmth touched her cheeks.

      She turned away to put her paint brush back into the paint box and tidy up her paints.

      He leant over once more. “This is actually rather good.”

      She glanced at him. “Thank you for such exuberant praise.”

      His lips split into a smile. “There, see, you are a secret hellion. You taunt me horrendously.”

      She made an intolerant, impatient face and shook her head at him. “I am painting orchids, not racing curricles. I am hardly a hellion. You are speaking of yourself.” She closed her paints.

      “I have never bothered hiding my nature. But you… You and I have more in common than you think. I would gamble high odds on the fact that Uncle Casper despairs of you as much as my father despairs of me. You do not behave in the ways expected of a woman. The only reason you do not race curricles is that a woman is not given one to be able to race, if you were a man you would race—”

      “I am not like you. I would not race. Because there is a vast chasm of difference between us, I think of others not just myself. I would not race because I would not wish to harm another traveller on the road.”

      He huffed at her, dismissing her argument. It riled her more. “And I do not behave in unacceptable ways—”

      “You are not sitting in the drawing room, sewing and talking with the others.”

      “I like doing different things to the others, that is all.”

      She turned to walk past him.

      “Rebellious.” He leant near her and taunted.

      She could not win the argument. Her hand lifted instinctively and swiped out at him as her frustration became anger. She struck his poorly arm. “Oh, Henry!” She regretted it immediately as he winced with pain.

      “Bloody hell!” He covered his arm and pulled away. Then said more calmly, “You damned hellion.” Even in pain he was mocking her.

      “I am sorry.”

      He smiled and shook his head. “I do not think I am.”

      She did not understand the jest. “Stop teasing me, Henry!”

      He laughed. “It is quite inspiring to see you in a temper.”

      Her hand lifted once more. He stepped back with his good hand still protecting his injured arm. “Did I say you might be a match to a man with verbal fencing? I might be persuaded to include physical fencing. Please, no more violence, Miss Forth. You will have people think my bruises were delivered by your hand, and God forbid my friends heard such a rumour.”

      He stepped forward again and looked down at her work and at the book to compare it. “You are certainly capturing it. It is a charming flower… Which is something I cannot say for the painter.”

      He straightened again then, and threw her another smile.

      She stuck her tongue out at him as she would have done as a child. He was infuriating, it was no wonder she’d lost her temper and struck him.

      His eyes opened wider and his smile lifted, expressing mocked shock, and then suddenly the smile seemed to illuminate the brown in his eyes.

      When her tongue slipped back into her mouth, the glint in his eyes became a glow with a greater depth, making his brown eyes as rich in colour as polished mahogany.

      Awkwardness pricked. She looked down at her painting. She could not walk away at this moment. “I hope you are feeling better.”

      “I am feeling better than I was the day you came to my room, thank you.” His voice held a dry note that sought to highlight again how inappropriate her behaviour had been in daring to go to his sitting room.

      Rebellious. She heard the word in his voice, as it had been said a moment ago when he’d leant to her ear. Perhaps she was a little.

      Susan looked up. He was very close, she could see every detail of his eyelashes and every shade within his brown eyes. “You could have said do not come in, you know?” The scent of his expensive London cologne enveloped her.

      “I thought it was the footman come to take away the tea-tray.”

      “You knew it was me when I entered.”

      “And perhaps then it was more amusing to not yell at you and make you go away.” His voice had lost its mocking edge and dropped into a low pitch. “…The lesson was better taught by leaving you to discover what your rebellious nature had led you into.”

      “Sayeth Lord Henry Marlow, the prodigal son, he who has just been thrown from his curricle in a race and nearly broken his neck and admitted he has probably learned no lessons at all.” Her voice had dropped in pitch too.

      His eyes seemed full of questions as he looked at her. Then his gaze travelled across her face, studying her as he’d studied her painting. When his gaze came back to hers, he said, “Quite.” Then he turned away and began walking back across the room, with Samson in his wake.

      “I truly am sorry that you were so badly hurt, Henry!” Susan called after him, her awkwardness and her empathy for his pain, pushing her into more words. “But I do not think that anything I do compares!” She had not known what to say, but she had needed to say something to turn whatever had just happened back into something tangible that she could understand.

      He turned and walked a couple of steps backwards, with his free hand cradling his poorly arm. “I am truly sorry…Your voice rings with guilt, Susan, as it did yesterday when you saw my bruises. Did you think I had been acting out my pain, and wearing a sling for my pleasure? You… The rescuer of every wounded thing, wild or tame…”

      “No.” Her instinctive denial cut through the air, and stopped him moving.

      He smiled in that hideous mocking way, that said, I know I am right.

      Oh be honest with him, he would be honest with her. “I thought you deserved to be injured. You are the reckless one. It is you who needed to be taught a lesson. But I would not have СКАЧАТЬ