From London With Love: Disgrace and Desire / The Captain and the Wallflower. Lyn Stone

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      ‘Are you going to tell me the truth now, madam?’

      There was silence. He thought he detected a faint sigh.

      ‘This morning I received a letter,’ she said at last, ‘asking me to put one hundred guineas under the roots of a fallen tree on Hampstead Heath. The instructions were quite explicit.’

      ‘And what did you expect to get for your money?’

      ‘The—the return of a diary. When I went into the Clevedons’ garden last night it was because I had received a note, instructing me to do so. At the base of Apollo I found a piece of paper. It was a page torn from a…a very personal diary.’ There was a pause. ‘I discovered it was missing last year, but with all the grief and confusion over Allyngham’s death, I thought it had been destroyed.’

      ‘I see. I take it you do not wish the contents of this journal to become public?’

      ‘That is correct.’ The words were barely audible.

      ‘And what is it you wish to keep secret, madam?’

      There was an infinitesimal pause before she said coldly, ‘That you do not need to know.’

      ‘I do if I am to help you to recover the book.’

      ‘If you had not interfered tonight I might already have it back! Who knows but your untimely appearance frightened off the wretch?’

      ‘He was not too frightened to take your money,’ Jack retorted.

      ‘Well…mayhap he will return the book to me tomorrow.’

      ‘You are air-dreaming, Lady Allyngham. In my experience this type of rogue will keep on demanding money until he has bled you dry.’

      ‘No!’

      ‘Yes.’ He leaned forwards, saying urgently, ‘The only way to stop this man is to catch him.’

      ‘Perhaps.’

      ‘There is no perhaps about it.’ The carriage slowed and began to turn.

      ‘King Street,’ she said, peering out of the window. ‘We have arrived at your rooms, Major. Would you like my footman to accompany you to the door?’

      ‘No, thank you, I can manage that short distance.’ He stepped carefully down on to the flagway.

      ‘Major Clifton!’

      Jack turned back to the darkened carriage. Eloise was leaning forwards, her face pale and beautiful in the dim light.

      ‘I am sorry you were injured,’ she said. ‘And I thank you, truly, for your concern.’

      He grasped her outstretched hands, felt the slight pressure of her fingers against his own before she gently pulled free, the carriage door was closed and the carriage rolled off into the night.

      Eloise stirred restlessly. Such dreams had disturbed her sleep: menacing letters, walking alone across a lonely heath, bags of guineas. An encounter with Major Jack Clifton. She sat up. That was no dream. As the reality crowded in upon her she put her hands to her head. She had left a packet containing a hundred guineas on Hampstead Heath. The money had gone, and the diary had not been returned. She gave a little shiver as she thought of the damage that could be done if ever its contents were made known. On top of all that she had been obliged to explain something of her plight to Jack Clifton. For a moment she forgot her own worries to wonder if his head was hurting him this morning—perhaps he had forgotten the night’s events. The thought occurred only to be dismissed. Jack Clifton had not been that badly injured; witness the way he had overpowered her.

      Eloise allowed herself to dwell on that scene in the shepherd’s hut, Jack sitting on the floor, looking up at her with a devilish grin on his handsome face. And when she had knelt before him, fooled into concern for the cut on his head, he had not hesitated to seize her. She could still remember the sensation of being at his mercy, the shiver that had run through her when she looked up and saw the devils dancing in his eyes. It had not been fear, but excitement that had coursed through her veins, the thought of pitting herself against him, her wits against his strength. Angrily she gave herself a little shake.

      ‘Enough,’ she muttered, scrambling out of bed and tugging at the bell-pull. ‘He never thought highly of you, and after last night he thinks even less. You had best forget Major Clifton.’

      But it seemed that was easier said than done. As she partook of her solitary breakfast she tried to put him out of her mind but it was almost as if she had conjured him up when Noyes came to announce that she had a visitor.

      ‘Major Clifton is here to see you, my lady. He is waiting for you in the morning room.’

      For a single heartbeat she considered telling Noyes to deny her, but decided against it. After all, it was her servant who had attacked the major: the least she could do was to show a little concern.

      ‘Thank you, I will go to him directly.’ She rose, putting a hand up to her curls, and it took a conscious effort not to stop at the mirror to check her appearance before entering the morning room.

      Major Clifton was standing by the window, staring out into the street. He seemed to fill the room, his tall figure and broad shoulders blocking the light, and when he turned she was disturbed to find she could not read the expression on his shadowed face. He bowed.

      ‘Lady Allyngham.’

      She hovered by the door, wishing she had asked the butler to leave it open.

      ‘Good morning, Major. How is your head?’

      ‘Sore, but no lasting damage, I hope.’

      ‘I hope so, too.’ She gave him a tentative smile. ‘Won’t you sit down, sir?’

      She indicated a chair and chose for herself a sofa on the far side of the room. To her consternation the major followed and sat down beside her. Heavens, would the man never do as he was bid? She sat bolt upright and stared straight ahead of her, intensely aware of him beside her, his thigh only inches away from her own. Her heightened senses detected the scent of citrus and spice: a scent she was beginning to associate with this man. She made a conscious effort to keep still: she thought wildly it would have been more comfortable sitting next to a wolf!

      ‘M-may I ask why you are here?’ she enquired, amazed that her voice sounded quite so normal.

      ‘I want to help you catch whoever is persecuting you.’

      Her head came round at that.

      ‘Thank you, sir, but I do not need your help.’

      ‘Oh, I think you do. Who else is there to assist you? I presume the journal is your property, so perhaps you intend to enlist the services of a Bow Street Runner to retrieve it?’

      ‘That is impossible.’ She glared at him. ‘If you had not interfered last night the matter might well have been concluded.’

      ‘I doubt it. However, I do acknowledge that I am in some small way embroiled in this affair now…’

      ‘Nonsense! СКАЧАТЬ