The Captain's Disgraced Lady. Catherine Tinley

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ how hard it was for me as a widow, raising you by myself. And you know that you must give no reason for anyone to question your behaviour!’ Her mother began to sob gently into a lace-edged handkerchief.

      Shaken by the knowledge that she was the cause of her mother’s distress, Juliana just managed to hold back her own tears. Over the years Mama had drummed it into her that she must be ladylike, circumspect, and wary at all times. She must not draw attention to herself. Her reputation was a fragile thing. The consequences of attracting gossip could be fatal to her place in good company.

      There were reasons, her mother always said, that she couldn’t divulge, why Juliana must be even more careful than other young ladies. What reasons? Juliana had asked, many times. Her mother had resolutely refused to answer.

      Conscious of her mother’s frailty, Juliana had complied—though it had frequently cost her to hold her tongue and behave properly. Today’s lapse was inexcusable. She spent so much of her energies devoting herself to protecting her mother, yet now she had troubled her. ‘I am sorry, Mama. I truly am.’

      Her mother, unable to withstand her daughter’s remorse, stroked Juliana’s dark curls.

      ‘I know, Julie-Annie.’

      ‘I hate it when you are disappointed in me.’

      ‘You should apologise to him.’ Mama held her gaze evenly.

      Juliana swallowed hard. ‘I know.’

      ‘Invite them to join us in the parlour. They can dine with us later.’

      ‘Must I?’ Her mother’s stern look was enough. ‘Very well. But you cannot force me to like him.’

      Steeling herself to face him, Juliana moved swiftly along the narrow hallway to the taproom. There he was, glowering into his beer. Lieutenant Evans had gone—presumably to fetch the doctor.

      Juliana lifted her chin. ‘Captain Fanton, I must speak with you.’

      He looked at her. His eyes narrowed. ‘Well?’

      Such insolence! She clenched her fists by her side, managing to hold back the angry retort on her lips.

      Deliberately, he leaned back in his chair, stretching out his legs. Long, sturdy legs, she noted absent-mindedly. The thin breeches hugged his long limbs, revealing the curve and sweep of well-developed, powerful muscles. She had heard that some men filled their stockings with sawdust, to falsify muscular calves. Not this man! She felt herself flushing, unaccountably.

      Ignoring his attempt to disconcert her, she pressed on. ‘I wish to apologise. You should not have had to hear my angry words.’

      A gleam of surprise lit his dark-blue eyes. ‘Are you apologising for saying what you said, or only for allowing me to hear your opinion?’

      Oh, he was sharp-witted, this one.

      ‘I would have preferred you hadn’t heard me, but...’ she sighed ruefully ‘...I should not have said those things. My anger got the better of me.’

      ‘A frank apology, then. I admire plain speaking and will accept it.’ He offered his hand. Reluctantly, she took it.

      His hand was warm, his grip firm without being crushing. She pulled her hand away as soon as she could and noticed a wolf-like smile lurking in the corner of his eyes. Her hackles rose again. A lifetime of protecting herself and Mama had made her wary.

      ‘My mother bids me invite you and Lieutenant Evans to join us in the parlour for dinner in one hour,’ she informed him.

      ‘And what would you bid me do?’ His voice was soft, warm, confusing.

      ‘I would prefer to dine in private, with only my mother. I do not wish to prolong my acquaintance with you!’

      He looked surprised for an instant, then threw his head back and laughed. Despite her frustration, she could not help but notice, in that moment, that he was actually very handsome. Acknowledging it—though she had realised it from the first moment she had laid eyes on him—caused her a great deal of annoyance. Why couldn’t his face match his character?

      ‘You are refreshingly honest, Miss Milford. But, I must point out, it seems your mother holds a different view.’

      ‘My mother is unwell. She would be better resting quietly in the parlour than conversing with strangers, which will tire her out! But then, your aim from the start has been to gain access to the parlour!’

      His eyes flashed. She had scored a hit then? Good.

      ‘Indeed?’ he said coolly. ‘I did not think you cared so much for your mother’s comfort earlier, when you were bustling her towards the carriage when she was clearly unwell! Or when you wanted to take her away from the warmth, to the taproom, rather than share the parlour!’

      Juliana gasped. ‘And what business is it of yours, may I ask?’

      ‘In a sense, none. But I am used to considering the needs of those around me and I saw how ill she looked in this very room!’

      ‘Are you suggesting I fail to consider my mother’s needs?’ She was livid. No one had ever dared suggest such a thing. Why, she had devoted all her energies to looking after her mother!

      ‘That isn’t what I said.’

      No, but he had certainly implied it! How dared he?

      ‘I shall thank you to keep your opinions to yourself! I do not wish to discuss my own personal business with you!’

      He threw her a look filled with challenge. ‘And yet you just have.’

      ‘That was a mistake. It will not happen again.’

      Juliana had had enough. Without a word of goodbye, she turned and strode away. She swept regally across the taproom, head held high, then collided inelegantly with the serving girl, who almost dropped her basket. Juliana rocked on her heels and put a hand out to touch the table in order to prevent herself from falling. Lord, what a time to be clumsy!

      She could feel his eyes on her and knew he was laughing. This was fast turning into one of the worst days of her life. She mumbled an apology to the girl and scuttled out of the room as fast as she could.

      * * *

      Harry stood, filled with agitation. Absent-mindedly informing the serving girl that, no, he did not require another beer, he began to pace around the taproom. Damn Miss Milford! She had made him lose his temper and he had spoken hastily. He, who prided himself on his self-control.

      It had been hard-earned, this ability to detach himself from situations so he could always act coolly and rationally. It had taken years of relentless practice and self-discipline. Anger—like fear—was simply not permitted in his gut. He knew the risks of too much emotion. These days, it was almost impossible for an insolent private or an untidy lieutenant to cause him to bristle. He paused. Until today.

      He had been aware of his own frustration at being forced to return to England. He had not, however, expected his own temper to be so damn short!

      Provocation. That was his defence. The fiery Miss Milford was altogether СКАЧАТЬ