Breaking the Rake's Rules. Bronwyn Scott

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СКАЧАТЬ for me, too, her heart argued in return. She could have stayed in London with relatives where life was safe and predictable. She’d had enough of that. If she was discreet, perhaps there would be a way to have both. After all, was it wrong to want a little adventure? She’d been good for so very long. Years, in fact. Surely she was due some reward.

      Eleanor Crenshaw, their hostess, rose, indicating the ladies should follow her into the drawing room. Bryn gathered her skirts and cast a last glance up the table where her father was nodding and answering questions. She hoped it was going well. She still didn’t know quite how her father had managed the royal appointment. She suspected well-meaning relatives had had a hand in it. Her father’s older brother was the Earl of Creighton and well-connected politically.

      It wasn’t that she doubted her father’s abilities. Even as a younger son, he’d had his own ambitions, albeit they’d always been more of a local bent. Still, she wasn’t sure it was fair to equate his experience as a country financier on the same level as the banking interests of an empire. She adored her father. She didn’t want to see him set up to fail, but this had not been a consideration when the mighty Rutherfords had lobbied for the lucrative post to Bridgetown. They’d seen only the advantages.

      Her father’s success would see the Rutherfords strategically placed to take advantage of the crown’s banking monopoly in the Caribbean. It served the grand Rutherford design to send her father overseas to expand the family interests, but Bryn hoped for more than that from this appointment. She hoped the change would give him a chance to rebuild his life after the death of his wife. For over a year her father had moped about, showing interest in nothing since her mother’s death. It was time for him to move on. He was too vibrant, too intelligent of a man to simply give up on life when there was still much he could do for his family and for others.

      The ladies’ conversation in the drawing room politely danced around that very issue with feminine delicacy. What could her father do for their husbands? How much authority did her father have to act on his own? Was her father going to run some of his own investments? Bryn hoped not, if for no other reason than she wanted him to start slow, follow the crown’s directive to the letter and complete his mission with success. It was simple enough if he stuck to the plan. But she also knew his brother had encouraged him to make some private investments as well.

      Bryn was about to turn the conversation a different direction and ask about the empty chair at the dinner table when a footman entered. The man whispered something to her hostess, bringing a smile to the woman’s face. ‘By all means, Bradley, show him in.’ She beamed at the women seated around her. It was the smug smile of a woman who has just pulled off a social coup. Bridgetown or London, apparently the look was universal. ‘Our dear captain has arrived.’

      Everyone burst into smiles and there were even a few titters behind painted fans. Good Lord, this Captain Whoever-he-was had the women acting positively swoony, even the married ones who ought to know better. To Bryn’s left, the daughter of one of the women—a Miss Caroline Bryant—blushed and looked down at her hands in an attempt at modesty. Bryn thought it only a moderate effort at subtly calling attention to herself and whatever she wished the gesture to imply about her and the captain. In London, a girl Miss Bryant’s age would have been out for a few Seasons and far better schooled in the art of dissembling.

      ‘Ladies,’ the footman intoned, coming back into the room, ‘Captain Christopher Sherard.’

      Bryn’s gaze went to the door out of curiosity over the hubbub, her mind wrapping around the name. Captain Sherard was one of the investors on her father’s list of potential hopefuls and one of the men they had not met yet. He’d been highly recommended by the Earl of Dartmoor through a friend back in London. Her father was pinning a lot of his hopes on this particular investor who had yet to materialise.

      At first glance, the man who stepped into the room was striking. At second glance, he was horrifying familiar. Kitt. Christopher. No, it couldn’t be. Her heart began to hammer as her mind connected the names with this golden god and then connected the implications. The man from the balcony was her father’s prime investor!

      Unexpected didn’t begin to cover it. Bryn looked a third time, desperate to be sure, or was it to be ‘not sure’? She wasn’t certain if her heart pounded from fear of impending disaster or from the excitement of seeing him again. The way it was racing at present it might be both. Maybe she should simply wipe her sweaty palms on her skirts, ascribe it to the fact that he looked extraordinary and leave it at that.

      Surely it couldn’t be the same man? Long golden hair was slicked back into a thick tail tied with black ribbon. His sweat-streaked shirt had been exchanged for immaculate linen. A subtle diamond winked in his cravat as a statement of wealth and good taste. His evening clothes were well fitted enough to have done any Bond Street tailor proud, their tight fit showing off broad shoulders, lean hips and long legs.

      The physique certainly suggested he was the same man. It was the clothes that differed. They were expensive and tasteful, two traits she didn’t associate with her balcony visitor. She knew a moment’s disappointment. Perhaps it wasn’t him after all, just a strong similarity simply because she’d been thinking of him. It would be an easy enough trick for her mind to play on her. Her pulse settled back into its usual rhythm. It was for the best. Business and pleasure never mixed, at least not well, and what sort of investor climbed balconies and kissed strange women? Not one her father could trust and not one she should trust either.

      But wait... She studied his face, the strong line of his jaw, the razor straightness of his nose, features she’d seen up close today. It was the eyes that gave him away. Her heart bucked in her chest. It was him! The very same man who’d climbed up to her balcony, kicked over her trellis and kissed her senseless without even knowing her name.

      All the fine tailoring in the world couldn’t disguise the wildness in his blue eyes as they roamed the room, taking in the occupants one by one until they rested on her. Recognition fired in their cobalt depths ever so briefly, his mouth twitching with a secret smile.

      Her breath caught as she suffered his silent scrutiny. Would he expose their little secret? She’d not worried about the man on the balcony exposing anything, it didn’t suit that man to be caught in a compromising position. She understood him. But this one in fine evening clothes who acted like a gentleman and was supposed to be a banker? This was going to be tricky. He had destroyed all her assumptions and that left her feeling far too vulnerable at the moment.

      A scandal was the last thing she needed. She knew very well her behaviour reflected on her father. Rutherfords were taught from birth the actions of the individual reflected on the family. Men would be reluctant to do business with a man who couldn’t control his daughter. Besides, she’d made a promise and Bryn Rutherford never went back on her word.

      His gaze left her and he moved towards Eleanor Crenshaw, making their hostess the focus of all his blue-eyed attention. Gone was the sweaty, dirty pirate prince. This new version came complete with requisite manners. He would dazzle in any ballroom, let alone Mrs Crenshaw’s provincial parlour. He took their hostess’s hand. ‘Please forgive me for being late. I hope the numbers at the table weren’t terribly upset.’

      Bryn fought the urge to gape, her thoughts catching up to the implication of his statement. He was the empty chair. This grew more curious by the minute. Questions spun off into more questions. If he was supposed to have been here, why had he been scaling balconies? It was hardly standard banker behaviour.

      Mrs Crenshaw was murmuring some inanity about forgiving him anything as long as he was here now to entertain them. ‘Perhaps you and Miss Caroline would play another duet for us. You are both so excellently talented at the piano.’ Her balcony intruder played the piano? The oh-so-modest Miss Caroline blushed again as Kitt acquiesced СКАЧАТЬ