Dangerous Lord, Seductive Mistress. Mary Brendan

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      He looked down at those fidgeting digits and slowly released them. ‘Thank you for the invitation,’ he said softly. ‘I shall call on you tomorrow afternoon.’

      ‘I didn’t mean this time—’ Deborah blurted before her pearly teeth nipped at her lower lip. She hadn’t intended to sound quite so inhospitable, but she wasn’t sure she could cope with again being tormented with his presence. This impromptu meeting had set her pulse accelerating alarmingly; she couldn’t countenance sitting and politely taking tea whilst brooding on memories of what had happened seven years ago. The disturbing knowledge that just ten minutes of his company had the power to stir to life embers of emotions she’d believed withered to ashes made her heart constrict beneath her ribs. ‘It would be better to leave a social call till your next trip to Sussex,’ she insisted, dipping her head in readiness to step away.

      ‘Why next time? I should like to see the Viscountess before I leave the area.’

      ‘She is plain Mrs Woodville now and not always in the best of health.’

      ‘Then I should certainly like to have the opportunity to pay my respects to her, if I may. I remember both your parents with fondness.’

      Deborah looked about as though hoping something might catch her eye and allow her to distract him.

      ‘Where is your house?’

      ‘Oh…not far. It takes me only about twenty minutes if walking briskly towards Rye.’

      ‘You have no carriage or servants accompanying you today?’

      ‘I did set out with a vehicle and a driver…’ Deborah hesitated, feeling oddly reluctant to disclose to him the tale of her servant’s misfortune. She concluded there could be no harm in recounting what had happened to Fred. ‘My driver was set about by some bullies whilst I was shopping.’ She grimaced in a mix of regret and disgust at the memory of it. ‘I sent Fred on ahead in the trap so he might rest in case he is concussed.’

      ‘I’ll walk with you,’ Randolph said, quietly adamant.

      ‘There’s no need,’ Deborah immediately countered. ‘I’m quite able to look after myself. But thank you in any case for your concern.’

      ‘I’ll walk with you,’ Randolph repeated with such grit in his voice that Deborah blinked nervously at him. As though to impress on her that he meant what he said, he took her elbow and moved her determinedly with him towards the forge.

      Once the bill had been paid, and Donald had tugged at his forelock several times before ambling back in to the smithy, they set off along the lane that led to Rye with the magnificent stallion clopping docilely at his master’s heels.

      At first they proceeded in silence, both seemingly deep in their own thoughts. Debbie’s feverish mind had been occupied in searching for an innocuous topic of conversation that would skirt any past intimacy between them, yet be absorbing enough to fill the twenty minutes that stretched ahead. The most obvious subject was settled upon. Their mutual friends would provide all that was needed to fill the time until they reached Woodville Place.

      ‘I have recently had a letter from Jemma—’ ‘What caused those louts to attack your driver?’ They had spoken together and fell silent together too. Deborah realised she’d had no reason to fear he’d been brooding on their past and might increase her uneasiness by referring to it. She was unsure whether to feel relieved or indignant that Fred’s misfortune seemed of more interest to him.

      Randolph indicated with a polite gesture that she should carry on.

      ‘I…I was just saying that I have recently had a communication from Jemma. She and Marcus have been visiting relations in Ireland since the early summer. They hope to return by late November and have invited us to join them at Gresham Hall for the Christmas holiday.’ Deborah slid a look up at him. ‘Do you regularly keep in touch with Marcus? I imagine you know they have a son as well as a daughter?’

      ‘The boy is named after me…at the end,’ he qualified wryly, a smile twitching his lips.

      ‘John Solomon Bailey Randolph Speer,’ Deborah recited softly the name of their friends’ infant son. ‘He must be toddling about now. His sister, Violet, is nearing her fifth birthday,’ she added, naming her sweet goddaughter.

      ‘You are one of Violet’s godmothers, I believe,’ Randolph remarked, slanting a look down on the top of her bonnet. He could see just a glimpse of her beautifully carved profile. A lock of honey-gold hair had tumbled forwards to dance against her cheek as she walked. Randolph’s left hand clenched as he suppressed the urge to brush back the curl, caressing her complexion. Once he would have touched her and she would have welcomed it. But not now. He’d sensed the frostiness in her from the first word she’d spoken to him. Whatever infatuation she’d had with him had long gone. Perhaps he shouldn’t have expected a woman as young and as stunningly lovely to wait for him while he went overseas. But, of course, she hadn’t waited, had she? he savagely reminded himself. She’d quickly forgotten him, and in time had become engaged to an army officer. But for the unlucky fellow’s demise she’d be a married woman.

      She was presently tolerating his company because of good manners and because they shared mutual friends. Now he was back in England it was likely they would from time to time be thrown together whilst guests of the Earl and Countess of Gresham. She saw potential embarrassment in their forced proximity and was struggling to feel indifference for him. Unfortunately he knew he’d never manage to have such lack of feeling for her, much as he might want to.

      Not for the first, or the thousandth, time in his life Randolph cursed his brother Sebastian to damnation. But for his selfish, licentious ways he wouldn’t be in this part of the country at all and Deborah Cleveland would still be just a shadow in his past. Gone…if not completely forgotten. Now she was again by his side and it seemed the most natural place for her to be. An unbidden curse broke beneath his breath at such maudlin romanticism and with enough volume for Deborah to hear his frustration.

      ‘I was asking about the men who set about your servant,’ Randolph reminded her to cover his lapse. ‘Did some sort of quarrel erupt between them?’

      ‘Yes,’ Deborah said and gazed into the distance, uncertain whether to admit that she’d been the unwitting cause of poor Fred getting a beating.

      ‘Over what did they quarrel?’ Randolph probed, a ghost of a smile acknowledging her reticence in informing him.

      Deborah sighed. ‘As you are new to the area you probably know nothing of the horrible things that go on around these shores,’ she began. ‘My servant was simply protecting my reputation by remonstrating with some ruffians for being disrespectful. He got a beating for being loyal to me.’

      Randolph stared straight ahead, his eyes narrowed to slits against the afternoon sun low in the sky. ‘And why would these ruffians want to be abusive about you?’ he asked exceedingly softly.

      ‘Because I hate them, and I make no bones about letting them know it,’ she returned forcefully. ‘I’m not going to act blind, deaf and dumb so that they may carry on unchallenged. But for them I would now be Edmund’s wife.’

      A firm grip on her arm spun her about so she stood before him. ‘Explain exactly what you mean by that,’ he roughly demanded. His hands were on her shoulders, drawing her close; through the cloth of her cloak he could feel her quivering.

      ‘My СКАЧАТЬ