How to Ruin a Reputation. Bronwyn Scott

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      Genni was far too girlish a name for the woman. She rose and extended her hand, not to be kissed, but to be shaken. ‘It is good to meet you at last.’

      Ashe did not miss the note of censure in her tone, so subtly hidden no one would notice it except the intended recipient—or was that his own guilt-plagued imagination imposing its own frameworks?

      ‘Mrs Ralston, a pleasure, I’m sure,’ Ashe returned drily. Whoever she was, she’d already inveigled her way into the aunts’ good graces. He doubted she was a companion, at least not a successful one. Her demeanour was far too confident to play that submissive role and her clothes too fine. Even the simple lines of her afternoon gown of forest-green merino were cut with the perfection of a high-class dressmaker; the lace trim at her collar and cuffs was demure, but expensive. From the looks of Bedevere, affording that calibre of companion made the point moot. But it raised others. If she was not a companion, what was she?

      ‘Genni has bought Seaton Hall for restoration.’

      ‘Is that so?’ Ashe said politely, but his speculations ratcheted up a notch. That probably wasn’t all she meant to take advantage of. A woman choosing to take on the responsibilities of an estate alone was quite unusual. Perhaps there was a husband at home? Leticia didn’t make it sound as if there were and there was no more information forthcoming. A young widow, then. Interesting. Young widows often had the most peculiar histories, some of which didn’t necessarily include husbands.

      Leticia moved on to complete introductions. ‘This gentleman is your father’s solicitor, Mr Marsbury. He’s generously stayed on until your arrival so the estate can be settled.’

      Ashe extended a hand, taking Mr Marsbury’s measure. He was an older gentleman, bluff and florid, reminding Ashe of a country squire. ‘Thank you for your timely note. I hope you haven’t been unduly inconvenienced.’

      Marsbury’s demeanour was as firm as his handshake. ‘It’s been no trouble. It made more sense to wait for you to arrive since everyone else involved is already here.’

      Ashe gave ‘Genni’ a cool glance. Did the unfamiliar beauty have a stake in his father’s estate? A kaleidoscope of unpleasant scenarios ran through his mind—if she was a widow, was she a late-life lover his father had taken? Did she hope to be provided for?

      With that pile of satiny black hair and the delicate sweep of her jaw, Ashe had no trouble believing she could entice even the most resolute of men into a proposal, a difference of thirty years in age notwithstanding. Ashe raised his eyebrows in query. ‘Everyone else?’

      Marsbury met his gaze evenly. ‘Your cousin, Henry Bennington.’

      Cold suspicion took up residence in Ashe’s stomach. ‘What does my cousin Henry have to do with anything?’

      ‘Henry has been a great support these past months.’ The beauty spoke up from her station by the window. Ashe imagined he saw the quicksilver lightning of emotion flash in the depths of those grey eyes. Did the beauty carry a tendre for Henry? Henry of the blue eyes, golden hair and manipulative manners?

      Ashe met her gaze evenly over the heads of the others. ‘Forgive me if I find that hard to believe. Cousin Henry’s only notable distinction, other than his penchant for collecting literature, is being the nearest male heir should my father die without surviving issue; a prospect, I assure you, he has long dined out on.’ Most especially, Ashe knew from London gossip, in recent years when Ashe’s brother, Alex, had no longer been a contender and Ashe’s own lifestyle seemed destined to place him on the explosive end of a jealous husband’s pistol.

      Marsbury folded his arms across his broad chest and coughed to indicate his disapproval of Ashe’s comment. ‘Mr Bennington will join Mrs Ralston and ourselves in the study where we can discuss everything privately.’

      Ashe noted Mrs Ralston looked up with surprise that was rapidly masked. An act, perhaps?

      Ashe turned his hard stare on Marsbury, his voice firm with command. ‘Yes, we certainly shall.’

      So, the reading of the will was to involve the three of them. Certainly not the ménage à trois he was used to, but the dynamics were the same: two on one. Ashe wondered if the delectable Mrs Ralston and Henry had cooked something up together. She’d been quick to defend him and that had raised Ashe’s suspicions.

      Whatever webs his cousin had been weaving in his absence, Ashe wanted it understood that Henry Bennington had no authority here, nor did pretty, dark-haired Americans. Ashe Bedevere had returned.

      Chapter Two

      The elusive Mr Bedevere had returned. The room fairly vibrated with the evidence of it even after he’d departed with Marsbury. Genevra was not sorry to see him go. In a span of minutes he had unnerved her as few people could. She needed time to gather her thoughts and settle her surprise over the summons.

      Genevra turned her attentions out the window, giving the aunts some time to digest their own excitement over Bedevere’s arrival. He was the kind of man who stirred excitement wherever he went. Power sat on his broad shoulders as comfortably as his travelling cloak. But she’d met powerful men before. What had disturbed her most was the sensual potency of him. He wasn’t just confident, he was seductive. His devil-dark hair had been windblown and rakish, his green eyes as hard as jade when he’d looked at her, his very gaze seeming to penetrate her innermost thoughts with an intensity that had sent a frisson down her spine.

      If she could get through the reading of the will, she would make sure to avoid Mr Bedevere when at all possible. Perhaps there’d even be enough chambers done at Seaton Hall for her to move back home. That would certainly help her keep Mr Bedevere at a distance.

      ‘We shall have a party!’ Lavinia exclaimed to the others. ‘Cook can fix pheasant and we’ll put flowers on the dining-room table.’

      A party at which Mr Bedevere would be the guest of honour. Genevra turned from the window, her hopes of quick and immediate avoidance sinking a bit further.

      Melisande gasped. ‘Do you think we should? We’re in mourning.’

      ‘It will be private, no one will know and it’s not as if there will be dancing afterwards,’ Lavinia said staunchly.

      She held out a blue-veined hand to Genevra. ‘Isn’t our nephew a handsome one? I told you he was.’

      Genevra smiled and took Lavinia’s hand. If the ladies wanted a party, she’d give them one. The past months with the ailing earl had taken a toll on them and not one of them was a day under seventy. She’d ridden over daily to help and had eventually moved in to stay over the winter to be of assistance while Seaton was undergoing renovations. Henry had already taken up residence by then and she’d meant it when she’d said Henry had been a support, which was more than she could say for the errant Ashe Bedevere.

      Perhaps the allure of an inheritance had finally been the carrot to bring him home. Whatever had brought him, he was here now. Having taken his measure, she’d do best to keep him at arm’s length. Forewarned was forearmed. She’d finally got her life back together. She’d learned her lesson. She wasn’t about to let a handsome man turn her life upside down again.

      The study was getting crowded, Ashe СКАЧАТЬ