Читать книгу Regency Surrender: Infamous Reputations - Sarah Mallory - Страница 15
ОглавлениеThe afternoon was well advanced by the time they rode into Bath and the party broke up in Laura Place.
‘What a delightful day,’ exclaimed Ellen. ‘Thank you so much for inviting me, Lady Wakefield.’
‘It was a pleasure to have you with us, my dear.’ Lady Wakefield’s smile encompassed everyone. ‘I think we all enjoyed it.’
‘Well, Lady Phyllida?’ Richard brought his horse alongside Sultan. ‘Did you enjoy yourself?’
She had had time to regain her composure and now answered cautiously, ‘The castle was well worth seeing.’
‘But originally you did not intend joining the party. Why did you change your mind?’
‘Does there have to be a reason?’ she parried lightly.
‘Well, I am very glad you did come,’ he said. ‘I have enjoyed renewing our acquaintance, my lady.’
Her brows went up.
‘Trying to turn me up sweet, Mr Arrandale?’
He grinned. ‘Could I do so?’
‘Never.’ She was in control of herself now, and felt confident enough to add, ‘I am no longer a shy ingénue, sir, to be impressed by your blandishments.’
She inclined her head, dismissing him, and walked Sultan across to where Ellen was taking her leave of Julia and her family. A brief word with Lady Wakefield and she drew her stepdaughter away, saying it was time they went home.
‘Oh,’ said Ellen. ‘Perhaps Mr Arrandale and Mr Fullingham would like to—’
‘No, I think not. We have imposed upon them quite long enough today. Good day, gentlemen.’ Phyllida’s voice was firm, she would brook no argument.
Richard touched his hat as they rode past him and once he had taken his leave of the Wakefields he was left with only Henry Fullingham for company. They turned their horses and made their way together towards Pulteney Bridge. Fullingham chuckled.
‘Well, I am indebted to you today, Arrandale. In trying to ingratiate yourself with the mother you left the field clear for me to cut you out with the heiress.’
‘Perhaps that was my intention,’ drawled Richard. ‘I knew she would soon grow weary of your inane chatter.’
‘Not a bit of it. Miss Tatham was as friendly as can be.’
‘Not when we were at the castle,’ Richard pointed out.
Fullingham scowled at him.
‘Not then, perhaps, but on the ride there and back she was clearly delighted with my company. Urmston’s right, she is a ripe plum, ready for plucking.’
‘Do not be too sure. There is a sharp intelligence behind Miss Tatham’s pretty face. She’ll not easily fall for your charms, Fullingham.’
‘Pho, Arrandale, that is sour grapes.’ He laughed. ‘Admit it, man, you have caught cold on this one. The widow has your measure. She’ll be spending her time keeping you away from her precious daughter and won’t spare a thought for the rest of us!’
They had reached the junction and Fullingham went on his way, still laughing. Richard rode slowly to the stables behind Royal Crescent. He couldn’t help thinking that the fellow was right, Phyllida might well be blind to the danger posed by the other men. She might even welcome their attentions towards Ellen, even those of Sir Charles Urmston. There was no doubt the fellow could be very charming, but underneath he was a villain. Richard’s mouth tightened. He meant to win this wager. When it came to women he had never yet lost out to a rival, and he had no intention of starting now.
And what of Phyllida?
Richard’s hand tightened on the reins. That incident in the chapel should never have happened. He had felt curiously lightheaded, probably from the wine they had been served at the house. It could certainly not have been anything else; he was not one to lose his head over any woman, especially one who was only tolerably pretty.
Although she did have particularly fine eyes.
And her smile. When she smiled she illuminated a whole room—
No! His only interest in Lady Phyllida was as Ellen Tatham’s guardian and as a friend of his great-aunt. If she were to confide her worries to the dowager that would make life difficult. Not impossible, but he should not like to fall out with Sophia. A bitter, humourless smile twisted his mouth. Phyllida had told him she did not believe the Arrandales were really so scandalous. This little adventure would show her how wrong she was.
* * *
For the next few days he concentrated upon fixing his interest with Miss Tatham. He paid morning calls in Charles Street, and when Ellen hinted they were going shopping he tarried in Milsom Street until they arrived, or he sought them out at the Pump Room and curtailed his own visit to walk them home. Lady Phyllida was cool, even a little reserved, but not overtly hostile and when Ellen informed him innocently that she and Lady Phyllida would be taking a stroll in Sydney Gardens with Julia Wakefield the following morning he made sure he was there, just in case he needed to head off any of his rivals.
‘Mr Arrandale, what a surprise to find you here,’ declared Ellen when she saw him approaching, not long after they had entered the gardens.
‘Yes, isn’t it,’ muttered Phyllida.
‘We are going to the labyrinth,’ explained Julia Wakefield.
‘Then I will walk with you, if I may.’
‘But we are going in the opposite direction to you, Mr Arrandale,’ Lady Phyllida pointed out. ‘Are you sure you have time?’
He ignored the challenge in her eyes and replied with a smile as false as her own, ‘All the time in the world, ma’am.’
He turned to walk with Ellen but Phyllida stepped between them.
‘Then that is very civil of you, Mr Arrandale.’
She proceeded to converse with him as they strolled along the wide path. Occasionally they were obliged to move aside to allow a carriage to pass, but every time they recommenced their walk she was there, at his side, and engaging him in conversation.
He wondered briefly if she was trying to fix his interest, following their time together at Farleigh Castle but he soon dismissed the thought. Then she had been open and relaxed with him. Now her cool friendliness did not ring true. She was on her guard and he thought it much more likely that she was suspicious of his motives. Clearly she did not intend to allow him a chance to converse with either of the young ladies and he knew better than to attempt it. When they arrived at the labyrinth he thought it politic not to offer to accompany them inside, and prepared to take his leave.
‘Oh, but you must stay and keep Phyllida company,’ Ellen protested. ‘She does not like the maze and means to wait for us outside.’
‘No, Ellen, that will not be necessary. I am sure Mr Arrandale has better things to do with his time.’
Lady Phyllida’s answer was delivered firmly. Clearly it was designed to dismiss him. He knew he should retire with good grace but his particular devil prompted him to stay.
‘I should be delighted to wait for you, Miss Tatham.’ He patted his pocket. ‘And I have a plan of the labyrinth, so if you get lost you only need to call out and I shall come to your aid.’
Phyllida’s eyes sparkled with indignation, but Ellen was duly admiring.
‘How gallant, and enterprising,’ she remarked. ‘Come along, Julia. Phyllida, pray you, wait on that bench for us—we will not be too long.’
* * *
The girls ran off, leaving Phyllida with Richard Arrandale. It was the first time they had been alone together since the chapel at Farleigh, when she had come close to making a complete fool of herself. It had not been mentioned, of course, and since then she had been careful to keep a distance between them. Until today, when she had put herself in his way and kept him talking. She had not been comfortable about it, but she was determined that he should not be allowed to give his arm to Ellen or Julia Wakefield.
She had to admit that he had taken it in good part and had behaved like the perfect gentleman, conversing with her as if there was nothing he would rather do. He had a knack of setting her at her ease, of making her feel important. Cherished. That was what made it so difficult to dislike him.
Yet it did not mean she should encourage him. She moved towards a bench.
‘I must not take up any more of your time, Mr Arrandale, so I will bid you good day.’
‘I assure you, Lady Phyllida, I am at your disposal.’
She sat down, saying with finality, ‘Really, Mr Arrandale, it is not at all necessary for you to wait with me.’
‘But I have a plan of the labyrinth.’
It gave her no little satisfaction to respond, tapping her reticule. ‘So, too, have I.’
‘Ah.’
It was then she made the mistake of peeping up at him. She saw his rueful look and burst out laughing.
‘Admit it, sir, you have been brought to the point non plus. There is no reason to stay now.’
‘Would you have me be so unchivalrous as to agree with you?’ he said, sitting down on the bench beside her. ‘It has never been my practice to abandon a lady when she is on her own.’
‘But I shall not be on my own once the girls return.’
‘Then I shall keep you company until then.’
His cool response flustered her.
‘But I do not wish for your company.’
He shifted to the far end of the bench and twisted in his seat to look at her, resting one hand negligently along the backrest. Phyllida remained rigidly upright, staring straight ahead. He really was the most infuriating man. Well, she hoped he appreciated her profile.
‘We could converse,’ he said at last.
‘We have already done so, on the way here.’
‘But there must be something we have not yet talked about.’
‘No.’
She could feel the warmth of his gaze upon her. It sent little shards of excitement to pierce the armour of cool civility with which she had surrounded herself. If only he would go away! She recalled reading somewhere that the best form of defence was attack and she turned to face him.
‘Yes, there is something. Why do you remain in Bath, Mr Arrandale?’
‘I enjoy spending time with my great-aunt.’
‘Is that truly the reason?’ She subjected him to a searching look.
‘Yes, truly. She was laid very low when Cassandra eloped, and I know how cruel the gossipmongers can be. None better.’ He raised his brows. ‘You look sceptical, Lady Phyllida. Do you not believe me?’
She pursed her lips.
‘I can believe you came to Lady Hune’s assistance when she wrote to you, but she is much better now and the image of you playing companion to an elderly lady does not quite fit with your reputation.’
‘Perhaps you should not put too much store by all you hear of me, ma’am. I am extremely fond of Lady Hune. When I was younger she was the only one of my family who had any faith in me and while she needs me I shall remain in Bath.’
‘But it is hardly London, is it? Do you not find it dull here? After all, Lady Hune demands very little of your time.’
‘True, but there are gambling hells, if one knows where to look, and—’
‘And heiresses to chase.’
‘That is not what I was going to say.’
‘No, I thought I would save you the trouble.’
‘There is sufficient society in Bath to entertain me for a few weeks, Lady Phyllida. I am not so very exacting.’
Oh, heavens, he was smiling at her, just as he had done in the chapel at Farleigh. She could feel the tug of attraction building again. It must not, could not happen. With relief she heard Ellen and Julia’s girlish laughter near at hand. It gave her the strength to look away and she observed the girls running towards her.
‘We lost all track of the time, Lady Phyllida,’ said Julia guiltily. ‘I do hope we were not gone too long.’
Phyllida rose to her feet and replied with determined cheerfulness, ‘Not at all. I am glad I did not have to resort to my map to find you and bring you out. However, we had best be getting back now.’ She turned to Richard. ‘We can trespass on your time no longer, sir. I am going to escort Miss Julia home now.’
‘Too soon, Lady Phyllida. My way lies with you. It would look very odd if I were to follow you all the way to Laura Place, would it not?’
‘It would indeed.’ Ellen giggled.
She showed no desire to release Julia’s arm in favour of Richard Arrandale’s, which relieved Phyllida’s mind of its greatest worry, but the gentleman was in no way discomposed and merely fell into step beside Phyllida, which threw up quite a different anxiety.
She felt such conflicting emotions about this man. She knew he was a rake and even though she suspected—nay, she was sure—he was pursuing Ellen, she could not dislike him. Just having him at her side set her pulse jumping. She thought it would be easier if she cut the acquaintance altogether, but that might well precipitate the thing she was most anxious to avoid. Phyllida knew Ellen liked Richard Arrandale, but at present it was no more than that. If Phyllida was to forbid Ellen to have anything more to do with him she was very much afraid it would invest Richard with an air of danger and illicit excitement that a spirited young girl would find irresistible.
Her companion showed no desire to talk, so Phyllida was able to consider her dilemma in peace, until she realised they had traversed almost the length of Great Pulteney Street in silence. Even worse, Ellen and Julia were nowhere in sight.
‘They hurried on ahead and are by now at Lady Wakefield’s house,’ Richard told her, as if aware of her alarm.
He kept up with her easily as she quickened her step and they reached the Wakefields’ door just as the two girls emerged and Julia very prettily requested that Ellen might join them for dinner.
‘I have asked Mama,’ she added, ‘and she says she will send Ellen home in the carriage, if you will allow it, Lady Phyllida.’
Ellen clasped her hands and subjected Phyllida to a beseeching look.
‘Please tell me I may stay, darling Stepmama. And I am sure Mr Arrandale will accompany you, so you need have no worry about walking back to Charles Street unattended.’
‘I should be delighted to escort Lady Phyllida,’ he responded promptly.
Ellen beamed at him.
‘Then it is all settled to everyone’s satisfaction!’ Ellen reached up and gave Phyllida a hasty kiss on the cheek, then ran indoors with Julia.
Speechless, Phyllida watched them go. This was not at all to her satisfaction. Richard held out his arm to her and silently she placed her fingers on his sleeve. They began to walk.
‘Are you going to tell me that you are quite capable of walking back to Charles Street unattended?’
‘I should not say anything so uncivil,’ she replied loftily.
‘That’s put me in my place.’
She caught herself up on a laugh.
‘You are quite shameless, you know.’
‘I fear you are right. And I am going to prove it by asking you why you married Tatham.’
* * *
It was an impertinent question and Richard wondered if he had gone too far. She had every right to protest. She might even snatch her arm away and refuse to walk further with him. Instead she answered him quietly.
‘Because he offered for me. I didn’t take, you see, amongst the ton, but I had very little to recommend me. If you really do remember then you will know how gauche and awkward I was then.’
‘So Sir Evelyn proposed.’
‘Yes. He was rich, but he was also kind, much kinder to me than my parents were. To them I was nothing more than a commodity, to be used to the family’s best advantage.’
Richard’s jaw clenched tight. Knowing his world he was well aware of what might have happened to her, sold to the highest bidder.
‘And was it a good marriage?’
‘I think so. I believe I made Sir Evelyn happy, even though I failed to give him the heir he wanted.’
‘I am not interested in Tatham,’ he said roughly. ‘What about you, were you happy?’
She smiled. ‘Why, yes, why should I not be?’
‘Did you love him?’
The little hand resting on his sleeve trembled.
‘I did not dislike him, and that is very important.’
Her cool, reasonable response angered him. Smothering a curse he stopped and pulled her round to face him.
‘How old are you, Lady Phyllida?’
She blinked. ‘I am four-and-twenty, not that it is any concern of yours!’
‘No, but it concerns me that you should be dwindling into widowhood before you have even lived.’
‘Mr Arrandale, I assure you I am not at all unhappy with my lot.’
He shook his head at her.
‘I saw your face when we raced the horses the other day. How often have you felt like that? When was the last time you really enjoyed yourself, dancing ’til dawn, walking in the moonlight, being kissed senseless—?’
Her eyes widened at that and she drew away from him.
‘You should not be talking to me in this way.’ She looked around. ‘We—we are at Charles Street. Thank you for your escort. Forgive me if I do not ask you to come in.’
With that she left him, almost running the last few yards to her door, where she was soon lost to sight.
Damn, damn, damn! What was he thinking of? Richard turned on his heel and strode away. He was supposed to be making a friend of her, preparing the ground so that she would support him when he made Ellen an offer. Instead he was saying all the wrong things.
What in hell’s name had got into him?
* * *
September advanced and the invitations continued to flood into Charles Street, including an urgent message one morning from Mrs Desborough, inviting them to take advantage of the continuing good weather to drive out of town and enjoy a picnic that very day. The Wakefields were going, which made Ellen keen to go and even Phyllida found the idea too tempting to resist.
‘I always think these things are so much better impromptu,’ declared Lady Wakefield as they made themselves comfortable on the rugs and cushions spread out upon the grass. ‘I am so pleased Mrs Desborough suggested it, and such a pleasant spot, too.’
Phyllida could not deny the spot was indeed delightful, a sloping meadow near the little village of Claverton, but she was not quite so happy with some of the company. Mrs Desborough had laughingly explained that Mr Fullingham had come upon her as they were about to set off.
She continued. ‘I had not the heart to say him nay, not when young Mr Wakefield had already asked Mr Arrandale to join us. After all, there is space enough here for everyone, is there not?’
‘And you have refreshments enough for an army,’ chuckled her fond spouse, eyeing the array of hampers set out before them. ‘But it is not only good food she has arranged for us, is that not so, my dear?’
‘Well, I did think that afterwards the young people might like to gather blackberries. The hedgerow is positively thick with them.’ She chuckled and beckoned to one of the servants who came forward. ‘You see I have brought three small baskets for you to fill, and to save you young ladies ruining your gowns there are aprons for you to put on.’
Lady Wakefield laughed. ‘Then there can be no objection. You have thought of everything, ma’am!’
* * *
They dined well on cold meats and cakes washed down with wine or small beer, but soon the effects of good food and the heat of the day took their toll. The party became less noisy and conversation began to die away to a soft murmur that Phyllida found quite soporific. Her eyelids were beginning to droop when she heard Penelope Desborough’s eager voice.
‘May we go and collect blackberries now, Mama?’
Mrs Desborough and Lady Wakefield were nodding sleepily, their spouses already snoring gently in the warm sunshine. As the young ladies donned their aprons Phyllida glanced across at the hedgerow. It meandered away for quite some distance and she was suddenly struck with misgiving. Of course, the gentlemen might not go to help, but Mr Fullingham was already on his feet, followed quickly by Adrian Wakefield and Richard Arrandale.
She jumped up, which caused Mrs Desborough to exclaim, ‘What’s this, Lady Phyllida, do you wish to collect berries too? I made sure you would want to rest a little.’
‘No, no, I am not at all tired,’ Phyllida assured her.
Mrs Desborough sat upright, looking perturbed.
‘But there are only three baskets, and I have no more aprons, ma’am, your gown—’
‘Oh, that is of no consequence,’ she replied airily.
Ellen laughed. ‘I doubt if Matlock will agree with you, Philly! But never mind that. Here, you may have my basket, and I shall share with Penelope.’
The arrangements settled, they moved off towards the hedgerow.
Richard fell into step beside her.
‘Three gentlemen, four ladies,’ he murmured.
‘Even numbers are not required for berry picking, Mr Arrandale.’
‘Nor is a chaperon, Lady Phyllida.’
She put up her chin. ‘That, sir, depends upon the company.’
* * *
Ellen had stopped by the hedge and her voice floated across on the still air.
‘Adrian, will you help me and Penelope to fill our basket?’
Mr Fullingham stepped up. ‘Allow me, Miss Tatham—’
‘Ah, sir, I was hoping you would help Julia, because you see that she cannot quite reach those berries at the very top, there, and they look so delicious...’
He was subjected to a dazzling smile and Phyllida smothered a laugh as the gentleman went off to do as he was bid. She glanced towards Richard and saw that he was grinning at her. Caught off guard, she blushed and looked away, but her confusion increased when she heard Ellen’s next words.
‘That leaves Mr Arrandale to help Phyllida.’
That could not please him any more than it pleased Phyllida. He would surely protest. She waited, but after a brief hesitation he swept a low bow.
‘Your wish is my command, Miss Tatham.’
Phyllida glared at him and without another word she hurried away to begin filling her basket.
* * *
Mrs Desborough was right, the tall hedgerows were thick with ripe blackberries and Phyllida worked steadily. Her gloves were soon stained with berry juice and she had to take care to prevent herself from becoming caught up on the brambles. Richard Arrandale was only feet away from her. His body and the lush, straggling hedgerow hid the others from her sight although their voices floated to her from time to time. They were distant, unimportant. All that mattered, all that she could think of, was the man beside her. He had removed his gloves to pick the fruit and she found herself watching his long lean fingers as they gently plucked each soft, plump berry.
They worked in silence. Phyllida had placed the basket on the ground between them and was surprised at how companionable it felt. She was aware of the birdsong, of the hum of insects and the warmth of the sun on her back, but more than anything she was aware of Richard at her side. Occasionally he moved closer and pulled down the higher stems for her to collect the soft fruit, or held aside the thick branches so she could reach deep into the heart of the bush.
Clearly, it was her duty to keep Richard Arrandale away from Ellen, but there was no denying that she was enjoying herself, more than she had done in a long time. The thought surprised her and she realised how staid her life had become, not only the twelve months she had spent in mourning at Tatham Park but the years before that. Years spent running a household and looking after an ageing husband.
I became a matron at eighteen, she thought, as she reached between two long branches to pluck a few particularly juicy berries. I was caught up in the duties of being a wife and mother as soon as I left the schoolroom, with no time for frivolous pastimes.
‘Oh!’
A thorn had penetrated the soft kid of her glove and pierced her finger.
‘Keep still.’
Richard was at her side immediately and she found it impossible to remain silent.
‘I fear I have no choice but to obey,’ she told him. ‘The thorns have caught at my sleeve.’
He stepped closer and she was painfully aware of the hard wall of his chest against her back. Her mouth dried, he filled her senses. She breathed in the masculine smell of him, the mix of soap and leather and an indefinable hint of musky spices. Surely she was imagining the thud of his heart against her shoulders, but she could feel his breath on her cheek and she trembled.
‘Steady now.’
One hand rested on her shoulder while the other reached past her to lift away the offending thorny tentacle.
‘There, you are free.’
Free? How could she be free when her whole body was in thrall to him? When he was so close she could feel the heat of him on her back? Phyllida shook off the thought and carefully withdrew her arm from the briars. When Richard removed his hand from her shoulder she felt it immediately, a yearning chill and an emptiness that was almost a physical pain. She stepped back and turned, only to find that he was close behind her, less than a hand’s width away, his broad chest and powerful shoulders filling her view, like a cliff face. She was distracted by detail, the fine stitching of his exquisitely tailored blue coat, the double row of buttons on his pale waistcoat, the snowy folds of linen at his neck. The hammering of her heartbeat thrummed in her ears. Surely he must hear it, see how shaken she was? She tried to speak lightly to divert his attention and her own.
‘Thank you, sir. I fear I could not have extricated myself without ruining this gown.’
She stretched her cheeks into a smile and looked up, confident she could ask him calmly to let her pass, but her gaze locked on to his mouth and the words died in her throat as she studied the firm sculpted lips. She was distracted by imagining how they would feel on her skin. She swallowed, forced her gaze upwards but that proved even more dangerous, for his blue eyes held her transfixed. She was lost, unable to move. She could no longer hear the skylark’s distant trill, nor the laughing voices of those picking berries further along the hedgerow. The world had shrunk to just the two of them. Anticipation tremored through her when he ran his hands lightly up her arms and the skin beneath the thin sleeves burned with his touch. His fingers came to rest upon her shoulders, gently pulling her towards him as he lowered his head to kiss her. She made no effort to resist. Instead her chin tilted up and her lips parted instinctively as his mouth came closer.
It was the lightest contact, a slight, tantalising brush of the lips, but Phyllida felt as if a lightning bolt had struck her, shocking her, driving through her body and anchoring her to the spot. She kept her hands at her sides, clenched into fists to prevent them clinging to him like a desperate, drowning creature. She found herself straining upwards, trying to prolong the contact but it was over almost as soon as it had begun and as he raised his head Phyllida felt strangely bereft. The kiss had been the work of a moment, but it had shaken her to the core and she struggled to find a suitable response.
‘You, you should not have done that.’
There was a faint crease at one side of his mouth, the merest hint of a smile.
‘No one saw us.’
That was not what she meant at all, but it brought her back to reality. The thorny brambles were at her back so she sidestepped, breaking those invisible threads that had held her to him, even though it was like tearing her own flesh to move away from him. Distance gave her the strength to think properly again.
‘I did not mean that and you know it. Your behaviour was ungentlemanly, sir.’
‘You could have said no. You could have resisted.’
She scooped up the little basket and began to walk away.
‘I should not have had to do so.’
He laughed softly as he fell in beside her.
‘I believe I deserved some reward for rescuing a damsel in distress.’
She stopped, saying angrily, ‘What you deserve, sir—’
‘Yes?’
He was smiling down at her, sending her thoughts once more into disorder. Alarms clamoured in her head, it was as much as she could do not to throw herself at him and the glint in his blue eyes told her he knew it. With a hiss of exasperation she walked on.
‘You deserve to be shamed publicly for your behaviour.’
‘Ah, but the Arrandales have no shame, did you not know that?’
He spoke lightly, but there was something in his tone, a faint hint of bitterness that undermined her indignation. It could have been a ploy, a trick to gain her sympathy, but somehow she did not think so. With a sudden flash of insight she thought he was like a child, behaving badly because it was expected of him.
‘Oh, how despicable you are!’ she exclaimed. ‘I should be scolding you for your outrageous behaviour and instead—’ She broke off.
‘Yes?’ he prompted her gently.
I want to take you in my arms and kiss away your pain.
Phyllida was appalled. She had come very close to saying the words aloud. With a tiny shake of her head she almost ran the last few yards to where Mrs Desborough and Lady Wakefield were sitting under a large parasol.
The two ladies greeted Phyllida cheerfully and although they noted her flushed countenance, they put it down to too much sun and suggested she should come and sit with them in the shade. Mr Desborough, who was now awake and enjoying a glass of claret, invited Richard to join him.
As the ladies admired her basket of blackberries, sympathised with her ruined gloves and uttered up thanks that she had not spoiled her gown, Phyllida recovered her equilibrium. She decided not to say anything about Richard’s disgraceful behaviour, especially since it did not reflect well upon her own judgement in allowing him to take such a liberty.
No, she thought, as the others returned and they prepared to make their way back to Bath, she had learned a valuable lesson and she would be sure Richard Arrandale had no opportunity to repeat it, or to try such tricks upon her stepdaughter.
