Читать книгу Major Westhaven's Unwilling Ward - Emily Bascom - Страница 11

It was overcast on Wednesday afternoon, the flinty grey of the sky matching Lily’s mood as she climbed into the carriage Major Westhaven had sent for her.

‘Do move over—there is no room for me!’

She looked over her shoulder as Kitty clambered in beside her, burnished ringlets springing everywhere.

‘I do not know how anyone would ever consider you a suitable chaperon, Lady Stanton,’ Lily said, smiling despite herself.

‘How dare you? I am an old married woman now—I have the moral fibre required!’ Kitty gave a wicked smile. ‘Besides, you have no need of one anyway—Major Westhaven is your legal guardian!’

‘I still want you with me.’ The mere mention of his name dampened Lily’s spirits anew. ‘He is the most conceited and unfeeling of men, Kitty. The sooner we can conclude our visit and come home, the happier I will be!’

‘I still do not understand why you say such things,’ her friend protested. ‘He seemed perfectly lovely at the ball. And he is so handsome.’

‘He was different when you left—I have told you. And when he visited me at home he was awfully high handed.’

‘Do not despair.’ Kitty leaned into her friend, and gave her a little nudge. ‘He may yet be the perfect host!’

‘Nothing would surprise me more,’ Lily muttered.

She tried not to dwell on her dread of meeting him again as the streets of London gave way to country and the carriage drew ever closer to Richmond. Perhaps he would be more bearable in his own home.

And she had to admit, as they eventually turned into an almost hidden entrance and the trees fell away from the long driveway, revealing Oakridge in all its white-stoned, columned glory, that his home was beautiful. The house was set in a large park, sitting before an oval lake on which swans glided. There was a wood off to one side, and a chapel was visible in the distance. Lily bit her lip. He was clearly very wealthy. Perhaps that accounted for some of his arrogance.

The carriage drew up on a sweeping circular drive, and Lily and Kitty were greeted by an ancient but distinguished-looking silver-haired servant, who gestured them up the imposing stone steps and into the hall and took their things.

‘Welcome to Oakridge Park. His lordship will be with you shortly.’

His lordship? Lily frowned a little. If he had a title, why did he call himself merely Major Westhaven? She was given little time to ponder this before there were footsteps behind her, and he said, ‘Miss Pevensey.’

Lily turned. He was, again, immaculately turned out, in a dusky red jacket and fawn breeches, the boots he favoured over less militaristic footwear polished to a high sheen. He looked every inch the haughty landowner.

She reminded herself to smile, though he barely had. ‘My lord. Thank you again for the invitation.’

‘Thank you for accepting.’

She ignored the trace of irony in his voice and held her smile. ‘I could not have done otherwise.’ It was, after all, perfectly true. He himself had told her that she was responsible to him under the law.

He looked like he doubted this, but made no further comment.

‘You know Lady Stanton, of course,’ she said belatedly, remembering Kitty, uncharacteristically quiet beside her.

He bowed. ‘Of course. Welcome to Oakridge, Lady Stanton.’

Kitty, who had been watching them both with a look of calculating fascination, roused herself to smile dazzlingly at him. ‘Thank you, my lord. How lovely to finally be here—and how beautiful your home is. I was quite enraptured coming up the drive. My parents did not exaggerate, it seems.’

He nodded slightly, his smile a little distracted.

Kitty, clearly expecting him to have something to say to this mouthful of compliments, looked a little taken aback by his lack of response. Lily wanted to elbow her and mouth I told you, but he was watching her too intently.

‘I have ordered afternoon tea,’ he told them. ‘But first, would you care to walk in the long gallery?’

She nodded. ‘Very much.’ At least looking at paintings would give her something to say to him. ‘Kitty?’

‘Oh!’ Her friend was lost in contemplation again. ‘Yes, lovely. Do not mind me, I shall follow on behind.’

‘Excellent. This way.’ He gestured for Lily to walk before him. Reluctantly leaving Kitty’s side, she did so.

The gallery was bathed in the full sun of the afternoon, slanting through the huge windows that ran from the wooden floor to the high, vaulted ceiling. Stretching out before them were dozens of paintings of Westhaven ancestors—mostly long dead, Lily imagined. They went forward slowly, footsteps echoing on the floorboards, the air between them palpably awkward. Out of the corner of her eye Lily could see Kitty hanging back, apparently deeply enthralled with a vase that stood by the wall.

After a few moments, when it seemed Major Westhaven would make no attempt to start a conversation, Lily cleared her throat discreetly.

‘Has Oakridge been in your family long?’

‘Several generations.’

She waited to see if he was going to elaborate, but he did not.

‘You live alone?’

He shot her a hard look. ‘Yes.’

‘You have no family in the area?’

‘I have two older sisters—both married with children, one in Bristol, the other in Hertfordshire—and two younger brothers. One lives on the family estate in Ireland, and the youngest is at Oxford.’

‘Are they often in London?’

‘Practically never.’

There seemed little to say to so succinct a summary, so Lily merely nodded, racking her brains for something else to say. Her eye fell upon a portrait, somewhat badly placed in a shadowy corner—a younger version of the man at her side. He was in full military regalia, slim in his red dress coat, dark good looks and somewhat brooding expression captured perfectly, she thought.

‘Were you long in the army, my lord?’ she asked lightly.

His eyes moved to the painting, and a furrow appeared between his brows. ‘Eleven years, until my discharge last year.’

‘You were in the war in America for its duration?’

‘I was.’ Angling his body away from her, he gestured to the opposite wall. ‘My parents.’

Grateful to be diverted from a subject she was never comfortable with, Lily turned to feign admiration at yet another painting—and found herself transfixed.

Large and in pride of place, mid-gallery, in an ornate gilt frame, it was a likeness of a handsome raven-haired gentleman and his wife, slender and beautiful, her reddish-brown hair curling in tendrils about her face.

‘They look so happy,’ she murmured, smiling up at the work as she forgot to feel awkward for a moment; it was so well done, and the people in it looked so lively and yet at ease, as if they needed nothing but each other.

He followed her gaze. ‘It was done shortly after they were married.’

‘And this one?’

The next painting along was the same man as before, she was sure, years older, hair grey now, but with the same kind expression and distinguished good looks. ‘Your father again?’

‘Yes,’ he said shortly.

There was something in his voice that made her turn, but his countenance was as smooth as ever, giving no clue as to what lay beneath.

‘You’re like him,’ she said, without thinking. For though the dark eyes in the picture were very different to the blue-grey ones watching her now, there was a likeness around the mouth, and the same inscrutability of expression.

He gave a derisive grunt. ‘The similarities between us were slight, I assure you.’

Lily hid a smile. ‘I meant merely to suggest you resemble him physically, my lord.’ For, in truth, there was precious little of his surly son in the face of the man in the painting before her.

Major Westhaven glanced at her, seemed to guess her meaning, and frowned.

‘Obviously, I can never hope to be the man he was.’

Lily raised her eyebrows. ‘Well. We all have our faults, Major.’

His jaw tightened. ‘Indeed we do, Miss Pevensey.’ There was a brief, loaded silence. Then he said, ‘Tea, I think.’

She smiled, equally tightly. ‘Lovely.’

They continued their progress, slowly, Lily feigning absorption in the many works of art displayed on his walls—the Major giving her time to admire his ancestors, but commenting on no other paintings.

By the time they had passed through the large double doors into a well-appointed sitting room adjoining the gallery, another uncomfortable silence had descended. Kitty, bringing up the rear, looked quizzically at Lily when the Major’s back was turned and received a frown for her trouble.

The ancient butler entered with the tea as Major Westhaven ushered them to their seats, courteous but still silent. Remembering with an inward sigh that she was supposed to be making an effort to like him, Lily determined to try lightening the atmosphere. ‘Your home is beautiful,’ she said, turning once more to look into the long gallery behind them.

His gaze was dispassionate. ‘Lately I have come to prefer the convenience of my house in town.’

‘And where is that?’ she asked, hearing the obvious forced cheer in her own attempts at polite small talk.

He shot her a look, as if he had heard this thought also. ‘Brook Street.’

‘Oh. Lovely.’

‘It’s convenient for my club,’ he said.

‘Mmm.’ Lily, usually so engaging in any social situation, could think of nothing else to say. Kitty, at her side with her hands demurely in her lap, appeared to have been struck dumb for the first time in her life, providing no assistance at all. Gratefully, Lily smiled at the butler as he placed a teapot, cups and a plate of dainty cakes on the table between them, welcoming the distraction.

‘Shall I pour, my lord?’ she asked.

He inclined his head.

Not allowing herself to be irritated, she forced a smile, pouring tea for all of them. Carefully, she picked up his teacup, proffering it at the same time as he put out a hand to take it; the collision rocked the dainty cup and tea slopped into the saucer.

Immediately his hands were under it, steadying the saucer, his long fingers against and between hers, his thumb grazing her knuckles.

An odd jolt went through Lily at his touch, both a heat where his flesh brushed hers, and another shot of warmer, tingling something deep inside—so that for a moment she could do nothing but stare at him, as they held up the teacup together.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, feeling herself flush, lost in his smoky blue-grey gaze.

‘Allow me,’ he said, smoothly enough. He took the cup and placed it at his elbow, adding a lump of sugar and stirring his tea as though nothing had transpired, but she did not miss the slight hint of an undercurrent in his tone, nor the small sardonic lift at the corner of his mouth.

Lily gritted her teeth—now he would think she was so mindless that she could not do a simple thing like pouring tea! Immediately, her brow furrowed at this unexpected inner lament. She did not care what he thought. That was why she was here, making small talk, was it not? To prove that he could be as unpleasant as he liked and it would not stir her?

She passed Kitty a cup of tea and, thoroughly disconcerted, tried to remember where they had been in the conversation. He lived in Brook Street…it was convenient for his club…

‘Do you truly prefer town?’ she asked, trying to sound nonchalant. ‘It must be so nice to get away from the noise and smoke every now and then. To shoot…and such like.’

He looked at her impassively. ‘I am not fond of shooting.’

‘Well…’ She resisted the urge to ask him if he was always so difficult. ‘To relax, then. The countryside has a wonderful tonic effect, I find.’

Now he just looked bored. ‘To be honest, Miss Pevensey,’ he drawled, ‘I am in half a mind to sell the place.’

There was a clatter from the doorway behind them as the butler all but dropped the tray of sandwiches he was bearing.

Major Westhaven looked up, brows drawing together in irritation. ‘For God’s sake, man, have a care!’ He turned back to Lily, stony faced.

She, further taken aback by the aggressive way he spoke to his servant, tried all the harder to smooth things over. ‘I had understood you spent almost all your time here this last year, my lord.’

He nodded tersely. ‘Precisely why I am starting to tire of the place. Perhaps it is time for change.’

The butler, unloading his tray, was shaking his head. ‘If your father could hear you now,’ he muttered.

Lily, astonished, turned to look at him. Though still upright and slim of build, the man must be approaching seventy. In the grand houses she had visited before, the servants would never have dreamed of interrupting in such a fashion.

‘When I am in need of a lesson on family history, John, I will ask for one.’ The Major’s voice was low-pitched and even, but Lily sensed a clear undercurrent of carefully suppressed anger.

‘I very much doubt that.’

She saw the Major’s eyes flick from his butler to her, and saw his jaw clench further. ‘Excuse me a moment,’ he said tightly and rose, ushering the old man before him into the long gallery. The double doors did not close fully behind them, however, and from where they sat it was possible to both see and hear all that was said. Lily, eyes averted, tried nevertheless to appear engrossed in stirring her tea as the Major, upright with indignation, confronted his servant.

‘How dare you show me so little respect in front of my guests?’

The butler was not quelled. ‘You know how he worked to save Oakridge when he inherited it—and how he guarded it for you in turn. If he could hear you talk so, as if the place means nothing to you—’

‘That’s enough!’ Major Westhaven’s voice rose. ‘You forget who is master here!’

‘I could not forget if I tried, I assure you.’

There was a moment of silence, in which neither man moved.

Then, his voice a little lower but just as dangerous, the Major said, ‘Oakridge is mine now, however much you may wish otherwise. And I will speak as I please in my own home.’ Lily exchanged a look of alarm with Kitty, all pretence of deafness forgotten. Through the two inches or so between the doors she could see him, glaring down from his superior height upon the other man, who faced him bravely. ‘Have a care, old man, or you shall find yourself swiftly unemployed.’

This did cause John to falter, his grey brows drawing together. ‘How can you say such a thing? This was my home long before you were born!’

‘No.’ His master’s gaze was icy cold. ‘It was my father’s home. And now it is mine. Take care to remember that.’

He drew himself up as the old man shuffled away, then returned to the two women. Kitty hastily busied herself with refilling her cup, a look of deaf ignorance on her face, but Lily could not look away. Something in the way they had spoken to each other told of a bond deeper than the usual master-servant relationship; yet this only made the way the Major had spoken to the old man more appalling. Lily felt hurt and insulted on his behalf: she could not imagine serving a family for decades and being spoken to so! She wondered only that John did not leave.

The Major, seeing the accusation in her gaze, returned it defiantly none the less.

‘I apologise for my staff,’ was all he said, and the arrogant nonchalance in his tone almost undid her. She pressed her lips tightly together for fear of speaking her thoughts aloud and concentrated on not flinging her teacup at him.

‘Now. Where were we?’ he asked.

But Lily could pretend no longer. ‘If you do not mind, I think I would like to go home now,’ she said at last, stiffly.

‘We have not yet discussed your living arrangements, Miss Pevensey.’

‘We can do so at a later date.’

‘You have not finished your tea, and you have eaten nothing.’ His tone was dangerous.

She tipped up her chin, teeth clenched. ‘I cannot speak for Lady Stanton, my lord—but I have quite lost my appetite.’

He did not even glance at Kitty, but stared straight back at her, eyes stormy in a face that could have been carved from stone. A muscle ticked in his jaw, and for a moment she thought he was going to argue.

‘Very well,’ he said eventually. ‘If you will wait here, I will arrange for my carriage to be readied.’

‘My thanks.’ She watched as he strode off, then, turning to Kitty, hissed, ‘Did I not tell you? He has not the manners of a…well—he has no manners at all!’

Kitty looked thoroughly taken aback. ‘It was most odd,’ she conceded, eyes wide. ‘Yet perhaps he has reason to—’

‘Reason? What reason could he have to behave so?’ Rising to her feet, Lily went to the double doors and peeped back into the long gallery.

There, as she suspected he would be, stood the old man, a slight, miserable figure before the huge painting of the previous Lord and Lady Westhaven.

‘Wait here a moment,’ she said softly. Then, without waiting for an answer from her friend, she slipped through the doors and went forward, feet light on the floorboards, down the long room towards him.

‘John?’

He turned slightly as she drew near. Her heart twisted as she saw there were tears in his eyes.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, because she did not know what else to say.

The old man was shaking his head, eyes sad. ‘If Kit Westhaven could see his son now…He cherished this place…would have given all to preserve his family home.’

‘You served him?’

He nodded. ‘Almost my whole life.’

‘How long has he been gone?’

John shook his head. ‘Not quite a year,’ he said desolately, shaking his head again. ‘I never thought I would survive to see my master dead and his beloved Oakridge home to a man who no longer cares for anything. It is not right.’

‘He should not have spoken to you so,’ she said. ‘I will ensure he will not throw you out, you have my word on that.’

John’s rheumy eyes seemed to alight properly on her face for the first time. ‘He’ll not throw me out.’ He looked past her to where Major Westhaven had stood. ‘He is a good man, under it all. But he has changed, my lady. He was not always as you saw him, not before he went to fight in the war.’

‘Many men go to war,’ she said firmly. ‘They do not all come back monsters.’ With a painful twist in her heart she added, ‘Some do not come back at all.’

His eyes softened, as if in recollection. ‘Of course—you are Robert Pevensey’s sister. Forgive my thoughtlessness.’

She was surprised. ‘Major Westhaven has spoken of my brother?’

‘He used to, often. These days he speaks little.’

‘I wonder that you can put up with such behaviour,’ she said with feeling.

He looked at her sharply. ‘Of the ones who did return, Miss Pevensey, few lost what he did.’

She frowned at the sorrow in his eyes. ‘What do you—?’

‘Miss Pevensey.’

She turned. Major Westhaven was standing practically to attention at the end of the gallery. ‘I have ordered the carriage.’

She nodded curtly. ‘I am coming.’ Turning to John, she smiled. ‘It was lovely to meet you.’

His eyes filled with tears once more. ‘You are kind, my lady.’

‘Goodbye, John.’

‘You’ll not be back?’

‘I do not think so.’

He nodded. ‘I see.’

On an impulse, she put out a hand and squeezed his arm. Then, because he looked as if he was about to cry at any moment, she walked away, to where Major Westhaven stood waiting for her with a look of abject scorn in his blue-grey eyes.

‘If you are quite finished, Miss Pevensey…’

Something in his tone tugged at her, so that the irritation she had suppressed flared into anger as he shut the doors to the long gallery behind her with a firmness that suggested the subject was also closed. ‘No. I have not finished, Major. Not quite.’

She looked past him to where her friend stood, looking acutely uncomfortable at the tension crackling between them. ‘If you wish to go and ready yourself to leave, Lady Stanton, I will be with you in a moment.’

Kitty hesitated. ‘I’m not sure I ought to—’

‘I’ll only be a moment.’

Kitty shot her a telling look, but Lily, too angry to care, gestured pleadingly with her eyes to the door.

‘Very well.’ With a frown that told her friend she was not happy, Kitty left them alone, looking back uncertainly as she closed the door behind herself.

Lily, fuming, turned to face the Major, who was watching her with sardonic amusement.

‘You go to great lengths to get me alone, Miss Pevensey.’

Lily’s lip curled at his arrogance. ‘I assure you, Major, this will be the first and last time.’ She faced him, hands on hips, unladylike but furious. ‘How could you speak so to an old man?’

‘I am sure he will recover,’ he said mildly.

‘But you were so cruel! He has served you your whole life and this is how you repay him?’

He regarded her coolly. ‘Do not let John fool you, my lady. He is tougher than most men a third of his age.’

‘He would have to be,’ she retorted, ‘if he is treated so!’

His jaw clenched. ‘I do not believe it is any of your business how I treat my servants.’

‘Indeed not.’ She was making no impression—she had been a fool to think she could get through to him when, evidently, remorse was completely alien to his character. ‘Indeed, I think any business we may have had has been concluded, my lord. I will never move in under any roof of yours, regardless of whether I share it with you or not. Thank you for your sparkling hospitality. Good day!’

She spun on her heel and stalked towards the front hall, where Kitty waited.

‘Lily?’ Her friend came forward, concerned to see the look of fury on her face. ‘What happened? I should not have left you!’

‘Nothing happened. We are leaving.’ Lily located her bonnet, waiting for her on the table, and jammed it on to her head, fastening the ribbons haphazardly. Then, throwing open the door, she started down the stone steps. ‘Come, Kitty.’

‘But, Lily—wait, we cannot—’

Ignoring Kitty’s protests, Lily strode out of the door. She was halfway down the steps when she realised that not only was there no carriage waiting for them, but that it was raining.

‘Miss Pevensey.’ Now Major Westhaven was in the doorway above her. ‘At least have the sense to wait inside.’

‘Sense?’ She turned her face, wet with raindrops, up to him. ‘If I had sense, I would have known that to come here at all was a fool’s errand, sir!’

With that, she headed off down the driveway, thinking only to put as much distance as she could between them.

Behind her she heard Kitty crying her name, and vaguely registered the Major say something to the younger woman, but she was too angry to wonder what passed between them. ‘You may tell your driver to catch me up!’ she cried over her shoulder.

Her words, however, were drowned out by a huge clap of thunder. Out of nowhere, the steady rain became heavier, intensifying in moments until it was veritably pouring.

Lily, temper undampened, kept walking.

It was only when someone grabbed her arm that she realised Major Westhaven was behind her. Looking up at the streaming sky, he muttered something that she suspected may have been a profanity, and promptly dragged her off to one side. She fought him with a shriek, but she was no match for his iron grip and superior strength.

‘You are frightening your friend,’ he ground at her, jaw clenched.

‘I am sure she will survive—let me go!’

Despite her protests, however, Lily found herself pulled relentlessly across already sodden grass until she was under the protective cover of a large oak tree, its canopy of foliage stretching out above them for several feet.

‘How dare you?’ Jerking her arm free, Lily braced herself against the thick bark of its trunk and tried to ignore him and catch her breath simultaneously.

She pulled off her dripping bonnet, turning her back upon the man at her side as she surveyed the sheets of rain that now surrounded them, dripping through the leaves above. It did not look as if it would ever stop, and the promised carriage was still nowhere to be seen. In the distance the house stood, impassive, as if it had witnessed such scenes before. Of Kitty there was no sign. Lily felt a stab of guilt.

‘Where is Lady Stanton?’ she snapped.

‘Inside,’ he said, sounding thoroughly out of sorts. ‘And a damned sight drier than we are, I’ll warrant.’

She rounded on him. ‘Kindly moderate your language! You are not on the battlefield now, Major.’

‘Evidently,’ he muttered. ‘My men never surrendered themselves to such histrionics.’

Lily glared at him, but shut her mouth tight, desperately trying not to give him the satisfaction of a response, as he seemed so determined to bait her. She crossed her arms and attempted to pretend once more that he was not there.

It was not as easy as she had hoped—plus she was beginning to be cold, now that the energy of scrambling for shelter was no longer required.

Beside her, Major Westhaven shrugged off his coat.

‘Here.’ He draped it roughly about her shoulders where, though damp, it did afford some warmth. Anger overcoming an absurd flash of gratefulness, Lily drew it wordlessly about her, trying not to let him see that she was shivering.

A stillness descended, broken only by the relentless patter of rain through leaves above them. Lily took a deep breath and attempted to regain some semblance of dignity.

‘You need not wait with me,’ she said at length, when the silence was becoming oppressive. ‘Just tell your driver to stop here and pick me up.’

He made no reply, as she was beginning to see was usual for him. Exasperated, she turned to him. ‘If you would be good enough to perhaps go and see what is keeping them? Lady Stanton will be worried, and I do not wish to stand here all afternoon and be soaked to the skin!’

His face grew distant as he looked down at her. ‘I had not thought you the sort of woman to be overly upset by a little rain, Miss Pevensey. Especially as you yourself brought us here.’

‘It is not the rain that has upset me!’ she retorted. The slight stung her, as she remembered afresh his words at Lady Langley’s ball and the original reason she was so annoyed with him. ‘But I find it odd indeed that you had formed any opinion of me as any sort of woman at all, in light of the fact that you barely know me! Although, no doubt, you think otherwise.’

His eyes narrowed. He was looking increasingly out of sorts. ‘Can it be that I have done something else to upset you, Miss Pevensey, other than discipline my own servant?’

She shook her head, amazed at his gall. ‘Odd as it may seem to you, my lord, I do not take kindly to having my character assassinated in public.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Your character?’

She nodded. ‘I am perfectly able to hold a conversation. That I do not choose to do so with you says more about your character than mine. And just because a lady is cheerful it does not mean she is vacant, my lord.’

Realisation dawned in his face. ‘Lady Langley’s ball.’

‘Yes!’ she spat. ‘Lady Langley’s ball, where you seemed so eager to hold forth on the subject of my personality—or lack of one, if I remember rightly!’

‘You were not supposed to hear that,’ he told her, almost accusingly. ‘And, if you remember, most of it was not said by me.’

‘You began it!’ she snapped.

‘They do say, my lady, that eavesdroppers never hear well of themselves.’

‘Eavesdroppers?’ Lily gasped. ‘How—?’

‘Is that not exactly what you were?’

Unable to answer this without incriminating herself, Lily merely glared at him. ‘I am only surprised, sir, that, after such an appraisal of me, you did not retract your magnanimous offer to take me into your home. Or were you hoping to educate me once I was under your roof—make me a little less empty-headed?’

He was silent for a moment, watching the way she stood, eyebrows raised, waiting for his answer. None was forthcoming.

Infuriated, Lily gritted her teeth. ‘I am not usually contrary by nature, sir. There are many who would find me the perfect companion, I assure you, and none of them would presume to speak of me—or to me, for that matter—as you have done. It is no failing in myself that I find you so extremely…’

‘Provoking?’ he suggested helpfully.

She resisted the urge to stamp her foot for fear it would send her up to her ankles in mud. ‘Now you are laughing at me?’

‘I assure you, I would not dare.’

‘Then explain to me why you make such judgements about women you do not know!’

He raised a sardonic eyebrow. ‘Perhaps you should explain why you are so eager to hear my explanation.’

‘Because…Ugh!’ Lily threw up her hands. ‘We are going around in circles. I bid you good day, sir. I will walk from here.’

With that she set off, out from under the tree and across the soaked grass, furious, humiliated and all the while wondering at the strength of the emotions that coursed through her. It had been true, what she told him of her character. She was mild, courteous Liliana Pevensey: unassuming, quiet living and, of late, tastefully coquettish in polite company. How had she turned into the type of woman who shrieked at men in the rain?

It was all his fault—and she would have no more of it! He was an uncivilised boor and about as far from a gentleman as she had ever encountered.

The ground squelched under her shoes, and the rain still had not let up, but Lily gave little thought to these trivial matters—she wanted simply to be as far from Major Westhaven as possible.

Unfortunately, he seemed to be following her.

‘Miss Pevensey.’

Those long legs apparently allowed him to cover ground much faster than she—he was gaining on her.

She swung around, narrowly avoiding losing her balance.

‘Leave me be, sir!’

‘Where are you going?’

‘To the gates to flag down a cab, of course!’

‘I have a perfectly good carriage.’ He sounded as if he was trying to pacify a child, and it infuriated her. ‘And, even if I was willing to explain your unchaperoned departure to your friend, you are unlikely to find a cab out here, I assure you.’

She scowled as he drew level with her. ‘I cannot wait another moment if you are to wait with me!’

He took her arm again as she turned away.

‘Stay.’

It was said with such calmness that she actually paused. She looked at him, his hair plastered to his head with rain—and all of a sudden she felt more wretched than she had in a long time.

‘I just want to go home,’ she said, shoulders drooping as the anger drained from her body. ‘You are quite right, my lord. I have not the character for running about the country with mud in my shoes. If that is what gentlemen wish for these days, then I shall happily remain an old maid.’

A frown crossed his face as she met his eyes but fleetingly.

‘I have truly upset you, haven’t I?’

Something in his expression stung her straight back into fury. She wiped rain from her face and scowled at him. ‘Upset me? Why ever would you think that I have enough substance of character to feel upset?’

‘Perhaps if you would—’

‘You must forgive me,’ she interrupted, ‘but it is not easy to learn that your temperament is out of fashion, sir. Even the most vacuous—the most vacant—of us have feelings!’

She stalked past him, tears stinging her eyes. Must she endure such comments from such a man? Not, she reminded herself firmly, that she cared a fig what this particular man thought.

‘Plenty of your peers find my conversation perfectly satisfactory,’ she snapped over her shoulder. ‘Perhaps you should consider that it is yourself who is wanting, not those of us who are merely trying to make things pleasant for others, so we may all—’

‘It seems I was wrong,’ he said from behind her.

Lily stopped. ‘What?’ She turned to face him as he reached her side once more, mud sucking at his boots.

‘It seems you can carry on a conversation. With or without a partner, it would seem.’

She frowned, disarmed and ruffled. ‘Now suddenly you wish to agree with me?’

‘It seems so.’ Was that amusement in his eyes? Was he laughing at her, again?

‘Well—how terribly convenient!’ She glared up at him, eyes blazing. ‘What about my mindless chatter, sir? Does it not grate on your nerves how I can speak of nothing but dancing, and cannot comment on foreign policy in the Colonies, the role of the British Army or the state of the economy? Do you not wish there was a fishwife somewhere to divert your attention with her witty banter? Or perhaps you find my banality soothing, as you yourself are so very—’

Her tirade turned abruptly into a startled squeak as, taking her chin none too gently in an iron grip, he stepped forward and covered her mouth with his.

His kiss was almost fierce in its intensity, his lips warm and firm against hers. It was a sensation quite unlike anything she had ever experienced.

Lily, jolted out of her temper by the oddest feeling of awakening, felt with wonder the way her mouth moulded to his, the way her body was filled with an unexplained and tingly longing that started in her belly and spread rapidly outwards. Her lips were tender beneath his, and she felt her eyes closing, unspoken reservations swept away on a tide of arousal.

As if feeling her response, he pulled her closer, his kiss hard, insistent, leaving her in no doubt as to the passion that lay just beneath the surface of his cool manner. She found herself pressed against him, surrendering to the depths of his mouth, allowing his long fingers to brush the rain from her face.

She clung to his lapels, his arm around her back the only thing keeping her upright. Her mouth actively sought his now—and she felt no shame, only an odd sense of completeness, as though their quarrel had in some way been leading to this point all along.

At last he broke away, still holding her to him, eyes smoky with suppressed desire. He was very close, rain glistening on his skin, and Lily, too shocked to speak, could not take her eyes from his mouth. Her knees were threatening to deposit her on the ground at any moment, yet all her brain could focus on was the woody scent of cigar smoke that clung to him.

Then he released her and, abruptly, she came to her senses.

She wished to scream at him, but she could not quite catch her breath. So instead she drew back her arm to slap him as hard as he could.

He stopped it inches from his face, pulled her hard up against him and looked down into her face.

‘Try that a second time,’ he said silkily, ‘and I will show you what it is like to be really kissed.’

‘Let me go,’ she ground out between her teeth, almost sobbing with frustration, humiliation and desire. For she knew, pressed against him, that if he was to keep his promise and kiss her again her body would respond just as ardently. She was disgusted with herself.

He let her go.

Dropping her eyes, she stepped away from him, trembling now not only from the chill rain that still poured upon them, her anger dissolved. Her teeth were beginning to chatter as, utterly wretched, she wrapped her arms about herself for warmth.

‘Is that what I can expect if I am to live under your roof, sir?’

A frown creased Major Westhaven’s smooth features. ‘No,’ he said gruffly. ‘No, of course not.’

‘Then why—?’

‘Come.’ He took her arm firmly. ‘The carriage is here.’

Too overcome to protest much, and puzzled by the expression he now wore—a kind of fierce, guilty regret—Lily allowed herself to be led back to the house, where the carriage had just drawn up.

‘Lily!’ It was Kitty, hurrying down the steps, an expression of bewildered terror on her pale face. ‘Where were you?’

Lily took one look at her and, absurdly, tears came to her eyes. ‘I’m sorry, Kitty. I didn’t mean to frighten you. I am fine, truly.’

Speechless, Kitty could only shake her head in confusion.

‘If you will allow me, Lady Stanton.’ Major Westhaven held out a hand, for all the world as though he was not dripping wet, and helped her solemnly into the carriage.

Then, turning to Lily, he took her cold fingers in his, even as she attempted to evade him. Heat flooded her at his touch, and—just for a moment—she was lost once more in his gaze, oddly fascinated by the way the raindrops clung to his eyelashes. He supported her as she climbed into the welcome dryness of the carriage, her skirts clinging to her. Then, coming to herself, she snatched her hand away.

‘I will call tomorrow to discuss arrangements,’ he said.

Brushing aside the hair plastered to her face, Lily made a valiant attempt to pull herself together. ‘Do not trouble yourself, sir. I will not be moving under your roof.’