Читать книгу The Earl Plays With Fire - Isabelle Goddard - Страница 5

London—1816

‘Have you heard the latest?’ The voice came out of nowhere.

Christabel Tallis, aimlessly fanning herself, stopped for a moment and glanced at the mirror which hung on the opposite wall. She knew neither of the women reflected there. Perched uncomfortably on one of the stiffly brocaded benches that lined the Palantine Gallery, she had been wondering, not for the first time that morning, why she’d ever agreed to her mother’s suggestion that they meet Julian here. Lady Harriet had insisted they attend what was billed as the show of the Season, but for Christabel the delights of London society had long ago palled. The salon was overheated and far too crowded, and her delicate skin was already slightly flushed.

‘About the Veryan boy, you mean?’ one of the women continued.

The name hovered in the air, menacing Christabel’s shield of calm detachment. The buzz of inconsequential chatter faded into the distance and every fibre of her body became alert.

‘He’s hardly a boy now, of course.’

‘Indeed no. How long has it been? Lady Veryan must be overjoyed that he is returning home at last.’

Suddenly Christabel longed to be far away from this conversation, away from this room. A shaft of sunlight streamed through the gallery’s long windows, breaking through a lowering sky and burnishing her auburn curls into a fiery cloud. The warming light was gone almost as soon as it appeared, but to her it seemed to beckon escape. Escape to where, though? To a country of grey slate and blue seas, a landscape of moor and rocks? To Cornwall, to home? But that could not be; she knew well that her future lay elsewhere.

‘One can only hope that he actually arrives,’ the woman opined in a hushed voice.

The other shuddered theatrically. ‘I understand the journey from Argentina is very long and most dangerous.’

‘My dear, yes. You must remember The Adventurer—just a few years ago. It sailed from Buenos Aires …’

The women moved away and she heard no more. That was sufficient. Richard’s name reverberated through her mind. After all these years—five, six it would be—he was coming back. Her deep green eyes stared into the distance and saw only memory.

She was seated on a stone bench in the garden of the Veryan town house, the lush fragrance of rose blossoms tumbling in the air. Richard was standing straight and tall in front of her, his mouth compressed and his face white and set. She had just told him that she could not marry him and was offering his ring back. She could not marry him because she was in love with Joshua. And Joshua just happened to be one of Richard’s closest friends. What a wretched business that had been. She and Richard had drifted into an engagement, more to please their parents than from any passionate attachment, and Joshua was the result. The family estates bordered each other and she’d known Richard all her life. It felt natural to be planning to spend the rest of it together. But her visit to London to buy bride clothes had vouchsafed a different perspective: Cornwall and their shared childhood vanished in a sea mist. Instead there was a thrilling round of parties, balls, picnics, assemblies and, at the end of it, Joshua. No, she couldn’t marry Richard. She was too young and too passionate and friendship was not enough.

‘Miss Tallis, please accept my sincerest apologies for arriving so late.’

A well-dressed man in a puce tailcoat and fawn pantaloons stood before her. He took her shapely hand in his, kissing it with elaborate courtesy, and bowed politely to Lady Tallis, who had broken off her conversation with a chance-met companion just long enough to smile benignly at the man she hoped would become her son-in-law.

Sir Julian Edgerton’s pleasant face wore a rueful smile. ‘I fear the Committee took longer than expected. There is always such a deal to do for the Pimlico Widows and Orphans. I hope you’ll forgive me.’

‘Naturally, Sir Julian, how could I not? You lead a truly benevolent life!’ Christabel’s musical voice held the suspicion of a laugh, but her face was lit with the gentlest of smiles.

‘Now that I am here, may I get you some refreshment?’

‘What a good idea! It’s so very hot in this room. Lemonade, perhaps?’

‘It will be my pleasure,’ he said gallantly, ‘and when we are once more comfortable, would you care to make a quick tour of the paintings with me? I am anxious to hear your views. You have such a refined sensibility.’

She sighed inwardly, but nodded assent while her mother beamed encouragement. She knew Lady Harriet was counting on Sir Julian’s proposal. At nearly twenty-five Christabel was already perilously close to being on the shelf and she could no longer delay the decision to marry. Sir Julian might not be the most exciting man of her acquaintance, but he was solid and dependable and would make a restful husband.

More than that, he would be an adoring one. And she could trust him. After the bruising experience of her girlhood, such a man was surely worth any amount of excitement.

If she made this marriage, it might help repair some of the destruction she’d wreaked all those years ago. Her parents had loved Richard as a son and his dismissal had hit them very hard. As for Richard, she was sure he’d remained heart whole. He’d never loved her with the passion she had craved. Instead he’d been angry and humiliated. It was the gossip he had loathed, being on everyone’s tongue, the jilted suitor. Within a sennight he’d escaped England and was on a boat to Argentina. Lord Veryan had told the world it was needful that his son administer the family’s growing estates in South America, but the world had known the real reason for Richard’s sudden departure. So he’d escaped, but she’d paid the price for her indiscretion. Jilting a man three weeks before the wedding was the height of bad ton and scurrilous gossip had swirled around her head for months. It was difficult to recall six years later just how vulnerable she’d felt. Today she was an acknowledged leader of fashion, an ice-cold beauty who’d remained impregnable despite countless suitors. But then she’d been a raw, passionate girl, in the throes of a thrilling infatuation, and unable to dissemble.

‘I’m afraid the lemonade is as warm as the salon.’ Sir Julian had emerged from the crush and was at her elbow, proffering the glass he’d procured with some difficulty.

For a moment she looked blindly up at him. Past distresses were crowding in on her and, for the second time that morning, she looked for escape. She needed distraction, needed to be on the move.

‘I think I would prefer to view the pictures after all, Sir Julian.’

She rose from her seat as she spoke and, smoothing the creases from her amber silk walking dress, took her suitor’s arm. They began slowly to stroll around the gallery. As always her elegant figure drew glances of frank admiration from those she passed and Sir Julian, feeling pride in his possession, held her arm even more tightly. While they walked, he spoke sensibly about the paintings they inspected and she tried hard to conjure interest in his carefully considered opinions. He was a good man, she told herself severely, and she must not hanker for more. That way lay disaster. She had learned that lesson well. It had taken little time to discover that Richard was worth twenty times the man who’d displaced him. The relationship with Joshua had petered out, destroyed by her guilt and his inevitable betrayal.

‘I must say that I find these colours a little too forceful. They jangle the nerves rather than soothe.’

Sir Julian was standing before a group of canvases whose landscapes pulsated with lurid crimsons and golds, an anarchic depiction of the natural world.

‘What do you think, Miss Tallis—am I being old fashioned?’

‘Not old fashioned precisely, Sir Julian, but perhaps a little traditional? One needs to open one’s mind to different possibilities,’ she hazarded, thinking that just one of the pictures on her bedroom wall would be enough to keep her awake at night.

‘As always you are right. I will look with your eyes and endeavour to see these canvases anew.’

Why did he always have to agree with her? Richard would have mocked her pretensions, laughed openly at her and they would have ended sharing the joke together. But Richard’s companionship was long gone. How strange to think that he would soon be in England, but this time returning as the new Earl Veryan. It was three months since Lord Veryan’s life had been brutally cut short by a riding accident. Richard would have left for home the minute he’d received the dreadful news, but a long and treacherous journey meant his father had been buried while he was still on the high seas. At the funeral Lady Veryan had been beyond grief; it was certain to be a very sad homecoming for her son. Her escort continued to talk, but Christabel’s thoughts were elsewhere, straying inevitably towards a lone man adrift on a distant ocean. With a great effort she forced herself to return to Sir Julian and his enthusiastic recital; the small successes of Pimlico’s deserving poor had never seemed less riveting.

A few hundred miles away, the new Earl Veryan gazed blankly over the sea as it threaded itself swiftly past the ship. He was deep in thought and not all of it was pleasant. The last image of his father played through his mind, the stocky figure waving from the dockside, a bright red handkerchief in his hand, growing smaller and smaller as the ship made its way to the open sea. He had been away from England for too long; he had not been there for his father when he needed him. Now at last he was returning home, but to an unknown life. The Great Hall would no longer echo to Lord Veryan’s greeting and the task of administering a large estate was now his. He knew himself well capable, but he was sorry to be leaving Argentina behind. The country had been good to him. A rugged outdoor life had taught him authority and decisiveness. It had honed him physically and created an inner strength he’d not known he possessed. And life there had not been all hard work. The social round was lively and largely free of the stifling conventions of London society, and the tall, handsome Englishman was a popular guest. There had been music and laughter and plenty of beautiful women happy to engage in a light flirtation or more. He’d enjoyed their favours freely and indifferently, determined to consign love to the vault of history and simply enjoy the physical pleasures of the moment. It had become a way of life for him, demanding little emotion and no commitment.

The moon cut a path across the surface of the small waves so bright that it made him blink. His eyes focused on the expanse of ocean, at the different shades of silver and black stretching to the horizon, then to the lanterns which hung above him, swinging comfortingly to the rhythm of the ship. The crew were engaged elsewhere and he had the deck to himself. He wondered if he dared to smoke a cigar, a disastrous habit he’d contracted in Argentina, but decided that he’d better keep that delight for later. Dinner would be served soon and he did not want to escort Domino to the table smelling of tobacco.

The boat gave a louder creak than usual with the sudden swell of the ocean, but the vessel soon recovered its peaceful passage. A sailor appeared from the deck below and waved a greeting.

‘Fine weather, sir, and the forecast’s good. Should be a quiet landfall, I’m thinking.’

It had not always been so calm; they had suffered tempests aplenty since leaving Buenos Aires and there had been times when he’d wondered if they would ever make it to land again. But it was tranquil now and he had leisure to think. The grey eyes were expressionless, his dark straight brows furrowed. The meeting with his mother would be painful, he knew, but there would be joy too. To be home again; to feel Cornish air on his skin once more and to awake to the sound of Cornish surf breaking on the rocky cove below Madron Abbey. He saw in his mind’s eye the winding path from the house across the green headland and then the sudden dramatic fall of cliffs tumbling into the wild seas. He’d walked that pathway so many times in memory. In just a few weeks he would be walking it in reality.

Immediately the ship berthed in Southampton, he would post up to London and ensure that Domino was safely consigned to the care of her aunt. The sooner he could do this, the sooner he could travel on to Madron.

‘There you are, Richard. I’ve been looking everywhere for you.’

The speaker was a diminutive brunette who barely came up to his chest. She raised a pair of soft brown eyes to his hard grey ones and smiled sweetly. Richard smiled back in response.

‘Not quite everywhere, it seems. I’m not exactly invisible.’

‘I didn’t expect you to be behind the lifeboats! Were you thinking of leaving the ship without telling me? Or, more like, you were just about to smoke one of those noxious cigars of yours.’

He looked guilty and she crowed with delight, clapping her hands together and doing a little dance around him.

‘You see, I know you so well.’

He doubted that, but it would hardly be surprising if she thought so. They’d been cooped up together in this small vessel for nigh on a month. When he’d first been asked to escort the Spanish ambassador’s daughter to London, he’d been aghast. His mind was beset with worries over his mother and grief for his father and he had no wish to assume the responsibility of a seventeen-year-old girl.

But Señor de Silva had been persuasive. Domino had been invited by the English branch of her family to spend a Season in London and then to make the journey on to Spain and her paternal home in Madrid. Alfredo de Silva was insistent that his daughter should experience something of European society.

‘Argentina is pioneer country, you know, Richard, not the place for a young girl.’

‘She seems to have thrived on life in Buenos Aires,’ Richard protested, trying to escape the fate he saw coming.

But Señor de Silva was adamant. Domino must be launched on society and not in a rough-and-ready place like Buenos Aires. As a considerable heiress, and charmingly pretty, his daughter could look to the highest for a husband.

‘It’s a very long journey for a young girl. There are dangers.’ Richard made a last attempt, but to no avail.

‘Yes, yes, I have considered well,’ Señor de Silva reassured him. ‘The time is right—Napoleon is captive and confined on the island of St Helena where he can do no further harm. Domino will be able to travel in safety to England and then on to Spain. And you will be with my darling to protect her on the long journey.’

And so he’d agreed with reluctance to chaperon the girl aboard ship. He would see her safely on land and delivered to an aunt in Curzon Street, but after that his role would end.

Domino was speaking again. ‘When we get to London, Richard, will there be many parties and balls?’

‘Almost certainly,’ he smiled teasingly. ‘Otherwise why would you leave all your admirers in Buenos Aires and come to London?’

‘My father says I must make good use of my time there. I can have fun, but I must make sure that I meet lots of gentlemen too. Eligible gentlemen.’ She rolled the syllables off her tongue and pulled a face.

‘That will be for your aunt to decide. She is your chaperon and she’ll tell you who is eligible and who is not.’

‘Are you eligible, Richard?’

‘For you, no. I’m far too old and a deal too worn.’

‘How old are you?’

‘Twenty-eight.’

‘That’s not old. My father was ten years older than my mother. And I like the way he looked in his wedding pictures. Worldly and experienced.’

She looked up at him trustfully, the melting brown eyes smiling a clear invitation. He was taken aback. This was one outcome he had not foreseen. He’d no wish to be part of any emerging adolescent fantasy. He knew too well the pain which could accompany the insubstantial dreams of youth.

The image of a pale-faced girl with a torrent of red curls and glinting green eyes swam suddenly into his vision. He was startled. It was years since he’d thought of Christabel, really thought of her. It must be that he was nearing England, coming home after so many years. She would be settled amid the London society he hated, probably married with a pair of children to her name.

He didn’t know for sure. His parents, mindful of his feelings, had never kept him informed of her whereabouts or her doings. And he had not wanted to know.

It had been enough to know that she had betrayed him, and with a man he’d considered one of his closest friends. That moment when he’d realised, known for certain that he’d been blind and a fool, came rushing back to him. The whispers which he’d ignored, the sympathetic looks which he’d refused to see, and then the two of them—Christabel and Joshua—a secret smile on their faces, secret murmurs on their lips, emerging from the darkened terrace into the lighted ballroom, walking side by side, bound together as one. The sharpness of that moment still cut at him. He’d looked around the room and realised that every pair of eyes was fixed on him, wondering what he would do, what he would say. He’d left the ball abruptly, incensed and distraught in equal measure. The next day she’d told him. A little late, he’d thought bitterly, just a little late. Three weeks to their wedding and she was sorry, she loved another.

Sorry! Sorry for betraying him with a fly-by-night, a professional second-rater who’d pretended friendship only to get closer to his prey. And she, she’d been willing without a second thought to betray people she had professed to love and to expose him to the most shameful tittle-tattle.

He had drifted into the engagement with Christabel. Their two families had been friends for as long as he could remember and as youngsters they’d been constant companions. It wasn’t difficult to do what their parents had been dreaming of, not difficult to imagine a life lived with each other in the Cornish homeland they shared.

But in the end it had not felt that way. He had begun the affair in nonchalance and ended in love. He had wanted to marry. He had wanted her: her russet curls tickling his chin as they walked together in the gardens, the sensation of her body moulding to his as they dared to learn the waltz together, the softness of her skin to his touch, the softness of her mouth to his lips when he’d first ventured to kiss her. It had been a revelation. Now standing on this weathered deck, the empty ocean spread before him, her beautiful sensual form seemed to envelop him once more and he felt himself grow warm and hard with longing. He cursed silently. To feel passion after all these years was ridiculous. Surely it was only an image of the past that aroused such feelings, only an image, not reality that still had the power to hurt.

‘Are you all right, Richard? You look quite angry.’

Domino’s eyes held a troubled expression and he pulled himself back abruptly to the present.

‘I’m fine,’ he replied easily, ‘I’m not at all angry. But we mustn’t stay on deck any longer—it’s grown far too cold for you.’

‘But I love it here. The moonlight is so beautiful, isn’t it?’

He had to agree. The moon had risen fully now and the world was bathed in silver. Against his will his mind refused to let the memories go, for it had been a night like this when they’d gone swimming in the cove. Forbidden, thrilling, an intimation that Christabel was no longer the child she’d once been. And he had gloried in it. The water contouring itself around her slim form. The long shapely legs glimmering through a gently rippling surface. All he’d wanted to do was wind himself around her and stay clasped, fast and for ever.

‘Dinner is served, Lord Veryan, when you’re ready.’

Neither of them had heard the captain as he approached from the saloon behind. They had been caught up in their own thoughts, standing motionless before the beauty of the ocean.

‘Thank you. We’ll come now,’ Richard replied swiftly and offered his arm to the petite young lady beside him.

‘Lord Veryan? That sounds so grand, Richard.’

‘It should do. Take heed and obey!’ She giggled and made haste to the table that had been prepared for them. The smell from the kitchen was not encouraging. She pulled another face and her eyes glinted mischievously. Her aunt would have to stop her showing her feelings quite so evidently, he thought. It would not do to be too natural in London society. In his experience the Season involved nothing but artificiality and sham. He heaved a sigh without realising he was doing so.

‘Something troubles you, Richard? You’re not looking forward to going home?’

‘Indeed I am. I’m going to the most beautiful place on earth. How could I not be looking forward to it?’

‘More beautiful than Argentina?’

‘To my mind, Domino, but everyone thinks their own home is the best in the world.’

‘Tell me about Cornwall.’

‘Let’s see, what can I tell you? It’s wild and free. Its colours are green and grey—granite cliffs and slate-roofed houses, but rolling green fields. Above all the sea is blue within blue and never still. I can hear the sound of the surf breaking on the beach from my bedroom window and smell the salt on the air.’

‘You make it sound a paradise. And what about your house?’

‘The Abbey is very old and built of grey stone. It has mullioned windows and a massive oak front door studded with iron. Every room is panelled in the same dark oak.’

‘That sounds a bit gloomy—but perhaps abbeys always are?’ Domino puckered her forehead in disappointment.

‘It could be, but in the summer the garden is a cascade of colour—some of the flowers as vivid as those in the tropics because Cornwall is so warm—and in the winter, the rooms are lit by the flicker of open fires and the house is filled with the sweet smell of burning apple wood.’

‘Ah, then it does sound wonderful after all. And do you have many friends there?’

‘A few.’ His tone was indifferent.

‘No one in particular?’

‘No one,’ he reiterated, this time with certainty. And the image of flying red hair and shining emerald eyes was once more banished from his conscious mind.

Christabel returned early that night from a supper party and sat quietly in front of her mirror while her maid carefully untangled the knot of auburn curls. The evening had been insipid and she’d been glad of the excuse of a headache to leave for home. Although her face had maintained a calm detachment throughout the day, her mind was troubled. Ever since hearing his name that morning, she’d not been able to put Richard out of her thoughts. There’d always been a part of her, buried deep, that held his memory, but the passage of the intervening years had soothed the raw pain of his departure and the collapse of the world she’d trusted. She’d done all she could to forget him. Now a random conversation between two unknown women had brought his memory throbbing back to life.

She scolded herself. He would be so changed that she would hardly know him, nor he her. In all probability he would sail into Southampton with a new Lady Veryan on his arm. They were bound to meet again at some time in the future, given the proximity of their homes, but not for many months. He would be certain to post down to Cornwall as soon as he could, to be with his mother. And she, where would she be? No doubt by the end of the Season preparing to be Lady Edgerton, and packing her valise for a protracted stay at Sir Julian’s Berkshire estate. She sighed involuntarily and Rosa stopped brushing her hair for a moment, thinking that she had hurt her mistress. Christabel was smiling at her reassuringly when the bedroom door opened.

‘I’m so glad I’ve found you still up. I wanted a brief word with you, my dear.’

She nodded dismissal to her maid and looked warily at her mother. She knew well the likely nature of the brief word.

‘I was so pleased today at the gallery to see you on such good terms with Sir Julian. You do like him, darling, don’t you?’

‘Yes, of course, Mama, what is there not to like?’

‘I mean,’ her mother said doggedly, ‘that it’s not simply a case of not holding him in aversion—you do positively like him?’

‘I think so.’

Lady Harriet tried to restrain her irritation with this lovely but obdurate daughter. ‘You don’t sound very certain.’

‘That’s because I’m not. Sir Julian is kind and charming and obviously a very good person, but perhaps he’s just a little too good for me.’

‘Stuff,’ her mother exclaimed unexpectedly. ‘How can you talk so, Christabel! You deserve the very best.’

Her daughter remained silent, gazing gravely at her reflection in the mirror.

‘Are you still thinking of that business with the Veryans?’

Even her mother, she noted, did not dare to speak Richard’s name. Lady Harriet came close and put her arms around her daughter.

‘Bel, my darling, that’s over and has been for years. It’s nonsense to let it determine the rest of your life. It was a bad affair at the time, but you must put it out of your mind and make a fresh start.’

Whether it was her mother’s hug or simply because she’d had a jarring day, she couldn’t say, but Christabel found herself dissolving into tears.

Lady Harriet soothed her lovingly and then spoke to her as if to a weary child. ‘The time has come, Christabel, to make a sensible decision which will affect the rest of your life. You have received many offers of marriage and have refused them all. In a few months you will be twenty-five and in our society that is not a good age to be single still. If you really dislike the idea of marriage to Sir Julian, you know we will not try to persuade you otherwise. Your father and I have profited from painful experience. But if you feel you could live comfortably with him, then I would urge you not to wait too long. He is obviously deeply in love with you and you have only to “throw the handkerchief”—a vulgar saying, I know, but a perfectly true one none the less—and he will pick it up with alacrity.’

‘I know, Mama.’ Her daughter’s woebegone expression raised a smile on Lady Harriet’s face.

‘Do not look so miserable about it. You will have a splendid life. You will never want for anything and will have a man by your side whose only wish is to make you happy.’

How to tell her mother how she felt? How to explain it even to herself? Her head told her that a tranquil life with Sir Julian was the best possible compromise she could make, but her heart murmured traitorously that tranquillity would not satisfy. What did she want, then? Gaiety, exhilaration, adventure even? But she knew her mother was right. She was a mature woman and she must behave like one. That meant making a sensible decision about her future.

Thinking that her homily had gone home, Lady Harriet continued. ‘Promise me, my love, that when the moment comes you will listen to whatever Sir Julian has to say and consider his words favourably.’

‘I promise, Mama.’

She made the undertaking in good faith. She must try not to disappoint Sir Julian, nor let her family down again.

Her pledge was put to the test the following Saturday morning. She was quietly engaged with Rosa, selecting dresses from her wardrobe that needed attention and listing the new gloves and slippers she must purchase now that the Season was well advanced, when the second footman appeared at her bedroom door.

‘Milady would like to see you in the drawing room, Miss Christabel.’

She wondered what was toward and made haste downstairs. Her heart sunk when she saw Sir Julian perched rather unsafely on one of the decorative but spindly chairs her mother had recently hired for the drawing room.

‘Miss Tallis, how good to see you. And how well you look in that ensemble.’

She looked blankly at the old dress she was wearing and wondered if her potential spouse needed glasses.

‘But then,’ he continued, ‘you always contrive to look amazingly elegant.’

Her mother beamed appreciatively. ‘Sir Julian has been speaking of the new floral exhibition in Hyde Park. It sounds truly magnificent and has been especially designed as part of the celebrations arranged for the French Royal Family.’

‘In fact,’ Sir Julian interjected eagerly, ‘they are actually to celebrate the Prince Regent’s own assumption of power, but since his father is so very ill, it would be bad form for him to broadcast it, I dare say.’

Christabel looked from one to the other in some puzzlement, wondering where she fitted into this conversation. Her mother was at hand to help.

‘Sir Julian has very kindly called to discover if you would care to see the display. I know you have no engagements this morning, my dear.’

Sir Julian added his voice to the petition, ‘I hope I do not importune, Miss Tallis, but I would welcome your company. And I am sure you will be charmed, knowing your highly developed sense of beauty. The southern tip of the park is a sheer blaze of colour.’

Christabel had no alternative but to agree, only stopping to change her gown and unpack the new bonnet which had just been delivered by Celeste, her favourite milliner. It was a charming confection, a light-green cottager style tied beneath the chin with an enormous chiffon bow. It set off to perfection a gown of pale primrose silk. If she was to be wooed, and she had no doubt that this was Sir Julian’s plan, she would at least look the part.

Hyde Park was unusually busy for a Saturday morning and for some time they had little leisure to converse, their attention distracted by the need to avoid a constant parade of slowly moving barouches and their elderly occupants, baby carriages with their nursemaids and schoolboys bowling their hoops. It seemed the whole world and his wife had come out to play this early April morning. And it wasn’t hard to see why. The sun streamed down from an almost cloudless blue sky and spring was in the air.

Richard was also in the park that morning, carefully shepherding Domino through its north gate towards Rotten Row, which was already busy with riders. It would be a good opportunity, he thought, for the young girl to experience one of the more popular pursuits of London life. Annoyingly he had been forced to kick his heels in the capital for some days while legal papers were being prepared for his signature. But he could at least enjoy this heavensent morning.

He glanced sideways at his companion, an amused expression on his face. She was in high gig now that he’d unexpectedly remained in town and her aunt had agreed to his chaperonage. Lady Blythe’s horror at the notion of a male escort the younger side of thirty had evaporated the moment Richard presented himself in Curzon Street. His manners were excellent and he showed an avuncular affection for Domino that not even her worst nightmare could translate into any threat to her charge. She was only too pleased to accept his protection for her young niece whose company she was already finding exhausting.

They had hired hacks from the stables around the corner from Aunt Loretta’s house, but had almost instantly regretted it. Neither had any hesitation in characterising their respective mounts as out-and-out slugs. Domino had already begun to feel irked by the restraints her aunt had found it necessary to place on her; after weeks of confinement on board ship, she was restless for the kind of unfettered gallop she had been accustomed to in Argentina. Her horse was unlikely to provide that. Yet the morning shone with perfection and the greensward stretched invitingly in front of her. She could not resist the attempt, and before Richard could stop her she had dug her spurs hard into the horse’s flanks. Startled out of his wits, Firefly was for once in his life true to his name. He shot off across the park at breakneck speed to the shocked outrage of those sedately taking their morning promenade. Forced to ride sidesaddle, Domino crouched low over the horse’s neck in order to keep her seat, with her hair streaming inelegantly behind. After a frozen instant of shock Richard urged his mount into an unwilling gallop and rushed after her, fearful for her safety and intent on stopping her from creating the kind of scandal of which she had no notion.

Firefly hit the dust of Rotten Row, choking nearby strollers and scattering them to the winds as they leapt for safety, just as Sir Julian had worked himself up to the point of a declaration.

‘I shall be leaving for Rosings in the morning, Miss Tallis, and had hoped to depart with one very important question answered. It is a question dear to my heart and only you can settle it. I do not, of course, require an immediate answer, but I would be truly grateful if you would agree to think over what I have to say. You see, Miss Tallis, Christabel—’

He was forced to break off mid sentence and take drastic action as Firefly thundered towards him and his lovely companion. In a trice he had swept Christabel up and literally jumped her out of harm’s way. A second later another horse galloping headlong in pursuit caught up with the runaway and grabbed hold of Firefly’s bridle.

‘Never, ever do that again!’

Richard’s voice expressed his cold fury. Badly jolted by the headlong flight of her horse and realising that she had committed a serious social sin, Domino slipped from the saddle, her face white and frightened. She had never seen Richard so angry and she wasn’t certain whether she should shout or cry. He gave her no chance to decide. Turning to the couple who had narrowly escaped Firefly’s thundering hooves, he bowed in apology. Sir Julian inclined his head at the irate stranger before him. He had no idea of his identity for he had been travelling on the Continent when Richard Veryan had first come to the capital.

‘Please forgive my companion,’ Richard offered stiffly. ‘She is a visitor to London and unaware of the rules governing riding in Hyde Park. I trust that you have received no harm.’

‘I’m glad to say that we haven’t,’ stuttered Sir Julian, now very shaken by the incident, ‘but your charge—for I take it that she is your charge—needs to be given a summary lesson.’

‘She shall have it,’ he said crisply, glaring at Sir Julian with annoyance. Domino had put him in the wrong and he did not like it.

He turned to apologise to the woman he had only glimpsed from the corner of his eye and for the first time in the encounter was struck dumb. For what seemed endless time, he stood motionless and without expression, absorbing the picture before him, hardly believing what he saw.

He had not visualised the moment when he would meet Christabel again. He’d made quite sure that his imagination never strayed into such dangerous territory. But if he’d been tempted to speculate, it would not have felt like this. He would have felt nothing—the meaningless liaisons of years would have done their work—and any carefully suppressed images that still remained in the recesses of his memory would have, should have, shrivelled in the cold light of reality. He ought to feel nothing. But that, it seemed, was not so. He stood and looked and his heart received a most painful jolt.

She was even more beautiful than he remembered. The glinting green eyes and the sensual tumble of red locks against translucent skin were arousing all his senses. He looked searchingly at her ungloved hand. Astonishingly she was not married, at least not yet. That popinjay with her was no doubt the intended.

Christabel had known him immediately. He was still the same tall, athletic man that he had always been, but he seemed stronger now, more muscular, his face lean and tanned. There was an authority about him that had not been there before. His grey eyes as they fixed her in an unwavering stare beneath black, straight brows were lacking in all emotion. There was no warmth, no answering response to her tentative smile.

His voice was as indifferent as his expression. ‘Miss Tallis? Your servant, ma’am.’

How hateful of him to speak to her thus, stiff and formal as though they had met for the first time only yesterday. Sir Julian looked questioningly between the two of them and Christabel forced herself to perform the social niceties.

‘Sir Julian, may I introduce Earl Veryan. Lord Veryan, Sir Julian Edgerton.’

The two men eyed each other askance, instinctively hostile. Domino, abandoned at a distance, walked her horse towards them and Richard was compelled to make her known to her erstwhile victims. She smiled sunnily at them.

‘I’m so sorry, please forgive me for frightening you.’ Her accent was marked as though she hoped that this might produce a swifter forgiveness.

‘I don’t know the rules,’ she continued, ‘and Richard never told me, did you, Richard?’ And she smiled up at him, her eyes glowing with affectionate entreaty.

But Richard was still looking at Christabel and saw those extraordinary green eyes half-close. Was that perhaps unhappiness at Domino’s youthful adoration, an attempt to erase a discomfiting image? It seemed unlikely given her ruthless rejection of him. Yet undoubtedly she’d flinched at Domino’s display of fondness. The girl meant nothing to him, but Christabel was not to know that. He hoped that she was suffering at least a little of the agonising jealousy that he’d once known.

He was shocked by the vindictive thought, shocked that his emotions were surging out of control. That he should be so susceptible, so easily disturbed, after six long years was dismaying. He schooled his face to remain expressionless as he bowed his formal farewell, but his mind was deep in tangled thought. He walked swiftly away and Domino had almost to skip to keep up with his long stride.

The unexpected meeting had unnerved him. He’d felt his body invaded by unwanted desire and his mind battered by conflicting impulses. He was bewildered by his reactions for they made no sense. But of one thing he was certain. He could not allow himself to be drawn to Christabel again; he had to overcome a weakness that had come out of nowhere. As he walked a vague sense grew upon him that if he could prove to himself, prove to the world, that her beauty was only skin deep, she would cease to bother him. The veriest shadow of an idea began to form in his mind.