Читать книгу The Passionate Love of a Rake - Jane Lark - Страница 8

The next morning, Jane walked into the day room where Violet took breakfast, knowing she did not look her best.

Meg, Jane’s maid, had tried to hide the ravages of a late, tearful night, but with little success.

Jane was tired, and her thoughts were a tangled muddle as images of Joshua and Robert tormented her.

Her body was still alive with the sensations Robert had taught her last night, and her heart ached for impossibilities.

She felt exhausted and fragile.

The wonderful aroma of freshly ground coffee and chocolate instantly restored her appetite, though, and a blue sky beyond the windows mocked the unsettling regrets in her thoughts.

Jane liked this bright room. The morning sun always reached in through the bank of windows facing the garden, and its cream and yellow decoration was a cheery choice, distinctly Violet. The mahogany table was laid for breakfast, covered in a starched, cream cloth and laden with coffee, tea, chocolate, hams, cheeses and sweet cinnamon rolls.

“Ah, my dear.” Violet smiled and beckoned Jane forward. “You must be starving.”

Jane smiled and took the seat that a footman withdrew, facing Violet.

“Coffee, please,” Jane ordered. She needed something to get her thoughts in order. The footman poured it.

“And now, Daniels, disappear. I am sure Jane will be happy to serve herself.” Violet waved him off with a flick of her hand.

Jane’s fingers trembled as she reached for her cup and, yet again, she remembered the things Robert had done last night.

He’d dislodged her sanity. Her tingling senses just kept stirring memories in her head, of his kisses and his touch. The image of his predatory stare in the ballroom hung in her mind, too, and the conversation she’d overheard.

He knew how to capture a woman’s interest. He knew how to speak his intention without words. He knew how to make a woman feel special. No wonder he was infamous.

She thought of his room, of the props set out for Lady Baxter, not her. Yet, as she pictured it, she heard the apology he’d given as he’d left.

The door clicked shut behind the footman. Jane looked up and met Violet’s gaze.

“Well, well, Jane,” Violet whispered, her eyes dancing with silent laughter. “And there was I thinking you the shy and retiring type. How wrong I was!”

Jane opened her mouth to answer, but Violet lifted her hand.

“No need for explanations. I am not shocked in the least. But surprised, yes! Your husband is but weeks in the grave and you allow Barrington to take you home. I am sorry, Jane, but you are fooling no one now. You must take off those blacks.” Violet laughed.

Jane opened her mouth again, but Violet’s butter knife lifted and bobbed up and down, pointing in Jane’s direction.

“Do not try to deny it, my dear, you cannot. I saw you return in his carriage in the early hours, with Barrington in dishabille.”

“But I did not—”

“Oh Jane, there is no need to explain. I really do not care what you do. You know I am partial to the company of men. But you have outdone me by a mile. It was at least a year after my dear Frederick passed before I took another man.

“However I suppose the former Duke of Sutton can be no comparison to a buck like Barrington. Yet, you strike me as a woman with a tender heart, Jane, and Barrington is likely to break it. As I said last night, he is not known for his constancy. The man is fickle. He’s littered Europe with broken hearts.”

Jane interrupted then, her coffee cup clicking back down on its saucer. She could not let Violet think Robert was any man. “Violet, you misunderstood. He and I are old friends. Last night was not our first meeting, and—”

Violet’s knife bobbed again. “Jane, have you been keeping secrets? Friends with Barrington, indeed? Why did you not mention it?”

“Because I had no idea he was in London, and it is a lifetime since I last saw him.” To Violet’s knowing look, Jane added, “It is not what you think, Violet. My father’s estate and his bordered one another. We knew each other as children. We were catching up, that is all.”

Violet laughed. “And does catching up remove a gentleman’s cravat?”

Jane felt a blush rise in her cheeks.

“Well, it is of no concern to me if you were catching up or not, just guard your heart, Jane. Your friend or not, he is not reliable.”

That hardly mattered. Jane knew she had no heart to break. He’d shattered it years ago. Then why was there a deep ache lodged in her chest this morning?

“See.” Violet pointed her knife again, and her voice rose in pitch, but she smiled. “You are already affected. You cannot take your mind from him. Beware.”

Jane smiled too, and wondered where she would be without Violet. But she still denied the truth with a blatant lie. “I am not affected. He has simply reminded me of the past, that is all.”

Violet’s eyebrows lifted.

Jane blushed, but she did not let Violet speak. “We were very young, nothing happened, and please, do not say anything to anyone else, or to him. It would mortify me if it became common knowledge, especially with his reputation as it stands. I would rather keep our former friendship between ourselves.”

Violet’s colour suddenly heightened, too.

Jane assumed she had caused offence.

“I am not a gossip, Jane. You are my friend. But if you wish to keep it secret, then disappearing with him from an event the size of the Duchess of Weldon’s was not the way to do it.”

“I know, it was foolish.” Jane felt a blush again. “I was just surprised to see him, and when he suggested it, I did not think.”

“A symptom which is common for women in Barrington’s company, I believe.”

“You do not like him?” A memory of the scene in his bedchamber spun through Jane’s head. Had Violet?

“I only know him by reputation. But he is not for me, and I have not, Jane, if that is what you are asking.” Jane felt her skin turn crimson as Violet continued. “He is polite and indecently good-looking. But just keep your head over the man, Jane. I do not wish to see you hurt.”

The thought gave Jane pause. The man who’d apologised before he’d left had been the Robert she remembered and had loved, and the one who’d kissed her palm … But Violet implied he treated women callously and last night, it had seemed he could. The room had been dressed so carefully, and they’d shared such intimacies, yet he’d shared the same with numerous women. It appeared it was the act of sex he was attracted to, not the woman, if he could swap his attentions from Lady Baxter to her so easily.

She’d known he’d changed though. It was no surprise. “I did not have to come to London to hear his reputation. The gossip sheets have been full of tales about him for years, Violet. I know what he’s become. You do not need to warn me. But he was like a brother to me as a child.” She could not think him callous.

“A brother?” Violet challenged with another laugh.

“And later, a good friend,” Jane redefined at Violet’s dismissive hand gesture.

“A good friend who is a good kisser, no? You did not look at all like brother and sister from my bedroom window last night. You looked thoroughly kissed, and he looked—”

“I—” Jane again sought to deny it, but Violet stopped her, lifting her hand.

“Never mind, Jane. I am only teasing you. You do not need to justify yourself to me.” Then with a smile she asked, “Well, then, what shall we do today? Lord Sparks has invited us to the horse races, if you would like to go?”

Jane smiled and nodded. Most of their days had been spent visiting or shopping. Watching the races would be a novelty. It might even stimulate her mind to think of something other than Robert.

~

Jane wished she’d found an excuse to cry off and stay at Violet’s as she walked beside her friend and Lord Sparks. Lord Sparks was naming the horses as they passed them, while Jane’s eyes were drawn forward for the umpteenth time to the couple strolling some distance ahead. The Earl of Barrington’s broad, muscular back dominated her view, and his arm embraced Lady Baxter, his fingers gripping the woman’s waist.

It was torture, watching them. Jane felt a fool.

Robert had not once turned back as they progressed, but Jane would swear he knew she was there.

He leaned and whispered something to his companion.

Jane felt herself blush and looked at Lord Sparks, trying to focus on his explanation. She felt as if she was intruding on Violet and her lover, though. Violet’s hands were wrapped about Lord Sparks's forearm as they walked, and her attention was all for her beau.

Jane tipped her head back to see beyond the rim of her black bonnet, and looked up at the blue sky.

A single, wispy, white cloud hung above her. The rest of the sky was clear.

She really did not wish to watch Robert pawing the blonde woman in front of her.

Taking a deep breath, she shut her eyes for a moment, begging for patience and sanity, or, at least, a little common sense. She could not allow Robert to unsettle her. She had enough things to worry about without adding to her woes.

So, last night, he had chosen her over Lady Baxter, and now, he was merely gathering up loose ends. No doubt he was angry because Jane had walked away. Well, she had not come to town for an affair. She’d come to escape Joshua, and certainly not to find Robert.

Her heart clenched. She’d thought she’d conquered this pain long ago. She stubbornly thrust it aside and opened her eyes.

She was a long way behind Violet and Lord Sparks. Instead of following, she turned towards the horses. If she must feel alone in a crowded place, she may as well be alone.

A black mare whinnied in Jane’s direction, pitching up her muzzle for attention. A young groom stood beside the horse. Jane walked over, answering the mare’s call, and touched its muzzle.

It was a beautiful animal. She kissed its velvet cheek, and the mare’s nostrils flared. “You’re a beauty, aren’t you?” she whispered.

The horse whickered, pushing its head gently against Jane. She gripped the loop of the bit at the edge of the horse’s mouth and looked into the animal’s large, dark eye. “Now, what did Lord Sparks say they called you?”

“Her name is Minstrel, Ma’am,” the young groom acknowledged, bowing briefly. Then he smiled. “I helped to train her.”

“And is she a good runner?” Jane’s hand fell on the animal’s flank.

“Oh aye, Ma’am, she’s a real fine, fast runner.”

“Then you would recommend I put my stake on her?”

“My Lord said she’ll win us a fortune, Ma’am.”

Jane smiled, but the boy’s gaze had passed across her shoulder.

“Billy, get Minstrel walking.”

Jane’s hands fell, and she turned to face Robert. He looked surprised at first, but then there was pleasure on his face. His hand lifted and removed his hat, and he bowed. Jane looked beyond him for Lady Baxter. She was nowhere near.

“Your Grace,” Robert said, straightening up again. “Are you interested in my horse?”

“Your horse?” Jane felt the rush of gaucheness, again.

She was no Lady Baxter. Jane was unpolished in comparison and drab in her blacks, like a sparrow to a peacock, and yet, last night, he had chosen to take her home.

“Yes.” He reached across her and stroked the mare. “Minstrel. We’ve high hopes for her. Have we not, Billy?”

“Oh aye, my Lord.” The young groom glowed, clearly thrilled by Robert’s attention. “Her Grace was going to put down a stake. I said Minstrel’s a safe bet.”

“As safe as ever a bet can be,” Robert expanded with a smile, but his brow furrowed then. “How did you get here?”

He had not known she was here then. She was unsure if it made observing his flirtation better or worse. If he had not been lavishing his attention on Lady Baxter to rile Jane, then his attentions had been genuinely bestowed. Which was worse?

“Lord Sparks invited Lady Rimes. I came with them.” Her heart raced. “I should go back. They’ll be looking for me.”

“I’ll walk with you.” His words were a statement, not an offer. He held out his arm. She did not take it. She was too out of charity with him today.

“I can manage alone.”

“But you need not.” He blocked her path as she moved. “You do not have to take my arm if you don’t wish to, but allow me to escort you, Jane.”

His behaviour angered her. He acted as though nothing had occurred last night, and as though nothing had occurred today, as though Lady Baxter had not recently been acting brazen beside him. Jane brushed past him and strode away, but her pace was hindered by the dense, spongy grass.

“Jane!” He was at her side and speaking in a fast, sharp whisper as he bent towards her. “I am sorry for what happened last night. I realise it was wrong of me to assume … ” He stopped speaking as they passed two men, and she glanced up at him, only to feel the full force of his charm as he smiled. “I should not have expected it of you so soon.”

She was astonished. Did he think if he’d taken longer, she would have let him progress? Of course, it was nothing to do with her feelings and all to do with his mastery. “Women are not mares to be coaxed across the last fence, my Lord, which is what you seem to think. And may I ask; where is your companion, Lady Baxter?”

He looked dumbstruck for a moment, but only a moment. Almost immediately, he was back in control, and a bark of laughter escaped his throat. “So, that is it, is it, Jane? You’re jealous.”

She realised, from the sudden bright knowing look in his eyes, he was not just speaking of today. He understood her words too well. He was thinking of last night.

“Well, sorry, Jane. I apologise for having a life after you. What did you expect? That, while you made merry with Sutton’s wealth and status, I would twiddle my thumbs and wait for you, counting the days until the old man croaked? No, Jane. I moved on.”

She opened her mouth, but had nothing to say. She could not explain to him in a single sentence how she had felt forced to take Sutton. Or how she had stood and watched him, Robert, the man she loved, ride away, and felt her heart leave with him, nor how she had cried herself to sleep for years, longing for him. And anyway, that Robert was in the past. This one would not even wish to know.

“I have nothing to say to you,” she snapped and turned away. She walked hastily, but her foot caught on an uneven bulge of grass, and her ankle twisted. He caught her arm and stopped her fall.

His touch engendered a memory of the night before. She did not welcome it.

He bent to her ear, just as she had seen him do to Lady Baxter, and whispered, “Then what was last night about?”

“Last night was nothing but nostalgia and an appalling mistake.” She pulled her arm free then hurried away, gratefully hearing him delayed by an acquaintance while she was absorbed in the jostling crowd as people moved forward to watch the race.

Jane looked up and saw Violet with Lord Sparks in his box and hoped the crush would deter Robert. But glancing back, she saw him a few feet behind her, still following. She strode the last few yards with unladylike haste and quickly climbed the steps of the box, hoping Robert would give up the chase.

“I was about to send Lord Sparks to look for you,” Violet chimed as the footman opened the gate. “Where on earth did you get to? Oh … ” She stopped.

“Her Grace was admiring the form of my mare.” Robert’s slow drawling tone rose from behind Jane. “Did you wish to lay a bet, Your Grace? I would be happy to take it for you before you miss your chance.”

Jane turned and gave him a false smile. “I believe Lady Baxter is waving to you, my Lord. Perhaps you ought to return to your companion?”

He looked amused, while Jane wished for a hole to jump into.

“Lady Baxter is quite able to cope without me for a little while longer. She is with friends. Would you like me to take your bet or not, Your Grace?” She wanted to say not, but before Violet and Lord Sparks it would seem churlish.

Her fingers shaking, blushing again, she lifted the reticule which hung from her wrist, but Robert’s hand lay over hers then. “Simply tell me how much. We may settle up later.”

“Five pounds, that’s all,” she acknowledged.

His hand lifted, but as it did, he leaned forward and whispered, “I asked Lady Baxter a week ago. It would have been cruel to withdraw the invitation now. I may have the right to be angry at you, but still, I find I would not wish to see you upset for the world. Enjoy the race, Your Grace. Minstrel shall not let you down.” The last words were voiced loudly as he stepped back. Then he turned and walked away.

Disgusted with herself, Jane took her seat on the other side of Lord Sparks to Violet and accepted the opera glasses the footman passed her to enable her to see the horses in more detail as they raced. The animals were already being led into the traces. She looked through the glasses and watched for a moment, but could not resist the urge to turn them on the other boxes. She spotted Lady Baxter, then followed the direction of her gaze to see Robert transferring the bet.

His expression was stiff, masked. He turned back towards the boxes and began walking. He smiled, Jane presumed, at Lady Baxter, and lifted a hand.

Jane turned the glasses onto the group within his box. They were mostly men, but there were three women. They all seemed in high spirits.

What Robert had said was true, of course. He hadn’t even known Jane was in London when he’d courted Lady Baxter. Yet the thought of him with another woman made Jane’s skin crawl. She hated Lady Baxter for no good reason at all. Well, that, Jane had best get used to. If his reputation was true, there were hundreds of other women, and there would be hundreds more. Perhaps coming to London had been a mistake.

“Forgive me for intruding, Your Grace, but you are being a little obvious.” Lord Sparks’s whispered baritone made her jump, and her hand dropped to her lap, the weight of the glasses resting on her thigh. His eyes were laughing. “If you will permit me?” He pointed towards the course. “The horses are in that direction. But, of course, if you are weighing up the potential of another type of stallion … ”

Again, Jane blushed. She had done nothing but blush today, and she was unable to offer any response. Her eyes involuntarily lifted to the box across the green, from which she heard a burst of raucous laughter as the Earl of Barrington climbed up.

Blushing more strongly, she turned her eyes to the race and sought to hide behind the rim of her bonnet. Another laugh rang out. She could not help it, she turned back. She could see enough without the glasses to know Robert was looking in her direction, along with half the men in his group.

A slight, deep laugh erupted beside her. Lord Sparks had followed the direction of her gaze once more. She felt his gloved hand cover hers, which over-tightly gripped the glasses in her lap.

“Barrington is not the sort to kiss and tell, if that is what you are worrying over.”

Her gaze spun to Lord Sparks. She surely could not be any redder. “You know?” Her whisper was half question, half accusation, at the thought that Robert had told him.

He let go of her hand. “I was with Violet when you returned.”

Jane was mortified, if only the ground would swallow her whole. To think Violet had been – while Jane had refused. “We did not—”

“It is none of my business, if you did. Really, Your Grace, I do not care. I only meant to reassure.”

“I have warned her,” Violet piped up, leaning across Lord Sparks. “I told you Barrington is an out and out bounder, Jane. He is playing you off against that woman.”

“He is not so bad, Vi. If the Dowager Duchess likes him—”

Violet visibly bristled. “I know he is your friend, and I know your sister’s silly theory about his broken heart, but that man has no heart.”

“As you may tell,” Lord Sparks laughed, glancing back at Jane, “Violet is very opinionated on the subject of Lord Barrington. She disapproves of our friendship.”

“You may have whom you like as your friend. It is what he does to mine I care about. He is callous. Anyway, Jane, you have done what you have done, and that will be an end to it in any case.”

A shot rang out, setting the horses underway, and any thought of their conversation was lost as the crowd began to yell for the various horses. Jane lifted her glasses to her eyes and saw the black mare. The jockey was in the colours of the Barrington’s livery, maroon and cream, and his short whip tapped regularly at the animal’s rump, driving the mare on.

The horse was a dream. She flew through the rest of the field, her head down and focused as though she enjoyed the sheer thrill of the race. When she stretched over the finishing line, Jane could not help but cheer, and turned to see pandemonium break out in Robert’s box. Robert was gifting Lady Baxter with a very thorough kiss.

Jane’s gaze spun back to the course. Violet was right. It was silly to think of yesterdays. What Jane had longed for in the past could not come true now. She pressed her fingers to her right temple and felt a pounding pain commence in her head.

~

“Enough. Why not go and look over the animals for the next race with Lord Franklin? I am sure he would escort you.” Robert slipped Lady Baxter’s arms from about his neck and set the woman away gently, ignoring her pout.

Lord Franklin heard his name and glanced over with a knowing smile, then offered the lady his arm.

She conceded and went off with Robert’s friend with a flounce and a lifted chin, sidling close to Franklin in an obvious ploy to make Robert jealous.

It was pointless. He’d had his fill of her. He never bent to feminine games unless it suited his own aims. He was not, in general, a man led by his emotions. His desire for women was a mental game. The pumping organ in his chest was a cold and empty thing. Women, in general, did not affect it. He crossed his arms over his chest and watched Lady Baxter walk away.

Yesterday, he would have welcomed her fawning as a mark of his success, but today, it was cloying.

She had not accepted his desertion last night gracefully though. She’d been angry this morning, but despite that, the woman was not to be set off lightly. She was blatantly throwing herself at him now because she’d divined his interest was fading. More fool her. She’d clearly learned nothing about him. It would only put him off. It also convinced him that her previous disinclination had been a foil. She’d taken two weeks to woo, but now, he suspected, she’d never been disinclined, only hoping to snare him for longer than a brief affair. A game he was learning to be wary of.

He did not deliberately avoid long-term relationships. On the continent he’d had several.

A smile pulled at his lips when he remembered the opera singer in Rome. Then there was his widow in Venice. They’d taught him much of women. He’d learned many skills in his dissipated years abroad. It had changed him from a naïve and greedy youth, hungry for everything and anything that filled and fuelled his violently empty soul, to a connoisseur who liked to savour stimulation. Gluttony was no longer to his taste. He enjoyed relishing every morsel. Sadly, he just hadn’t found a woman who held his interest in a while. His eyes strayed towards Sparks’s box. And no woman had ever truly filled the void. Not since Jane. That damn woman had tainted everything beyond her, and now he’d seen and savoured an appetizer of the original woman he judged all others by, he’d lost his hunger for anything else again. He wanted her.

His stare reached to where she sat and caught her gaze. Instantly, she looked away in an obvious attempt to pretend she had not been watching. Her face now hidden behind the broad rim of her black bonnet, he turned fully in her direction and rested his gloved hands on the rail, making no secret of his contemplation.

Her slender, black-clad figure was tense. She was, perhaps, nervous. She probably knew he was still looking. Well, she deserved a little discomfort. He smiled.

When she’d suggested their assignation, he’d assumed she was fast, and she’d be eager, but in his chamber, she’d seemed hesitant. Yet her responses had been beautiful, real, honest, and open in a way he was unused to.

She’d let her defences fall last night. It had been all he’d anticipated.

He leaned forward onto his elbows and tipped the brim of his hat a little lower, hiding his gaze.

She was peeved because his attentions had been planned for Lady Baxter, yes, but from the way she’d looked at him just a moment ago, he would make a fair guess she was jealous, too. Well, jealousy was a useful tool.

She’d changed. But then, so had he. What to make of it? That was the question. All he knew at this moment was she piqued his interest, and he was unwilling to simply let her shrug him off. When he’d first seen her last night, the anger, which had driven his desire for self-destruction in the early years of his life after Jane, had fired up again within his gut. But equally, there had been a deep-seated need for her.

She had been everything to him once. He couldn’t say if it made him glad to have her so close, or if he wished to see her suffer by his hand in exchange for the harm she’d done him. Tangled emotions had disturbed his sleep and still tormented him, conflicting tumultuous and dissipated desires.

Jane was the only woman who could make his heart pump harder, and the one thing he knew was she could hurt him. He could not dispel her from his mind now any more easily than he had been able to dispel her from his heart years before.

He stood up again with a self-deprecating sigh, and his fingers touched the betting slip in his pocket. He had an excuse to call on her. Perhaps he would explore what he felt for her. He’d learned to enjoy the pleasure of the wooing as much as the winning, the art of it and the power in persuasion. That was his true vice. He liked very much to feel a woman succumb and submit and mould to his will. Once she was tame, usually his interest waned. But there was still a lot of pleasure to be found in Jane, no matter which direction this led.

Jane knew he was watching her. She could sense his gaze like a dagger piercing between her shoulder blades.

Her fingers pressed to her temple as she tried to quell the ache in her head, and her heart would not cease racing.

She’d seen him pull Lady Baxter loose and the woman walk away with another gentleman. Even from a distance, Jane could tell from Lady Baxter’s movements she had not been happy.

Why had Robert cast off Lady Baxter?

Had he done it because he’d known it was upsetting her?

Jane tried to watch the next race, but felt too angry to pay attention. She should not care what the villain did. He was not for her. No man was. Her future life was solitary. That was what she longed and prayed for, just some peace. Robert would not even wish to be a part of it.

Still she sensed him staring, and a long breath escaped her lips.

She felt so out of control. She’d held so many hopes for her life after Hector. She’d imagined she could, at last, do as she willed. All she wished for was a simple life, friendships, and mundane pursuits. Normality was a treasure she’d ached for for years. She’d thought Hector’s loss would release her from her loneliness, but even in Violet’s company, the loneliness had not abated. There was that stupid Robert-shaped hole in her life again. She had enough to worry over, fending off Joshua. She did not need to become embroiled in Robert’s games as well. The only thing she was certain of regarding Robert was he was trouble.

Jane endured two more races, refusing to look in Robert’s direction again, the ache in her head intensifying with every moment.

Then Violet commented on her silence.

Jane gave up the pretence. The headache was unbearable, and she could not go on.

When she asked if they could leave, Violet was all concern, and Jane felt awful for dragging her friend away.

On the drive home, Lord Sparks and Violet chattered merrily as Violet gripped his arm, and Jane pretended to sleep.

When they reached Violet’s, Jane retired immediately and curled up on her bed. She felt so alone. She had been alone for so many years, from the moment she’d watched Robert ride away. But it had never cut her as deeply as now.

Unable to cry because coping was too ingrained, yet unable to sleep either, her thoughts reeled with recent and distant memories of Robert.

The longing in her heart was for a home, somewhere safe and comforting she could retreat to, but nowhere was safe, thanks to Joshua. There was nowhere to hide away from the pain of meeting Robert again. Oh, she just wished she could die, but then that would let Joshua win, and what she wanted most of all was to fight back against the Suttons. The last Duke had stolen half her life. She would not give the other half to his son. She would suffer anything to ensure Joshua did not win. That was the one decision she could make. It was the only control she had. She would not run, and nor would she let him win, which meant she must also keep coming face-to-face with Robert.

~

Looking in the mirror, Robert admired the cravat his valet, Archer, had deftly tied, and smiled, a mocking twist on his lips. His fingers swept back his fringe. He was a handsome devil. The knowledge boosted his confidence.

Women adored him. Well, every bloody woman except the one he’d wished to keep. His smile turned to a sneer for his reflection.

What did his looks count for? In this respect, not a thing.

He slipped his arms into the black evening coat Archer held up.

Edward, Robert’s younger brother, would call Robert vain to the point of arrogant. Robert preferred to think of his appreciation of his looks as a desire for perfection. To which Edward would say, “more like perversity”.

A self-deprecating laugh escaped Robert’s throat as Archer slid Robert’s coat onto his shoulders.

Robert slipped each button into place himself, while Archer swept a fleck of dust from the shoulder.

“You are in good humor tonight, my Lord.”

Robert smiled again. Archer had been with him through his adolescent and maturing years abroad. The man was a saint, and sinner too, and a godsend. Archer could be counted on for anything. The man was Robert’s right arm, his co-conspirator, and, at times, his saviour.

“I am, Archer,” he answered, giving the man a wicked grin and patting his shoulder.

He knew what Archer was asking. Would there be a lady returning on his arm tonight? Somehow, Robert doubted it, not unless Jane could be persuaded, but, after last night, he thought it unlikely.

“I believe I am a-wooing, Archer. With a lonely night ahead.”

The valet nodded, and the look in his eye told Robert, Archer had his own wooing to do.

“You may have the night off. I’ll not need you again.” If Robert’s luck did come in by some remote chance, he could manage alone. Jane was clearly not a woman who appreciated frills and fuss. He suddenly remembered her excitement over bluebells in the woods at Farnborough when they’d been young. She’d been easily pleased then.

A smile still playing on his lips, Robert left the room.

He felt a sense of purpose he’d not known in ages, and blood pumped into his veins.

Yes, this was what he enjoyed, the invigorating pleasure of the chase.