Читать книгу Rules of Engagement: The Reasons for Marriage - Stephanie Laurens - Страница 9

BY THE TIME Lenore learned of her brothers’ plans for that evening it was too late to circumvent them. She entered the drawing-room, her usual serenity under threat by the thought of what might occur once the assembled company, growing hourly more relaxed, embarked on an impromptu programme of musical events. Her brothers, she was well aware, could draw upon a large stock of ribald ditties; quite how she was to keep them sufficiently in line cast the shadow of a frown on her face.

Eversleigh noticed. When he came to claim her for dinner, Lenore detected the ghost of a smile and a faint questioning lift to his brows.

“I confess to being curious, Miss Lester, as to what fell occurrence has succeeded in marring your calm.”

“It is nothing, Your Grace. Pray disregard my megrims.”

Jason threw her a glance of haughty superiority. “Permit me to inform you, my dear, that I have no wish whatever to overlook anything that brings a frown to your fair face.”

His bombastic tone had the desired effect. Lenore’s lips twitched. “If you must know, I am not entirely at ease over my brothers’ plans for us to entertain ourselves with musical renderings.”

A chuckle greeted her admission. “Confess that it is not our talents that concern you so much as the posible choice of subject and I’ll undertake to quell the high spirits of those of the company inclined to excess. Or,” he amended, as they came to a halt beside her chair, “at least keep them within the pale.”

Frowning openly, Lenore looked into his eyes, remembering her last bargain with him. “I am not sure that you can do so, Your Grace.”

“Doubts, Miss Lester?” Jason allowed his brows to rise in mock offence. Then he smiled. “Relax, my dear, and let me handle the matter.” When the footman drew out her chair, Lenore sat and settled her skirts, casting a puzzled glance at Eversleigh. As he moved to take his own seat on her right, Jason cocked a brow at her, his smile impossible to deny. “If you want to muzzle licentious behaviour, who better to turn to than a rake?”

Unable to find an acceptable answer, Lenore gave her attention to her soup.

When the company adjourned en masse to the music-room, set at the rear of the house, Lenore found Eversleigh by her side. “Invite the Melton sisters to play.” Together, they strolled into the large room. “I take it you play the pianoforte yourself?”

“Yes,” Lenore replied, wariness echoing in her voice. “But I don’t sing.” Her escort merely smiled his charming smile and escorted her to a seat in the front row. To her surprise, he sat beside her, stretching his long legs before him, giving every evidence of honouring the proceeding with his full attention. Lenore eyed him suspiciously.

His plan turned out to be simplicity itself. At his urging, Lenore invited one after another of the more youthful of the ladies to play or sing. Lady Henslaw, a matron with a distinctly racy reputation, followed Lady Hattersley. Under Eversleigh’s gaze, Lady Henslaw preened, then gave a surprisingly pure rendition of an old country air. The applause, led by Eversleigh, left her ladyship with a smile on her face. Mrs. Ellis followed, with a predictably innocent song. She was supplanted by Mrs. Cronwell, who, not to be outdone in maidenly accomplishment, played a stately minuet with real flair.

From the corner of her eye, Lenore saw her brother Harry shift in his seat. Jason saw it too. “Harry next.”

Lenore turned to him, consternation in her eyes. “I do not think that would be wise, Your Grace.”

Jason dropped his gaze to her face. He smiled, confidence lighting his eyes. “Trust me, Miss Lester.”

With a sigh, Lenore turned and summoned Harry. Her brother stood and strolled forward, his walk just short of a swagger. Taking his stance in front of the audience, he drew breath, his eyes scanning the expectant faces before him. Harry blinked. Shifting his stance, he swept the audience again, then, with a slight frown, he waved at Amelia. “Come accompany me, coz.”

Without fuss, Amelia went to the piano stool. The song Harry chose was a jaunty shanty, boisterous but in no way ineligible.

To Lenore’s relief, her brother appeared gratified by the thunderous applause that crowned his performance.

“Ask Frederick Marshall.” Lenore turned at the whispered command. Raising her brows in question, she was treated to a look of bland innocence. “He sings very well,” was all the explanation she received.

That proved to be no more than the truth. With Amelia at the keys, Mr. Marshall’s light baritone wended its harmonious way through one of the bardic tales, holding the audience enthralled. The tumultuous applause at the end of the piece was entirely spontaneous. The performers exchanged a delighted smile.

“Try Miss Whitticombe next.”

Lenore reacted immediately, no longer doubting her mentor’s wisdom. Miss Whitticombe held the dubious distinction of being the only unmarried female guest. A plain girl, she had accompanied her mother, a dashing widow. Miss Whitticombe opted for the harp, proving to be more competent than inspired. Nevertheless, her effort was well received.

“Now Jack.”

Lenore had to turn in her seat to locate her eldest brother. He stood at the back of the room, shoulders propped against the wall, a look of thinly disguised boredom on his face. Lenore waved to attract his attention. “Jack?” Even from across the room, she saw his eyes narrow as he straightened, then flick from her to Eversleigh and back again.

“No, no, my dear. It’s you who should do the honours of the house.” A smile Lenore knew boded her no good appeared on her sibling’s face. “I suggest a duet. The gentleman beside you will no doubt be happy to join you.”

Stunned but far too experienced to show it, Lenore turned to Eversleigh. He met her wide eyes with a charming smile and a graceful gesture to the piano. “Are you game, Miss Lester?”

There was no escape, Lenore saw that instantly. Not sure whose neck she wished to wring, Eversleigh’s or Jack’s, she allowed Eversleigh to draw her to her feet and escort her to the instrument. A sotto voce conference decided the piece, a gentle ballad she felt confident she could manage. Fingers nimble on the keys, Lenore commenced the introduction, distractedly aware of the odd beat of her heart and of Eversleigh standing close behind her.

Afterwards, she could remember little of their performance, but she knew she sang well, her voice lifting easily over Eversleigh’s bass. Her contralto was not as well tutored as Amelia’s sweet soprano, but, against Eversleigh’s powerful voice, it struck the right chord. The final note resonated through the room, their voices in perfect harmony. Clapping burst forth. Eversleigh’s fingers closed about her hand. He raised her to stand beside him, his eyes, clear grey, smiling into hers.

“A most memorable moment, my dear. Thank you.”

For one long instant, Lenore stared up into his eyes, sure he was going to kiss her fingertips, as he had once before. Instead, his gaze shifted to the watching crowd. Still smiling, he placed her hand on his sleeve.

Deflated, then troubled by the sudden sinking of her spirits, Lenore sighted Smithers with the tea-trolley. She excused herself to Eversleigh, murmuring her thanks for her relief, then forged a determined path through her guests to the relative safety of the teacups. She was grateful to Eversleigh for his assistance, but, in the interests of her own peace of mind, she would be wise to spend much less time in his company.

THE NEXT DAY, Wednesday, dawned bright and clear, with just a touch of mist about the lake. To Lenore’s surprise the mild entertainment of the previous evening had engendered a milder attitude among the guests. Everyone seemed more relaxed, ready to trade easy smiles and light conversation in place of the artfully pointed banter and arch looks of the preceding days.

The majority of the ladies had made a pact to attend breakfast in the sunny downstairs parlour. While their appearance initially raised a good many male brows, surprise rapidly faded as the company settled into informal groups about the long board, the ladies, sipping tea and nibbling thin slices of toast, interspersed with the gentlemen, most of whom had made extensive forays among the covered dishes on the sideboard. The talk revolved around possible excursions to fill the afternoon. The gentlemen had already decided on an inspection of the Hall’s closer coverts while the morning air was still crisp.

Hovering by the laden side-table, Lenore kept a watchful eye on her charges, ensuring that the younger, less confident ladies encountered no difficulties. Thus far, no contretemps had marred the pleasantry; her hopes were rising that, despite her brothers’ inventiveness, the week would pass off more smoothly than she had thought. Assured that all was well, she picked up a plate and helped herself to an assortment of delicacies from beneath the silver domes.

As she was turning away, Amelia came to the sideboard, Frederick Marshall by her side. Her cousin was a picture in a peach-coloured morning gown, her cheeks aglow, her manner slightly flustered. Lenore hesitated, then, with a gracious smile, she nodded her good mornings and left them.

She turned to find a place at the table and was immediately conscious of Eversleigh’s grey gaze. He was seated on the opposite side of the table, one long-fingered hand draped over the back of the vacant chair beside him. He was talking to Lord Holyoake but his eyes were on her.

The compulsion to round the table and take the seat she knew would be instantly offered her was strong. With determined calm, Lenore opted to fill the empty place at the foot of the table, smiling at Mrs. Whitticombe and Lady Henslaw on her left, smoothly joining in their conversation. She studiously avoided looking Eversleigh’s way but she could feel his gaze, amused, she was sure, rambling openly over the plain brown pinafore she had donned over a long-sleeved white shirt and green cambric skirt.

She told herself she was relieved when he made no move to speak with her. He did, however, catch her eye when she looked up as the gentlemen rose. To her chagrin, she could not wrench her eyes from his smile as he approached and paused by her chair.

“Good morning, Miss Lester.” Jason’s gaze lifted to include her companions. “Ladies.”

With a graceful nod, he acknowledged their ladyships’ bright good mornings and Lenore’s more subdued greeting before joining the male exodus to the gun-room. Behind him, Lenore frowned at her toast, annoyed that a mere “good morning” should leave her feeling as flustered as Amelia had looked. His Grace of Eversleigh was only being polite.

As the ladies were content to spend the morning ambling about the extensive gardens, gathering their energies for a visit to a nearby folly, the chosen distraction for the afternoon, Lenore took refuge in the library.

The Assyrians, unfortunately, had lost their appeal. She was worrying over her sudden lack of interest in a topic that a week ago had held her enthralled when Amelia came through the door. Her cousin’s expression was pensive; with an abstracted smile she came forward to settle with a rustle of skirts on the windowseat close to Lenore’s desk. Lenore watched her in silence, swivelling her chair to face her.

Amelia heaved a heavy sigh. “I’m in a fix, Lenore.” Frowning, she slanted Lenore a worried glance. “Do you know how to attract a gentleman?”

Lenore’s brows flew. “Attract a gentleman? I thought your problem was to repel them.”

“Precisely,” Amelia agreed. “I’ve experience aplenty in that. Which is probably why I find I haven’t the first idea of how to accomplish the other.”

“But … why?”

Amelia looked slightly sheepish but, at the same time, quite determined. “It’s Mr. Marshall,” she confessed. “I’ve discovered he has no … no predatory instincts whatsoever. Oh, Lenore!” Amelia rounded on her cousin, brown eyes alight, her hands clasped before her. “It’s so pleasant to be treated as if my wishes were all that mattered. I feel so safe, so comfortable with Frederick.”

Lenore’s eyes widened. “Frederick?”

Amelia waved her hands dismissively. “There’s no sense in beating about the bush, Lenore. I want to encourage Frederick to think of me in a more personal way. But how does one accomplish such a delicate task without …” Amelia’s pert nose wrinkled in distaste. “Well, without giving an impression no true lady would wish to give.”

When her cousin looked at her, clearly expecting an answer, Lenore spread her hands helplessly. “I’m the last person to ask such a question, Amelia. I’ve not the slightest idea how to advise you.”

But Amelia was adamant. “Nonsense. You’re considered by all to be a most intelligent woman, Lenore. If you would only put your mind to it, I’m sure you’d be able to give me at least a hint of how to proceed.”

Lenore frowned but dutifully turned her mind to the task. “I suppose,” she eventually said, “if you were to encourage him to be with you, by your side as much as possible, he might at least understand that you enjoyed and specifically wished for his company.”

“That would certainly be a start.” Amelia’s gentle features were overlaid by an air of determination. “And the more time I spend talking with him, the more opportunity I’ll have to … to nudge his mind in the right direction. But I must make a start immediately or I’ll run out of time.”

Lenore looked her question.

Amelia cast her a distracted look. “Rothesay.” When Lenore showed no sign of enlightenment, Amelia patiently explained, “Frederick is sure to accompany Eversleigh back to London at the end of the week. Given their friendship, it’s only to be expected that Frederick will be on hand to support Eversleigh through the mêlée which is bound to engulf him immediately he sets foot in town. After being held at bay for so long, the matchmaking mamas are bound to descend with a vengeance. So, you see, I expect I’ll have to return to town rather than go on to Aunt Mary in Bath. But I would rather not risk Rothesay without knowing there was at least some purpose to the exercise.”

“And if Mr. Marshall shows interest, you’ll risk a confrontation with the viscount?”

Amelia looked out of the window at the sunlight dancing on the smooth surface of the lake. Then she sighed and turned to Lenore, an expression compounded of loneliness and hope on her face. “If Frederick shows any real interest, I believe I’d brave the very fires of hell for a chance of happiness.”

The deep yearning in her cousin’s voice shocked Lenore. She felt an echo deep inside, a reverberation, like a heavy gong clanging, the pure sound of the truth she was trying to deny. Abruptly rising, she crossed to put her arms about Amelia. She gave her cousin a quick hug. “I wish you luck in your endeavour, my dear.”

As she looked down at Amelia’s determined face, Lenore felt a host of emotions, hitherto steadfastly suppressed, well up and tumble forth into her consciousness where she could no longer ignore them. The bursting of the dam left her shaken but she pinned an encouraging smile on her lips as Amelia rose.

Slipping her arms about Lenore’s slender waist, Amelia returned her hug. “I’m going to put your advice into practice immediately. As Frederick will not pursue me, I shall simply have to pursue him.” She headed for the door, pausing at the last to add, “In a perfectly ladylike way, of course.”

Lenore laughed, wondering just how much encouragement Frederick Marshall would need. Before she had decided the point, her own thoughts claimed her.

She did not get back to the Assyrians.

LUNCHEON WAS A noisy affair, full of chatter and laughter. Almost all the guests had relaxed, letting down the formal barriers. They congregated by the lake, where the meal was laid out on a long trestle, small tables and checkered rugs scattered over the lush grass by the lake’s edge. With Smithers and his cohorts in attendance to supply whatever their hearts desired, the company split into transitory groups, the members moving freely from one to the next. The fare was light, as befitted the scene, a succession of delicacies culminating in the season’s first strawberries, served with clotted cream.

“A tour de force, my dear. Your strawberries were delicious.”

Lenore turned to face Eversleigh, ignoring the odd leap of her pulses as she read the appreciation in his eyes. “Thank you, Your Grace. We have an excellent succession house.”

“I’m sure it is excellent, if it falls within your sphere.”

Lenore let that pass, merely inclining her head gracefully. She moved aside, so that he could join the circle of which she was a member. He did so, standing by her side to listen as the other members discussed the projected trip to the folly.

“Jack said it’s quite ancient,” Mrs. Whitticombe said.

“And covered with ivy,” Lady Henslaw added. “It sounds positively romantic. Harry said there was an old story about lovers using it as a trysting place.”

Lenore kept her lips firmly shut. Her brothers’ imagination had no limits. The old tower had been built as a lookout in the days of the Civil War. Nothing even remotely romantic had ever occurred there. The lower room, the only one large enough to hold more than one person, had been used as a cow byre until the ivy had claimed the structure. Still, the views from the vantage point were excellent; the company would not be disappointed.

“You must have visited this folly many times, Miss Lester. Are you fired with enthusiasm to see it again?”

Eversleigh’s quiet question drew Lenore out of the circle. Glancing up, she saw something in his grey eyes that caused her to inwardly quiver. Calmly she looked away, letting her gaze scan the rest of the company, before deliberately bringing it once more to his face. “I fear I would find the excursion somewhat tame, Your Grace. I think I’ll feed the carp in the pond at the centre of the maze.”

She dropped her gaze in a bid to appear unconscious, but could not resist glancing up through her lashes. Eversleigh’s gaze was on her face, his eyes gleaming silver. As she watched, a slight smile curved his lips. “Undoubtedly a more peaceful place to spend a glorious afternoon.”

Her heart skittering, Lenore hung on his next words. To her surprise, Eversleigh looked away.

Following his gaze, Lenore saw Jack approaching, clearly intent on speaking with Eversleigh. Having no desire to meet her eldest brother before he had had time to forget her interference in his plans of the night before, Lenore inclined her head to Eversleigh. With a murmured, “Your Grace,” she drifted away.

Jason let her go. The afternoon stretched before them and he had no wish for Jack to divine his interest. Not yet.

“You dog, Jason! What the devil did you mean by assisting Lenore with her little plan last night?”

Jason smiled. “Just to see how you would take it, why else?” His mocking gaze teased Jack. “Besides, your sister was right, if not for the right reasons. Look about you. How relaxed and unthreatened do you think these fair ladies would be feeling today if you and Harry had had your way?”

The comment caused Jack to pause, considering the unfettered gaiety about him.

“You really need to plan your campaigns a little more thoroughly,” Jason advised. “Take it from one who knows.”

Jack laughed. “Very well. I can hardly argue in the face of your experience. But after last night, I claim the right to another touch at you over the billiard table. Harry’ll take this crowd on to the folly. We can have our game, then follow on later.”

Jason inclined his head. “An excellent idea.”

Ten feet away, ostensibly listening to Lady Hattersley describe the folly on her family’s estate, Lenore burned, disappointment, anger and an odd species of shame consuming her. With her usual serene mask firmly in place, she forced herself to wait until Eversleigh’s tall figure had disappeared into the house beside Jack before, excusing herself to her guests, she headed for the kitchens. This time, her brother could pay his own debts.

She left the house ten minutes later, a basket of breadcrumbs on her arm. She had considered immersing herself in the Assyrians in an effort to reignite her interest but the day was too glorious to spend indoors and the carp did, in fact, need feeding. Leaving the terrace, she headed for the maze, sited amid a series of informal gardens, designed to lead from one to the other, each with a different feature. The Hall was surrounded by well-tended vistas, with the lake and surrounding lawns before it, the formal parterres and rose garden to one side, the maze with the wilderness and shrubbery on the other. The extensive kitchen gardens and succession houses completed the circle.

As she crossed the first of the trio of gardens leading to the gateway to the maze, Lenore caught a glimpse of peach skirts in one of the interconnecting gardens to the side. A second glance revealed the dark coat of a gentleman hovering protectively. Despite her disgust with her own attempt at encouragement, Lenore sent a wish for success winging her cousin’s way before plunging on towards the pool at the centre of the maze.

Once there, she slumped into an untidy heap by the pool’s edge, uncaring of her skirts, and settled the basket beside her. As she started flicking crumbs to the ravenous fish, the iniquity of her position engulfed her.

What had possessed her to surrender to the promptings of her unexpected feelings and issue an invitation to Eversleigh? Admittedly he was no threat to her, given that he would be leaving on Saturday morning to return to town and offer for some simpering ninny, diamond of the first water though she might be. It would undoubtedly be a fitting fate for His Grace. Quite why she should feel disillusioned by the prospect eluded her. Beneath her self-imposed calm she was honest enough to recognise a yearning to experience, just once, the thrill other women felt, the thrill to which they became so disastrously addicted. She had felt the first glimmerings, the skittering sensations which prickled along her nerves whenever Eversleigh was near. Instinctively she had clamped down on her reactions; now she longed to set them free, just once, knowing she stood in no danger. Even if she fell under Eversleigh’s spell, he would not seduce her. She had seen the stern patriarch behind the rake’s mask; she was safe with him.

But was she safe from herself? Would she, too, succumb to love and leave herself open to the hurt that followed inexorably in its wake? Lenore shifted, frowning at the fat fish who rose to gobble her crumbs. Perhaps she should thank Eversleigh, and his liking for billiards, for denying her the chance of finding out?

Twenty minutes later, Jason headed for the maze, his mind entirely focused on the woman he was seeking. He did not delude himself that she had changed her stance on marriage but, given that she must by now know of his need to marry, her transparent invitation to spend time privately with her could only be interpreted as a wish to discuss the matter. He had hoped to make her question her views while at the same time reassuring her she had no reason to fear him; apparently he had succeeded. The small triumph made his steps more determined.

Her wish to remain unmarried was understandable. She had been permitted a great deal of independence and, given her undoubted intelligence, her freedom had become important to her. He intended reassuring her that an independent, intelligent woman need not fear marriage to him.

Indeed, with every passing day he became more certain of his choice. Lenore Lester would suit him very well. She fulfilled all his criteria and, if there was a deep inclination that could not readily be accounted for on that basis, he felt no pressing need to examine it. The fact was sufficient.

Once he had dispelled her reservations and reconstructed her vision of matrimony along the lines he had in mind, he had no doubt she would find no further reason to cavil.

Emerging from the twisting hedges of the maze, he found himself on a large square of lawn surrounding a rectangular pond. Edged with blocks of stone, the surface of the pool was carpeted with water lilies. Beside it, he sighted his quarry, idly flicking her fingers to the fish, who rose with ponderous dignity to her bait.

An entirely spontaneous smile curving his lips, he went forward to join her.

Lenore knew he was there when his shadow fell across the pool. Instantly her heart soared, all thoughts of stoic safety forgotten as the knowledge that he had, after all, accepted her invitation reverberated through her. Hurriedly she recalled her scattering senses, determined not to let him see how much he affected her. Calmly, she continued scattering crumbs to the gluttonous carp. “Good afternoon, Your Grace.”

Jason stopped beside her. “As I surmised, Miss Lester, this is a most peaceful spot.” His eyes rose to the high hedges that surrounded them. Given the absence of most of the party, there was little reason to fear interruption. Had he been intent on seduction, he could not have wished for a better setting.

“Would you care to feed the fish, Your Grace?” Lenore turned to look up at him, holding down the brim of her straw hat to shield her eyes against the glare.

“Not particularly.” Jason studied her face, then shifted his gaze to the large spotted fish swimming languidly back and forth before his prospective bride. “They look disgustingly over-indulged.”

Head on one side, Lenore studied the fish critically. “You’re right. Clearly they need no further sustenance.” She was dusting her fingers over the basket when Eversleigh’s large hand appeared before her. She glanced up, inwardly grimacing for, with the light behind him, she could not see his face.

For a moment, Jason said nothing, then, “Come. Sit with me in the sunshine.” Smoothly he drew her to her feet, inwardly assuring himself that she was too innocent to have understood the reason for his momentary silence. A wrought-iron seat graced one side of the lawn. Picking up her basket, Jason led her across the clipped grass.

Settling her skirts as she sank on to the seat, Lenore quelled an unexpected spurt of disappointment that her attire was not more elegant. It was strange enough that she was indulging her dreams, sitting here alone with Eversleigh. Her senses were already running riot, her awareness rising to unnerving heights. Only her conviction that no danger attended her departure from the strict bounds of conventional behaviour allowed her to sit calmly as he took his seat beside her.

“You will no doubt be pleased to learn that I did not vanquish Jack.”

“Indeed? You surprise me, Your Grace.” Lenore cast a speculative glance his way.

Jason smiled. “I let him win,” he admitted.

“Why?”

“It was faster. He has now taken himself off, thoroughly chuffed, to join the rest of the party.” He did not add that Jack had been highly suspicious about his stated intention to spend the afternoon practising over the green baize. “Tell me, my dear, do you have any interest in games of chance?”

“None whatsoever,” Lenore replied.

“How many games have you tried?”

Looking up, Lenore was forced to face his scepticism and confess to her ignorance. Not to be outdone, she promptly asked which games he favoured. The list was a long one, especially when he had to explain the features of each.

At the end of it, Lenore looked out over the pool and calmly observed, “With such diverse interests, you must spend much of your time in town at your clubs.”

Jason laughed. “I dare say it appears that way. But only in my youth did sitting up all night over the cards hold any temptation.” Slanting a glance at her profile, he added, “There are, after all, so many better ways to spend the time.”

“Indeed?” The face she turned to him was utterly innocent. “Do you attend the opera, then? Or perhaps the theatre is more to your taste?”

Jason’s eyes narrowed. It was on the tip of his tongue to retort that he had, at various times, found elements of interest at both the opera and theatre. Only a firm resolution to remain steadfastly correct in his dealings with his prospective bride kept him from calling her bluff. “I attend both, on occasion.”

“Have you seen Keane?” Lenore felt a peculiar thrill at having tempted the wolf and survived.

“Several times. He’s an excellent actor provided the part has scope for his talents.”

A discussion of the various theatres and the style of plays produced ensued, followed by a ruthlessly pointed examination of that other source of ton-ish entertainment, the Prince Regent.

“A keen mind utterly wasted,” was Jason’s scathing conclusion.

“Particularly given the opportunities he must have had.” Considering the facilities available to the Prince Regent. Lenore sighed. “Just being so close to all the bookshops would in itself be a boon to any scholar. I’d dearly love to have Hatchards within reach.”

Her pensive comment drew a searching glance from Jason. He had been patiently awaiting the right moment to introduce the topic of marriage, content to spend some time in idle chatter while she overcame her natural hesitancy. Stretching his long legs before him, he crossed his booted ankles, turning slightly so that he could keep her face in view. “Tell me, my dear, if you could design your own Utopia, what would you place within it?”

The unexpected question had Lenore turning to study his face, but she could see nothing beyond encouragement in his eyes. A strange recklessness had her in its grip; she felt no reticence in his presence and marvelled at the fact. It was a heady sort of freedom, knowing she was safe. Head on one side, she considered. “Gardens, certainly. Large gardens, like these.” With a wave of her hand, she indicated their surroundings. “So soothing to have a large garden to wander in. Tell me, Your Grace, do you wander your gardens frequently?”

Jason returned her smile. “I rarely need soothing. However,” he continued, “the gardens at the Abbey are similar to these, though not, I’m sorry to say, in such perfect state.”

“Your wife, no doubt, will remedy that.” Lenore shifted her gaze to the pool.

“So I sincerely hope,” Jason returned. “So, a garden and the staff to tend it. What else?”

“A house, of course. In the country.”

“Naturally. Sufficiently large and appropriately staffed. What of town?”

Lenore grimaced. “I admit that I’m curious to visit London, but the idea of living there does not entice.”

“Why not?”

“I hesitate to admit to such an unfashionable attitude but the thought of having to suffer society at large, as would be unavoidable should I take up residence in the capital, dissuades me from doing so.”

“I protest you do society a grave injustice, my dear. We’re not all fribbles and fops.”

“But this is my Utopia, remember?”

“Just so. So what else takes your fancy?”

“Well,” Lenore temporised, caught up in this strange game, “I enjoy acting as hostess at large gatherings—not much use having a large house and well-trained staff if one does not use them, after all.”

“Very true,” Jason agreed.

“I also enjoy my work among the folk on the estate. However, if this be Utopia, then I would rather not be in charge of the steward and bailiff.”

Jason merely nodded, foreseeing no problem there. The reins of his numerous estates were firmly in his grasp; he needed no help on that front. Remembering her studies, he asked, “What of entertainment? What features most in that sphere?”

“My library. I couldn’t live without my books.”

“The Abbey has an extensive library. My father was an invalid for some time and took delight in restocking it to the hilt.”

“Really?”

It was plain to the meanest intelligence that, of all the subjects they had touched upon, this was the one nearest her heart. Jason looked down into her green eyes and smiled. “There’s a huge range of classics as well as many newer volumes.”

“Have you had it catalogued?”

“Unfortunately not. My father died before he was able to attend to the matter.”

The realisation that she would never see his library dimmed Lenore’s excitement. “You should have it done,” she told him, looking forward once more.

When she remained silent, Jason prompted, “You haven’t mentioned people in this Utopia of yours—a husband and children to make your house a home?”

The question shook Lenore. From any other man she would have imagined the query to stem from mere supposition. But Eversleigh knew her mind on that subject. “I see no reason to complicate my life with a husband, Your Grace.”

“You’re an intelligent woman, Lenore. If a man were able to offer you all your heart desires, would you still not allow a husband into your life?”

Slowly, her heart thudding uncomfortably, Lenore turned to face him. A strange fear had seized her throat, making it difficult to breathe. “Why do you ask, Your Grace?” He was still sitting at his ease beside her, his large frame relaxed, one arm stretched along the back of the wrought-iron seat. But the expression in his grey eyes, the unshakeable, implacable determination of a hunter, sent an unnerving combination of fear and yearning spiralling through her.

“I should have thought that was obvious, my dear.” Jason held her gaze. “You have, no doubt, heard rumours that I intended to wed?”

“I never listen to gossip, Your Grace,” Lenore said, frantic to deny the scarifying possibility that, moment by moment, gained greater substance.

Exasperation glowed briefly in Jason’s eyes. “Just so that you may be assured on the subject, the rumours are correct.”

“Everyone’s expecting you to marry a débutante—a diamond of the first water.” Lenore rushed the words out despite the breathlessness that assailed her. Her mind was reeling in sheer fright at the vision forming with dreadful clarity in her brain.

A supercilious expression infused Jason’s features. “Do I strike you as the sort of man who would marry a witless widgeon?”

Lenore forced herself to look at him with some vestige of her customary composure. “No. But I expect not all diamonds of the first water are widgeons, Your Grace.” Pressing her hands tightly together in her lap, she desperately sought for a way to hijack the conversation. But her wits had seized, frozen into immobility by what she could see inexorably approaching.

Jason inclined his head. “That’s as may be, but I’ve seen too much of overt beauty not to know its real value.” Deliberately, he let his gaze skim her figure as she sat rigidly erect, on the edge of the seat. His voice deepened. “As I said before, you have a very limited understanding of what excites a gentleman’s interest, Lenore.”

He sensed rather than saw her quiver. Swiftly he moved from that topic. “You have told me what you desire from life, what you consider important. I’m willing and able to provide all that you’ve named, in return for your hand in marriage.”

“And all that that entails.” Inwardly aghast, her face registering blank dismay, Lenore pronounced the words as a sentence.

Jason frowned, his gaze fixed on her face. “It entails nothing beyond what you might expect. As we both know, you do not find my company insupportable.” He hesitated, then added more gently, “I believe we will deal very well together, Lenore.”

Giddiness seized Lenore. His version of her fate was clearly stated in the grey eyes so ruthlessly holding hers. Realisation of the danger she faced, and of how far she had already travelled down the road she had promised herself never to tread, swamped her. Her face drained of all colour. “No,” she said, and felt herself start to shake. “I cannot marry you, Your Grace.”

“Why?” Jason uttered the question quietly but compellingly. His eyes narrowed. “And why invite me here if not to discuss that very subject?”

Desperate, Lenore retorted, “I did not invite you here.”

The long look she received in reply shook her to the core.

Quietly, Jason said, “I suggest, my dear, you take a different tack.”

Dragging in a shaky breath, Lenore stated, “Your Grace, I’m greatly honoured that you should consider me as your bride. However, I’m convinced I am unsuited to marriage.”

“Why?”

The question had lost nothing of its force in being repeated. Lenore took refuge in remoteness. “That, I fear, is none of your business.”

“I’m afraid, my dear, that I disagree.” Jason heard his voice gaining in strength, in merciless incisiveness. “In the circumstances, I feel I deserve more than inclination as an excuse. We’re both intelligent adults. Despite your aloofness from it, you understand our world as well as I.”

Temper, belatedly, came to Lenore’s rescue, lending her the strength to defy him. How dared he insist she accede to a loveless marriage simply because it was the way of the world? Her green gaze hardened, gold glints appearing in the clear depths. Her lips firmed into a stubborn line. “Permit me to inform you, Your Grace, that you are undoubtedly the most conceited, arrogant, overbearing male it has ever been my misfortune to meet.” The combination of panic and fury was distinctly unsettling yet Lenore knew no other emotion would serve her now. Imperiously, she rose to her feet, drawing herself up, daring, even now, to meet his silver gaze. “I do not wish to marry. That, for most gentlemen, would be reason enough. Regardless of your thoughts upon the matter, I do not need to explain myself to you.”

Jason shifted, his shoulders coming away from the back of the seat, his ankles uncrossing.

Abruptly, Lenore’s fury deserted her. Eyes wide, she dropped her defiant stance, taking a rapid step back, panic well to the fore. Her gaze was still locked with his. Nothing she saw in the silver-grey encouraged any belief that she had won her point. With a desperate effort, she dragged in enough breath to say, “If you’ll excuse me, Your Grace, I’ve many important tasks to which I must attend.”

Snatching up her basket, she ignominiously fled.

Exasperated, his own eyes narrowed with annoyance, Jason let her go, scowling at the gap in the hedges through which she disappeared. He was, he hoped, too wise to press her now. She could have a few hours to think things through, to tame her wilful ways and acknowledge the appropriateness of his offer. If she didn’t, he would do it for her.

To his eyes, the matter was plain. There was, he was now sure, no rational motive behind her wish to remain unwed. Instead, it appeared that his bride-to-be had been allowed to go her independent way for too long. Independence was all very well but in a woman, in their world, there were limits. She had reached them and now looked set on overstepping them. She needed a strong hand to guide her back to acceptable paths. And, as her father and brothers had proved too weak to carry out that charge, it clearly fell to him to accomplish the task.

Abruptly standing, his expression hard and unyielding, Jason stalked back towards the house.

If he was going to dance to society’s tune, it would damned well be with Lenore Lester in his arms.