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They strode in silence towards the honey-coloured terrace at the rear of the mansion. Francis Devereux did not intend to waste an opportunity to throw them together, Jack thought, no matter how distasteful his niece might find it. The gardens no doubt were another step in his campaign. He felt sorry for the girl, sorry for himself. They had been put in an impossible situation.
‘Your uncle was right—you have a magnificent estate. I can see why he was so insistent that we take this walk.’
She did not rise to his irony, but said instead, ‘My uncle is very proud of Verney Towers. You may have noticed.’ There was only the slightest tinge of acid in her voice.
‘He has every right to be proud,’ he said dishonestly. ‘It is a beautiful old house and surrounded by splendid countryside.’
She wrinkled her nose and he found it oddly charming. ‘I might agree with you on the countryside, but the house could never be called beautiful. You flatter us, I think.’
‘I never flatter, Miss Lacey.’
‘I cannot imagine that is so, or else how could you have made so many conquests?’
He did not feel sorry for her at all, he decided. She was abominable.
‘Whatever you may have heard will be an exaggeration. And I thought we had agreed that gossip should be ignored.’
She let go of his arm and smoothed out her skirts of patterned muslin. She was looking as fetching as she had this morning, he noticed, a rich blue ribbon threaded through blonde curls and a blue velvet tippet around her shoulders. Yesterday’s hideous rags had seemingly been consigned to the bonfire.
‘You agreed. In any case I am not interested in gossip, but I do value the truth. I am wondering why it is now that you have decided to visit us, Lord Frensham, for your sisters must have told you that silly story about our families quite some while ago.’
‘I believe I mentioned that I was driving to Hampshire.’
‘On the way to a country-house party, yes, but I imagine you must attend many such gatherings not a million miles from Sussex. So why come to us now?’
He smothered a sigh; she was far too perceptive. ‘Strictly in the interests of truth, I admit that this journey was convenient. Life in London was proving a trifle difficult.’
‘Life—or was it a woman?’
The conversation was becoming more indecorous by the minute, he thought, but he still found himself answering, ‘Yes. A lady.’
‘A woman,’ she said firmly. ‘What happened?’
‘Her husband happened.’ If he were to speak honestly, she might as well know the worst. There was a strange sense of satisfaction in for once talking candidly to a female, but he waited in some trepidation for her next question.
‘Do you often have to deal with irate husbands?’
‘No, I do not! I may have allowed myself to be pulled in a little too far this time and … Why am I telling you this?’
‘You are telling me because we have decided on the truth.’ She pointed to the short scar on his left cheek. ‘Did you get that from a similar “happening”?’
‘I was foolish enough to walk down an unlit Venetian alley some years ago—I owe it to footpads, not a furious spouse!’
‘Then you escaped lightly. It must have been a most dangerous situation.’
‘It was—particularly for them. Though I believe the canal was not overly deep and preferable, I imagine, to my sword.’
‘And is it a duel that you have just fought—I mean, with the angry husband?’
‘You are far too inquisitive, not to mention brazen.’
‘It is only right that I should know the kind of suitor my uncle has been so eager to propose! He had been worrying over your moral suitability until your sisters put his mind at rest. Now if he had been privy to this conversation …’
‘I cannot pretend to be proud of the life I’ve led. But neither do I feel undue guilt. There are ladies,’ he said carefully, ‘certain ladies, who need little flattery or persuasion to extend their hand in friendship.’
‘I am not so innocent that I do not know something of the world. I believe they are what Rupert calls lady-birds.’
He supposed he should look shocked, but he wanted to laugh. ‘Rupert may call them so, but you should not.’
‘What should I call them, then?’
‘You should not know about them.’
‘That is ridiculous.’
He had to agree, but thought it wise to steer the conversation into safer channels. They had reached the small archway at one end of the terrace and strolled through into the rose garden. The central fountain had been shut down for the winter and there were gaps here and there where plants had died or bushes lost their leaves. The weather, though, was still mild for late October and a sprinkling of blooms added colour to the grey flint walls.
‘This must be a wonderful retreat in high summer—the sound of rushing water and the sweetness of so many flowers.’
She was looking surprised. Evidently gossip had not credited him with an appreciation of nature. She bent down to sniff at a last apricot bloom. ‘Do you grow roses on your estate? This is a Buff Beauty—it still smells divine.’
‘I have tried to create something similar at Beaufort Hall, but in comparison my rose garden lacks maturity even though the Somerset climate is temperate. And the manor house in Yorkshire will never match the exacting standards of the Towers, I fear. It is situated on a hill and exposed to every extreme element.’
‘Do you enjoy having so many properties?’
‘I’ve never really thought about it,’ he confessed.
‘I suppose that comes of being rich.’ It was clear that she set little store by this and the conversation limped to a close. He hoped they could talk more, for she was delightfully unusual. Though she had a face and a figure that seduced, she had a mind to match.
His hope was realised when they headed towards the cluster of hothouses which lay on the far side of the rose garden and she threw him a challenge. ‘I must pick flowers for the church today. Are you likely to be of any help?’
‘I doubt that flower picking is one of my better skills.’
‘What are, then?’
‘I can box.’
She could not prevent a giggle. ‘I cannot see flower arranging being the greatest use in the ring. But where do you box?’
‘At Jackson’s saloon in Bond Street.’
‘Rupert followed the gentleman’s career with great interest, although my uncle never allowed him to go to a prize fight. I know for a fact, though, that he sneaked away several times when the rumour of a likely meeting reached him.’
Her brother seemed a continuing presence, though as yet there had been no sign of him. ‘Was he permitted any sport?’ he asked curiously.
‘He wanted to learn to fence, but our grandparents thought it dangerous. Do you?’
‘Do I fence? Yes, frequently—at Angelo’s. One never knows when skill with the sword will come in useful,’ he added wickedly, and then, seeing her reproving expression, hurried on, ‘I compete in curricle races, too, and that is one of the roughest of sports!’
‘Then flowers will make an agreeable change.’
The succession houses were everything that the mansion was not—freshly painted, brightly lit and warm. Inside swathes of pelargoniums, fuchsias and heliotrope filled the space with such exotic colour that he blinked, but it was their overwhelming perfume that caught him in its grasp and played on his senses. He was filled with a mad desire to press Lucinda to him and dance with her around the flower-filled space.
His companion was not so easily distracted. ‘We must pick quickly before Latimer discovers us. He is the head gardener and considers everything he grows to be his and his alone.’
He tried to do as she asked, but her nimble fingers had filled two trugs to the brim before he’d managed to gather even a puny handful of chrysanthemums. ‘Do we drive them to the church or does the coachman also have a proprietorial attitude?’
She looked at him, astonished. ‘I would not call out the coachman to take a few handfuls of flowers little more than a mile. You are spoilt, my lord.’
‘EvidentIy,’ he murmured, picking up the heaviest basket. ‘Show me the way, Miss Lacey.’
He was not addicted to walking and his town attire was hardly suitable for a rural hike; he could only hope that his Hessians would survive. They were already beginning to lose their champagne sparkle and a tramp along a dusty lane was unlikely to improve them. But he was enjoying himself far more than he’d thought possible.
Verney turned out to be very neat and very small: a cluster of whitewashed cottages around the village green, a solitary shop which sold everything from shepherds’ smocks to a side of ham, and a church. It was Norman in design, its square tower looking proudly over the Sussex countryside, and its flint walls cradling several vividly stained-glass windows. Once through its huge oak door, the contrast in light was stark and for a moment he was blinded by the gloom. But as they walked towards the altar, pools of coloured light lit their way and the scent of flowers filled the air. He slid into a pew and watched as she arranged the blooms.
‘Do all the flowers come from the house?’
‘The cottagers provide them when they can, but it is more important for them to grow vegetables that they can eat.’
‘And you do this regularly? The church flowers, I mean.’
She straightened up, having put the last vase to rights. ‘When you live in a village, Lord Frensham, there are obligations.’ Her tone was crisp and he knew that she considered him incurably selfish.
‘It is a very attractive village, a very attractive part of the country,’ he said placatingly.
‘There is a splendid view from the church tower. If you have a head for heights, that is. When the air is as clear as it is today, it’s possible to see to Climping and the coast.’
The last thing he wanted to do was to climb the tower’s steep stairs, but he responded gallantly to the invitation. ‘What an excellent suggestion. Will you accompany me?’
If he were sensible, he would cut their walk as short as possible. Her uncle had thrown them together but that did not mean he had to go along with it. It would be better by far if he did not. But the sight of her slender, young figure in the simple sprig muslin, concentrating so hard on her task, had filled him with an unknown pleasure. He found that he did not want to be separated from her so soon.
She led the way up the spiral stone staircase. It was a climb of at least two hundred steps and by the time they finally reached the square turret, her eyes were sparkling with the effort. He clambered up the last few stairs and joined her on the tower. Despite the steep climb, neither was out of breath and they looked at one another with respect.
‘You did well, Lord Frensham. Normally visitors to the church need reviving by the time they make the tower roof.’
‘I do my best. But after sharing such a punishing experience, do you not think you could call me Jack?’
‘Jack,’ she said experimentally. ‘Is your name not James?’
‘It is—James Mountford Gillespie Beaufort. But I answer to Jack.’
She looked at his slim but powerful form, the glint in his eyes, the scar which enhanced rather than marred his face. ‘I can see why,’ she decided.
They walked to one side of the tower and looked out over the crenellated wall towards a distant sea.
‘It’s a perfect day.’
‘Yes,’ she agreed, ‘perfect.’ And for that moment it was.
‘And you are right, you can see all the way to the coast. Every detail is clear—see that convoy of wagons to the right, making their way northwards. They are travelling very slowly. Weighed down with treasure, no doubt,’ he joked.
‘Do your sisters call you Jack?’
‘When I was small I believe they did, but I am always James to them now.’
‘You are the youngest of the family?’
‘I am the long-desired heir.’
‘And did they spoil you—your sisters?’
‘I can’t recall they ever did.’
‘But your parents must have, if they waited so long for an heir.’
‘I hardly knew my parents,’ he mused. ‘They died when I was ten and, before that, I rarely saw them. From an early age I had my own quarters, my own staff. They came to see me on occasions and I visited the main house, but it was hardly an intimate family life.’
He had never been loved, but he was not about to confide that. He had been born to a role and that was his value. As a child he was uninteresting to his parents; as a future earl, he was cherished. He understood that now, but as a small boy, he had longed for a kind word, an affectionate hug, a loving smile. They had not been entirely absent—a succession of nurses had done their best—but he had looked in vain for a similar reward from his parents.
She looked aghast. ‘It sounds horrible.’
‘Not so horrible. I had the best of everything—the best clothes, the best food, the best tutors. Every wish was granted.’
‘That cannot have been good for you.’
‘Alas, no. As you see…’
‘And when did you become the earl?’
‘That, too, was not good for me. My godfather held the reins until I reached eighteen and then it was all mine—the title, the houses, the estates. No wonder I am deplorable.’
‘No wonder.’ But she was smiling as she said it.
He touched her arm. ‘Let us go down, Lucinda. I may call you that? I have a mournful fear that my boots will begin to pinch if I do not soon start back to the house.’
She turned to go, but then without warning dashed to the far wall and almost threw herself over the small parapet, or so it seemed to him. She was leaning at an acute angle, hanging dizzyingly in the air. ‘It’s still there. Look, Jack! That is where Rupert and I climbed and placed a little red banner we had made—my goodness, we must have been mad for there are no sure footholds on the tower.’
He raced across to the wall and grabbed hold of the folds of her muslin dress. ‘You seem to have changed little,’ he panted, clinging hold of her while straining to keep his footing. ‘Move back, Lucinda. We are both in danger.’
Gradually he managed to shuffle his arms until he could clasp her firmly around the waist and return her to an upright position.
‘Did I worry you? I was quite safe, you know. The parapet is high enough.’ She was laughing at him and he felt a ripple of anger.
He tightened his arms around her, holding her close to his body. ‘I know no such thing. Never do that again!’
He looked down at her upturned face and was met by a pair of blue eyes glimmering with mischief. He could drown in those eyes, he thought, and for a moment he stood motionless, lost in their gaze. He felt her body warm against his, her soft curls tickling his chin. Her lips were close; he had only to bend his head a fraction and he could taste that full, smiling mouth. He wanted to with an urgency that took his breath away. Somehow he resisted and gave a light brush of his lips to her cheek.
Her carelessness had vanished and her breath seemed to be coming in short spurts. She was looking flushed and flustered and he could feel her body trembling beneath his touch. She was finding his closeness unsettling and that pleased him—it would teach her not to play games. He hadn’t enjoyed the sensation of being out of control. When he took his arms from around her, she turned away and walked to the stairs without another word.
In silence, they found their way back to the nave. ‘Will you walk with me to the house?’ It was courtesy that made him ask. He wanted to be alone and he thought she did, too: he sensed relief when she refused the invitation.
‘You will have to excuse me. I have calls to make in the village.’
‘I am impressed. I had not imagined you such a diligent worker.’ His voice was deliberately teasing.
‘When you live in a small community, it is necessary.’ From the reproof, it was clear that she had recovered her composure.
‘Naturally, I would not know.’
‘You could always learn,’ she threw over her shoulder, as she walked towards the church door. ‘But not this morning, I think. I am to call on a very sick old lady and the sight of your town bronze could well be the death of her!’
With a rueful smile, he watched her trip up the aisle, basket in hand, and out into the sunshine.
He strode towards the Towers in an unsettled frame of mind. He might be stranded in Verney for several days, but he must keep his distance from Lucinda. For a man intent on remaining heart free, their recent encounter had been far too intimate and he must be careful not to repeat it. He had only once been in love, only once thought of marrying, and it had proved calamitous. He had no intention of repeating the experience, even with Lucinda’s obvious charms so close at hand: she was lovely to look at, lovely to hold, he thought guiltily. She was spirited, bold even, to the point of recklessness, with an immense energy for life despite the cramped existence she had been forced to lead. They were enchanting qualities. Yet they could also be dangerous, as he had found to his cost. He was uncomfortably aware of how much she reminded him of that long-ago love affair. Was Lucinda also a woman addicted to excitement?
The incident on the church tower loomed large in his thoughts and reignited his earlier suspicions. He could no longer dismiss the idea that she might have been his assailant on that moonlit night—from what he’d seen of her, he guessed that she would be quite capable of riding out as a highwayman. But if she had dared such an exploit, and he still doubted it, what could be her reason? There appeared to be no motive—unless she was indeed one of those rare women who took risks simply because they were there, risks that could spiral into disaster.
He wanted very much for that not to be the case and a strong compulsion to prove Lucinda’s innocence bubbled into life. While he walked, his mind considered the possibilities. If he looked for the matching pistol in the house and did not find it, might that suggest the gun he had in his possession had never belonged at Verney Towers? Of course, she could have hidden its companion, but that seemed unlikely. Why would she unless she felt herself to be under suspicion, and he had been most careful not to betray his distrust. If the matching gun were in the house, he was as certain as he could be that it would be in Rupert Lacey’s room. He could only pray that it was not. Searching might prove difficult for servants were up and down the grand staircase twenty times a day. But this afternoon he could be sure that at least his hosts would not disturb him: Sir Francis was immured in his library and Lucinda would not return from the village for at least an hour. It was unlikely that he would get a better chance. He took a deep breath—he would do it!
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