An Improper Suitor Read online

  She went limp. It was worth a try. Perhaps he would relax his hold if she acquiesced.

  She had not realized that going limp would imply leaning into him. Her position on the side-saddle meant that now her whole back moulded into his chest. His breath tickled her ear. The musky scent of his shaving soap filled her nostrils.

  He let go abruptly and moved sideways. ‘It appears your horse has settled down.’

  ‘Of course he’s settled down,’ she snapped. ‘I’m sure he’s a great deal more comfortable now that you aren’t tugging at his mouth.’

  She could see him more clearly, now that he was not breathing into her face. He raised one of those thick brows, his eyes gleaming with amusement. ‘Such ingratitude in a young lady, considering I saved you from certain injury.’

  ‘Certain injury?’

  He smiled, his teeth gleaming like a tiger about to pounce on its prey.

  All the pieces suddenly fell into place. ‘But it wasn’t my horse that had bolted,’ she said, rueful now that she knew why he had grappled with her.

  His smiled faded, replaced by a frown. ‘I heard a scream, and someone shouted that a horse had bolted. I saw your horse leave the path and take off like the devil.’

  She tried to be patient. But they had already lost precious time. ‘When you chose to bring me and my horse to a halt, I was chasing after a bolting horse. Meanwhile, as you held me prisoner, the lady riding the other horse has been thrown to the ground.’

  He whirled round, following the direction of her gaze. She could make out a crumpled form on the ground, under a large oak tree, next to a small ditch.

  ‘Confound it!’ he said, abandoning her as suddenly as he had caught her, and racing in the direction of the fallen woman.

  Julia raced after him. She slid to her feet almost before Hamlet had stopped.

  Her abductor sank to his knees next to the figure in blue. She was completely motionless. Julia knelt on the grass next to her, dew soaking into her riding habit. The damp made her shiver. It seeped into her chest and settled around her heart. Suppose she’s badly hurt? Suppose she’s – suppose the fall has killed her?

  He felt for the girl’s pulse. The tension strung Julia’s nerves and she chewed at her lower lip.

  ‘Her pulse is strong,’ he said, finally. Julia almost cried with relief.

  Another rider arrived. Judging by his livery, he was the girl’s groom. He jumped down and ran to her, his face crumpled in alarm. ‘She isn’t badly hurt, is she?’

  ‘I’ve had some experience with injury on the battlefield,’ said Julia’s abductor. ‘As far as I can tell, your mistress doesn’t appear to be seriously hurt.’

  ‘Heaven be praised,’ said the groom, dropping down on to the ground next to her.

  Her abductor turned the young woman over gently, subjecting her arms and legs to a quick examination. ‘I don’t think she has broken anything, but it will be up to a physician to ascertain that.’

  ‘She must have hit her head,’ said Julia.

  Before anyone could answer, the young girl stirred, groaned, and opened two round blue eyes. She reminded Julia of a cherub she liked to stare at in church when she grew tired of the sermon. The cherub blinked in confusion at the two strangers leaning over her, then exclaimed in obvious relief when she spotted her groom. She sat up tentatively, fingering her head. ‘What happened, Jake?’

  ‘You’ve taken a fall, Miss Neville,’ said the groom. ‘Stargaze bolted.’ Stargaze? ‘And this gentleman and this lady have been making sure you haven’t been harmed.’

  ‘Yes, I remember now.’ She tossed back her perfect ringlets and looked peeved, not at all like the cherub, who only smiled. ‘It was those perfectly horrid old ladies. They came galloping down the path straight at me.’

  Injury or no injury, Julia prepared to give her a piece of her mind. Horrid old ladies, indeed. But their Cavalry Charge could be quite intimidating, she supposed. Especially from Miss Neville’s perspective, since it had led to her accident. ‘Miss Neville, perhaps I should introduce myself,’ said Julia, before the situation grew embarrassing. ‘I am Julia Swifton, and the old ladies you’re referring to are my grandmother, Lady Bullfinch, my aunt, Lady Talbrook, and a number of their friends.’

  The gentleman threw back his head and guffawed. ‘Are they, by God! Well, if that doesn’t top it all!’ Julia noted he made no attempt to introduce himself.

  Julia found herself looking into a pair of obsidian dark eyes, brimming with merriment. The eyes tugged at her, reeling her in. She found herself unable to breathe.

  She peeled away her glance from his, severing the connection. Only then was she able to breathe normally.

  ‘Well,’ she said, very inadequately. She rose to her feet and dusted her hands. A quick look at the cherub’s face satisfied her. It had changed from alabaster to a more mortal-like shade.

  ‘Have you recovered from your fall, Miss Neville? Do you think you can stand up? Should I send for a physician?’

  ‘No, no,’ said Miss Neville, revealing an even row of pearly teeth as she smiled. ‘I think I’m well enough to ride again.’

  ‘You need not worry yourself, Miss Swifton,’ said her abductor. ‘I’ll escort Miss Neville home.’

  Just then the Cavalry caught up with them.

  Lady Bullfinch dismounted immediately, producing a vinaigrette which she waved under Miss Neville’s nose. She chafed the girl’s cheeks and tut-tutted over her. ‘Poor child,’ she intoned. ‘What a shock you’ve had.’

  Aunt Viola remained on horseback. ‘We shouldn’t crowd the poor thing,’ she said. ‘She needs some air.’

  ‘What happened?’ said Lady Bullfinch.

  ‘Miss Neville’s horse bolted at our Cavalry Charge.’

  ‘Nonsense!’ retorted her grandmother. ‘Horses simply don’t bolt just because they see other horses racing by.’

  ‘Miss Neville said we charged straight at her,’ Julia replied, amused.

  Lady Bullfinch was very proud of the Cavalry Charge. ‘No one who knows how to ride would allow their horse to bolt like that,’ she said, severely.

  ‘Grannie,’ said Julia gently, ‘Perhaps she’s just learning to ride.’

  She snorted.

  ‘Now, now, poor child,’ said Aunt Viola, sending a look of rebuke towards Lady Bullfinch. ‘Can’t you see she’s had a shock?’ She dismounted and went over to the cherub, gripped her hands and rubbed them vigorously between her own. ‘And to think it was all our fault.’

  The dark-eyed gentleman intervened. ‘Miss Neville doesn’t seem to have sustained any injury. Perhaps, ladies, it would be best for her to return home and rest.’

  Lady Bullfinch took out her quizzing glass and peered at him. ‘You’re Lady Gragspur’s grandson, aren’t you?’ she asked.

  ‘There are three of us, Lady Bullfinch.’

  ‘Lillian’s son. I remember you when you were in leading strings. Grubby little boy you were. And from what I’ve heard, you’ve grown up to be a bit of a rakehell,’ she remarked.

  He laughed. ‘You can’t believe everything you hear,’ he retorted, his eyes sparkling with humour.

  ‘Perhaps not,’ she said, still examining him with her quizzing glass. She turned to Julia.

  ‘I should perhaps introduce you. Miss Swifton, my granddaughter.’ He nodded formally. ‘And this,’ said Grannie turning to Julia, ‘is Lionel Blake, Earl of Thorwynn.’

  Julia forgot to smile. It was not that she didn’t want to smile. Courtesy had been bred into her since she had cut her milk teeth. But the knowledge that the stranger was Lord Thorwynn crushed the sense out of her, like a medieval war hammer.

  ‘Rest assured, ladies, that Miss Neville is in good hands,’ he said, tossing them a smile that exuded charm.

  ‘We’ll call on you later, to assure ourselves that all is well,’ said Lady Bullfinch, addressing Miss Neville. ‘If you’ll be kind enough to tell us your direction.’

  Meanwhile Lord Thorwynn joined his
hands to help Julia mount. He grinned up at her, one of those beguiling grins that she was sure he used to good effect on a great many women. ‘I trust I am forgiven, Miss Swifton.’ His tone left no doubt that he believed himself forgiven.

  ‘Of course,’ she said, woodenly. Her ability to think was returning, gradually. She settled her riding habit around her then turned her attention back to him.

  He had already moved away to lean over Miss Neville. The hands Julia had stepped on enfolded the hands of the girl, who was struggling weakly to stand up. She did not appear at all like a cherub now. More like a new-born foal finding its feet.

  Perhaps it was petty of her, since the poor girl had gone through a terrible shock and really did need his assistance, but Julia wished Miss Neville to Jericho.

  She had not heard the last of Miss Neville, however. The Cavalry could talk of nothing else.

  ‘I hope that poor girl doesn’t suffer any after-effects from the fall,’ said her grandmother.

  ‘She’s such a small slip of a girl. Lucky she didn’t break any bones,’ said Aunt Viola.

  But behind the talk about the accident, there was something else. Lady Bullfinch was impatient for her friends to leave. When they all reached the gates of the park, she did not linger as she usually did. Outside the park their progress was slow. The city had awakened, and street vendors, hawkers, and loaded carts obstructed their movement.

  ‘So you’ve met Lord Thorwynn,’ said Grannie.

  Ah. We’re coming to it now. ‘Yes.’ Before she could say anything, she rushed in, ‘I hope you aren’t planning to say anything in his favour, Grannie. I found his behaviour quite abominable.’

  He had certainly lived up to his reputation as a rake. Attacking one lady, then escorting the other to her home. She was being unfair, of course. In both cases he had done nothing ungentlemanly. If his touch had provoked unladylike sensations in her, it was hardly his fault. The attack has shaken me, that’s all. I’m not the victim of abduction every day. What surprised her more than anything was that, after the initial jolt of fear, she had remained calm throughout. And despite her attempts to free herself, she had not been truly frightened. Perhaps some instinct told her that he meant no harm. Nevertheless, she fretted over her reactions. She had always scorned the role of the swooning heroine. Today she had come perilously close to that.

  ‘If I chance upon him again,’ she said, resolutely, ‘I’ll give him the cut.’

  ‘Of course you won’t,’ said her grandmother, forcefully. ‘Now that you’ve been introduced to him, you have to acknowledge him. To cut him would imply that something untoward had occurred between you.’

  Julia let out an irritated breath. ‘I did not mean the direct cut, and well you know it. But if you think that I’ll look more favourably at him as a possible husband after today, you’re very much mistaken.’

  She expected Grannie to berate her, to tell her not to be childish or some such thing.

  Instead, Grannie nodded. ‘I don’t expect anything at all, although I must say he seems a tolerable young man. Quite attractive-looking, too. But if you are really planning to choose your own husband, you had better move a bit faster. Time has wings, and it doesn’t wait for anyone.’

  CHAPTER 2

  There was no mistaking those elaborate flourishes. The small white letter lay on the silver tray, looking harmless. But a letter in this particular handwriting never boded well. He picked it up and tore the top with his silver letter opener. The content was perfectly familiar.

  Dear Lionel

  I must see you urgently. Please do not delay.

  Your darling Mama

  He threw the letter into the fireplace. Though not an accomplished letter writer, his mother always made herself clear. He sighed and reached for the bell-pull.

  Hodgkin appeared immediately.

  ‘Do I have any matters that require my immediate attention, Hodgkin?’

  Hodgkin’s expression did not change, but he glanced towards the silver tray, empty of its letter, and then up at the ceiling. The ceiling apparently did not inspire him, since he answered, ‘I’m afraid not, my lord.’ His voice held a note of apology.

  There was no escaping it, then.

  ‘In that case, Hodgkin, I’d better be on my way.’ Had the old retainer’s mouth actually twitched? There was no knowing with Hodgkin, of course. ‘If anyone asks for me, I’ll be visiting my mother. And you can let Cook know I will not be returning for dinner.’

  ‘Yes, my lord.’

  ‘And Hodgkin’ – the butler’s impassive face did not change – ‘have you heard any rumours I should know about?’

  ‘No, my lord.’

  ‘Thank you, that will be all.’

  Hodgkin bowed.

  Lionel stepped out of his townhouse on St James Square. It was a beautiful spring day. He could so easily be tempted to dawdle. His mother would not take kindly to it, however.

  ‘Good afternoon, Mrs Duffel.’ The housekeeper’s big round face was as familiar as his mother’s. ‘Has my mother already worked herself into a state?’

  The housekeeper, clearly torn between loyalty to her mistress and her soft spot for him, replied with a tiny smile. ‘She’s been expecting you this last hour, Lord Thorwynn.’

  He grinned, ‘In other words, since the moment she finished writing the letter.’ He tossed his hat and topcoat to the footman, and waited to be announced.

  ‘His lordship’s here to see you, my lady.’

  Mrs Duffel allowed him to pass, and closed the door slowly, careful of her mistress’s nerves. She shot him a quick look which he could only interpret as sympathy. Damn if he needed sympathy to face his own mother.

  Lady Thorwynn was lying on the sofa, surrounded by a variety of herbal concoctions for her nerves, each more evil looking than the other. She had tasted none of them. As the door closed she struggled up into a seated position, wringing her hands.

  ‘Come to me. My poor, poor boy,’ she said. ‘What have you got yourself into this time?’

  He had come to the conclusion some time ago that, no matter his age, his mother still saw him as a five-year-old boy with scraped knees. She pulled his head down to plant a kiss on his brow, then cupped his cheeks and peered into his eyes.

  ‘Let’s see how you get out of this one,’ she said, releasing him and sinking back on to her sofa. ‘Sit, sit.’

  Confound it. I’m not a dog.

  He sat and prepared himself for the lecture that he knew was coming. He searched through his recent past, the last two months, at any rate. His latest mistress, the luscious (though very greedy) Angelique had been given her congé three weeks ago. There had been some overlap between her and the alluring Lady Amestable, who insisted on sharing his bed when Lord Amestable was away at his estate, which was quite often. Fortunately for him. And he had enjoyed one riotous night with Mrs Radlow, the golden-haired widow. There was nothing exceptionable in any of them. Unless Lord Amestable had discovered his wife’s infidelities and was foolish enough to call him out.

  No doubt he would find out, after the lecture was over.

  ‘—how embarrassing it is to have to tell Lady Ponderton every time she asks, that you have not yet settled down. I could understand it if you were still green and wanting to make an impression. But you’re thirty. Thirty is beyond the age when an earl starts looking to his responsibilities and thinking about the family line. Just the other day Lady Neyfous was saying that it was such a pity—’

  He rose and poured himself a glass of claret from the decanter on the tray. That was the only good part about these encounters. Mama always provided him with the best from her cellars. Perhaps she meant it as a bribe so he would listen. Or as a reward for enduring the lectures.

  ‘—you will stay for dinner, won’t you?’

  Always the same question. ‘Yes, of course, Mama, I’d be delighted.’

  She tugged at the bell-pull. The butler entered, a gangly man with no chin and pale-blue eyes.

 
‘Have a place set for Lord Thorwynn, will you?’

  ‘Yes, my lady.’ The butler bowed so tightly from the waist that Lionel wondered if he had lumbago.

  ‘Who is this man? What the devil happened to old Matthews?’ Thorwynn asked.

  His mother sighed. ‘His name is Iggleton. He came very highly recommended. Old Matthews has been pensioned off. The poor man was starting to confuse everyone’s names. He’s gone to live with his sister in Staffordshire, I believe.’

  Things would not be the same without him.

  ‘This brings me to why I called you here.’

  Ah. Here came the moment he’d been dreading. Despite her penchant for dramatics, his mother usually had good reasons to summon him.

  ‘It’s that Neville girl.’

  For a moment he could not place the name. Then an image flashed through his mind of a girl lying on the ground very still. He choked on his drink. ‘Nothing’s happened to her, has it?’

  His mother looked puzzled. ‘I’m not sure I understand what you mean. If it’s one of your cant terms signifying that she is increasing, then I can only say that I am shocked beyond words.’

  ‘Increasing?’ he said. He downed the claret in a gulp. He was not slow-witted, but at the moment inspiration escaped him.

  ‘In all the years I brought you up and watched you grow, I never thought for a second you would sink so low.’ She was genuinely upset. This was no moral sermon. ‘I have tolerated some of your excesses in the spirit that they were done – a young man sowing wild oats. Particularly since much of your youth was spent in the army, fighting Napoleon. You have not spoken to me of it, but I am sure that must have been a terrible ordeal.’ She focused her attention on the brocade of the sofa, following one of the patterns with her finger. ‘But this time you have crossed the line.’

  He rested his glass carefully on the table and went to her. He knelt on the floor, and took her hands.

  ‘I’m very much in the dark, Mama. Could you kindly explain what is going on?’

  She took a deep breath.