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Danger? What danger can there be from a man who barely notices you?
She fluttered her hand, as if to bat away the unwelcome arguments that revolved in her head.
Lord Randall is no threat, and you will be leaving soon. There is no reason at all to avoid him. Unless you are afraid.
‘Of course I am not afraid,’ she told herself crossly.
But the thought rankled. Papa had brought her up to fear nothing and question everything. There was a logical explanation for all things, he had said. Face your demons and you will understand them. And Lord Randall could hardly be called a demon. Proud, yes. Autocratic, definitely, and used to being obeyed, but no demon.
She rose and shook out her skirts. She would go with the Bentincks this afternoon and prove to herself that there was nothing remotely dangerous in taking tea at Somervil House.
* * *
Harriett came forward as they were shown into the drawing room, saying cheerfully, ‘I almost suggested we should put a table on the terrace, it is so warm. But, Mary, what is this Randall tells me, you have hurt your foot?’
‘It is the veriest scratch,’ she replied, ‘As you see I am perfectly able to walk upon it.’
Mr Graveney and Lord Randall were standing together by the window and Mary dipped a curtsy to them both before choosing to sit down in a chair on the far side of the room. She had hoped that in his sister’s house the earl might look a little less imposing, but no. His upright bearing and long-limbed figure were even more noticeable next to portly Mr Graveney. Just looking at the earl made her mouth go dry. He looked so solid and dependable, and Mary thought suddenly how comfortable it would be to have someone she could lean upon.
‘That would be lovely, would it not, Mary?’
Mrs Bentinck was handing her a cup of tea.
‘I beg your pardon,’ she stammered. ‘My thoughts were miles away.’
‘Mrs Graveney was suggesting we should take a walk later, to see how they have landscaped the gardens.’
‘Yes, an excellent idea,’ Mary concurred. She really must concentrate.
‘Unless you would rather sit here and rest your foot,’ suggested Harriett. ‘Randall could keep you company.’
‘No, no, I am perfectly well, thank you,’ Mary replied hastily. ‘And I would very much like to see your gardens before I leave.’
‘Yes, they have turned out very well, I think,’ said Mr Graveney. ‘Although they are nothing to the grounds of Chalfont Abbey, Lord Randall’s country seat.’
‘I can take no credit for that. My military duties do not allow me much time at the Abbey, but my mother keeps everything in excellent order.’
Mr Bentinck turned to the earl.
‘I trust, my lord, that you did not suffer overmuch from being thrust into the lion’s den the other night?’
‘Not at all, sir.’
Harriett laughed.
‘My brother is being polite, Mr Bentinck. He thinks many of your guests would be improved by a spell in the military.’
‘And so they would,’ agreed Mrs Bentinck, chuckling. ‘Or even if they had to work for their living, as poor Mary is obliged to do, and to suffer the indignity of being shunned in polite society by those who are only too willing to use her services. Is that not so, my dear?’
‘Oh, it is not so bad, really.’
Randall saw the telltale blush stealing into Mary’s cheek as she murmured her reply and was glad for her sake when Bentinck took the discussion in a different direction.
It was no wonder she should look embarrassed. He glanced at his sister; she was continuing to pour tea as if nothing was amiss at all. He felt his jaw set hard in disapproval. Graveney had led his sister too far down the path of radicalism for his liking, but he was a guest in the fellow’s house, he could hardly voice his disapproval now.
* * *
When they had finished drinking their tea and the idea of a walk was again mooted he decided to make his excuses and withdraw. Unfortunately Hattie had other ideas.
‘Oh, but you cannot disappear now, Randall. Theo wants to show Mr Bentinck the new book he has purchased, and since you saw it when you returned from your ride this morning you must escort us.’ She took his arm. ‘Come along, a little fresh air will soon put that gloomy look of yours to flight!’
Harriett shepherded the ladies into the hall, saying as they put on their bonnets, ‘I intended to show Mary the gardens when she arrived last week, but the weather has been so inclement I have not yet done so. Do not worry, though, the new gravel paths will make it perfectly dry underfoot.’
The paths were indeed dry, but Randall soon discovered that they were not wide enough for them all to walk together. Harriett took Mrs Bentinck’s arm and moved ahead, leaving him no option but to walk beside Mary Endacott.
‘I doubt this is how you intended to spend your afternoon,’ she remarked. ‘If you have business elsewhere I do not mind walking alone.’
‘I am perfectly happy to escort you.’ He held out his arm to her. ‘Besides, to do anything else would incur my sister’s wrath.’
She chuckled at that.
‘I cannot imagine that would worry you overmuch.’
‘You were at school with Harriett, Miss Endacott. You know that she is not one to be gainsaid. All the Latymors are strong-willed, except my youngest sister, Sarah. She is very biddable.’
‘Overwhelmed by the rest of you, no doubt.’
‘Very likely. She is certainly unlike her twin, Gideon. He is a hothead.’
* * *
They strolled on, mainly in silence, but occasionally stopping to admire the new plantings and statuary that had been installed in the gardens. Randall found himself relaxing and enjoying the afternoon sunshine. He glanced down at the silent figure beside him. Mary looked completely at ease and he thought how comfortable it was to have a woman on his arm who did not consider it necessary to be chattering all the time. She was just the right height, too, her head no higher than his shoulder. They passed the new rose garden with its arbour at the far end. He imagined sitting beside her on the bench when the roses were in bloom and filling the air with their heavy scent. She might rest her head on his shoulder then. And if the air should be a little chill he might put his arm around her and rest his cheek against those dusky curls...
Confound it, man, you need to stop this, now!
‘I beg your pardon, my lord, did you say something?’
She turned her face up to him, delicate brows raised, green eyes enquiring. Randall felt a sudden impulse to pull her close and plant a kiss on those full, red lips. The rush of desire that fired his blood surprised him and he looked away quickly, clearing his throat as he sought for words.
‘You are returning to your, ah, business very soon, I believe.’
‘Yes, my lord. On Saturday.’
He kept his eyes fixed ahead, noting idly that they had fallen some way behind his sister and Mrs Bentinck.
‘And will you be sorry to leave?’
‘Of course. The Bentincks are not only relatives but very old friends and I allowed myself this short holiday after completing my trip to Cuckfield. My father left certain...affairs outstanding there when he died just over a year ago and I have now resolved them.’ She added, after a brief pause, ‘Debts, my lord.’
‘Ah, I see.’
‘I doubt it.’
‘Is that why you are obliged to, er, earn your living, to pay off his debts?’
She surprised him by laughing at that.
‘Not at all, I enjoy what I do, my lord. I hope you will not think me boastful if I say I have a talent for it. I am an independent woman, beholden to no one. In fact, I shall be glad to get back to work. I could not be happy with a life of idleness.’
‘Nor I.’
‘Then we are agreed upon something.’ She smiled up at him, as if relieved at the thought.
A mood of recklessness swept through Randall.
‘Why wait?’
‘My lord?’
They had reached a crossing in the path and with his superior height Randall could see over the surrounding hedge. Harriett and her companion were now making their way back through the box garden and towards the house. He led Mary into the shrubbery.
‘If you wish to work, as you call it, then you should do so.’
‘I do not think I understand you, Lord Randall.’
She stopped and turned to look up at him, still smiling, but with a faint crease between her brows. Unable to resist he put his fingers beneath her chin, tilting it up as he lowered his head and kissed her.
* * *
Mary was so surprised she could not move. Then, as his mouth worked its magic, she did not wish to do so. When he put his arms around her she leaned into him, kissing him back as if it was the most natural thing in the world. As if she had been waiting her whole life for this moment.
This reaction shocked Mary almost as much as his kiss, and when he raised his head she made no attempt to free herself, but laid her head against his chest, listening to the thud, thud of his heart. She was dazed, unable to understand what had occurred. Lord Randall, the taciturn, unromantic, unsociable earl, had kissed her. Her: plain, sensible Mary Endacott!
‘We have a couple of days before we must part,’ he said, his mouth against her hair. ‘We should make use of them. We must be discreet, of course. However free-thinking the Bentincks might be, I cannot allow my sister to know what is going on.’
Mary’s thoughts were still in chaos, her body trembling with the shock of his kiss, but even so she was aware that his words did not make sense. She put her hands against his chest and pushed herself away until she could look up at him.
‘What has this to do with my work?’
He was gazing down at her and there was no mistaking the look in his eyes, fierce desire that sent the hot blood racing through her limbs and made her aware of the ache pooling deep in her body, at the hinge of her thighs. If she had not been clutching at his coat she thought her legs might well have given way as that beautiful deep voice caressed her.
‘Everything. Let us understand this from the outset; it has always been my objective never to raise false hopes in any woman’s breast. I take my pleasures and I pay for them—and give pleasure in return, I hope.’
Those smooth, measured tones stroked her skin like velvet. She was in his arms, her lips were still burning with the memory of his mouth upon hers and at first she did not comprehend his words. But as their meaning filtered through the haze of well-being that his kiss had engendered, her euphoria began to ebb away.
‘You, you wish us to be...’ She swallowed. ‘To be lovers?’
Could she do it? Suddenly elation was replaced by uncertainty. She had discussed the possibility with her radical friends, but only as a concept, a brave and radical step that would fly in the face of convention. And in all her thoughts and discussions, her ideal man was one she had known for a long time, a trusted friend and companion, not a soldier whom she had met only days ago.
‘If that is the word you wish to put to it, yes,’ said Randall. ‘It will be business for you, but very lucrative, for I intend to be generous.’
Mary blinked. No endearments, no promises. The earl talked of business and suddenly his meaning became all too clear. She freed herself from his arms.
‘You...you think I am a—that I—’ Her hands went to her cheeks. ‘You think I would sell myself for money?’
There was no mistaking the bewilderment in his eyes. It was clear that was exactly what he thought. Disappointment, bitter as gall, swept through her.
‘Is that not the case?’ he said. ‘You told me you were in trade, spoke of your ladies, but perhaps since you are so successful you yourself no longer partake—’
‘P-partake?’ she stuttered. ‘Oh, good heavens, this is dreadful!’
She turned away, taking a few agitated steps along the path before wheeling around again. ‘I am an educationalist, Lord Randall. I run a school for young ladies!’
‘What?’
If she had not been so overwrought, Lord Randall’s surprise and consternation would have amused her, but she had never felt less like laughing in her life. In fact, she felt very much like weeping. Her hands crept to her cheeks again.
‘I see how it came about,’ she went on, almost to herself. ‘The radical talk, the company Mr and Mrs Bentinck had invited to their house—’
‘Not to mention your own teasing ways, madam,’ he added in a tight voice. ‘You said yourself you were trying to be outrageous.’
‘Yes, I know I set out to tease you, but when I spoke of earning my living I never thought that you would assume—’ She gasped. ‘Good heavens, that is disgraceful! Did you suppose that the Bentincks, that your own sister, would continue to acknowledge me if that were the case?’
A dull colour had crept into his lean cheek, but whether it was anger or embarrassment she did not know.
He said, his tone harsh, his words clipped, ‘Harriett warned me I would be shocked by the company. You yourself told me you did not believe in marriage.’
‘And in an effort to prove yourself unshockable you thought the very worst of me. You are correct, I do not believe in marriage. I was brought up to believe in a free union of minds, of hearts. A union of love, my lord, not prostitution!’
He said stiffly. ‘It was an error, but a reasonable one, given the circumstances.’
‘The circumstances?’
‘Of course,’ he retorted. ‘Your whole demeanour when you told me of your business, as if it were something quite shocking, and you made a point of informing me that you had no reputation. What else was I to think? Yes, quite reasonable, I would say.’
Mary gasped in outrage.
‘Quite unreasonable, my lord.’ Her lip curled. ‘But you are an earl. Perhaps you are in the habit of propositioning any lady who takes your fancy?’
‘Certainly not, but with your radical views you should appreciate my honesty. I would rather take my pleasures with a woman who understands there can be no possibility of marriage. I am no saint, Miss Endacott. There are many ladies of my own set, married ladies whose husbands go their own way and leave their wives to find pleasure elsewhere. I have enjoyed several liaisons of that sort in the past, but I make no secret of the fact that I consort with women of a more dubious reputation occasionally.’
‘And you pay them well for the privilege. Contemptible.’
‘Is it contemptible for two adults to enter into an agreement that gives them both satisfaction?’ His eyes narrowed and for an instant she saw a glint of something dangerous in their depths. ‘And I assure you the ladies are always satisfied, Miss Endacott.’
Confusion fluttered in Mary’s breast. Instead of begging her pardon he was boasting of his prowess and the worst thing was the way her body responded to his words, to that wicked light in his eyes. She wanted to throw herself into his arms, to beg him to kiss her again and show her just how satisfying his lovemaking could be.
She felt the rage boiling up inside her. How dared he do this to her? She was furious with him and with herself for allowing him to engender such emotional turmoil in her. Mary took a step away from him, saying in a voice that was not quite steady, ‘Excuse me; we can have nothing more to say to one another.’
