LITMIR.BIZ

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on horseback who knew James and envied him his attractive companion.

      There was Lord Bertram Haverley, a widower of middle years, known to be looking for a second wife to give him the heir his first wife had failed to do, though she had provided him with two daughters. Sophia, the older, was not quite of marriageable age, and Eliza was two years younger. They were both pretty, bright girls dressed in white gingham. Soon after parting from them, they stopped to speak to Mr Martin Drew, stiffly correct, who only just managed to conceal his disapproval of her going out unchaperoned; and there was handsome Lord Edmund Wincote, who was a stranger to Lavinia, but greeted James so enthusiastically he was obliged to pull up and present him to her.

      He was a young man of perhaps four and twenty, fashionably attired in a riding coat of good Bath cloth, a yellow waistcoat, deerskin breeches and tasselled boots. When he swept off his tall riding hat to Lavinia, he revealed short dark hair that sprang into tight little curls.

      ‘I am happy to make your acquaintance, my lady,’ he said, appraising her with eyes so dark they were almost black. ‘Are you in town for the Season?’

      ‘Yes, my lord. And you?’

      ‘Oh, most assuredly, London is the place to be at this moment.’

      ‘Oh, you mean because of the coronation?’

      ‘Not at all.’ He smiled into her eyes, making her stomach give a sudden lurch. ‘Because Lady Lavinia Stanmore is here.’

      She laughed a little shakily. ‘Flatterer!’

      ‘I speak from the heart, my lady. I hope to have the pleasure of meeting you at some of the entertainments being held this year.’

      ‘Oh, undoubtedly, should we both be invited to the same function,’ she said airily, pretending to be unaffected.

      ‘Then I shall look forward to them all the more.’ He smiled and replaced his hat before wheeling his horse round. ‘Until we meet again, my lady. Corringham, good afternoon.’

      ‘That was pitched too bold by far,’ James said, as they pulled away and made for home. ‘He must be desperate.’

      ‘What do you mean, desperate?’ she snapped, turning on him, green eyes flashing. ‘Am I such a poor catch? A ninny no man could possibly want unless he be desperate? You may be my brother, but that does not mean you may disparage me—’

      ‘Vinny, that is the last thing, the very last thing, I would do. It is the man I disparage, not you. And I am not your brother.’

      ‘Thank goodness for that for, if you were, you would wrap me up in so many prohibitions I should not be able to breathe. Good heavens, the man was only being polite.’

      ‘I am sorry, Vinny,’ he said. ‘I did not mean to upset you. You are miles above him in every way and, by desperate, I meant he was trying to find favour even when he must know he has no hope.’

      ‘And how do you know he has no hope? He is handsome and very polite and—’

      ‘But for all we know he might be a fortune-hunter, looking for a rich wife and they don’t come richer than the daughter of the Duke of Loscoe.’

      ‘How do you know that?’

      ‘What, that your dowry is likely to be more than generous?’

      ‘No, silly, that Lord Wincote is pinched in the pocket.’

      ‘A guess,’ he said. ‘I haven’t seen him in years and now he turns up out of nowhere, bold as brass. It makes me cautious.’

      ‘Fie on you, for your suspicious nature. I’ll wager his coat was tailored at Weston’s and the boots came from Hoby’s. Besides, that horse of his is no broken-backed hack. Men without feathers cannot fly so high.’

      ‘There is such a thing as credit. And debt, as I should know.’

      She was diverted from the subject of Lord Wincote to turn and look searchingly into his face. ‘James, surely you are not—’

      ‘No, of course not. I was referring to my green days. I am a reformed character, as you are perfectly aware.’

      ‘So you do not need a rich wife?’

      He smiled, unable to resist teasing her, knowing she never took offence and would give back as good as she got. ‘Oh, I would not turn one down simply because she was rich, all other considerations being in her favour.’

      ‘What other considerations?’

      ‘Her temperament. She would have to be beautiful and biddable too. I could not abide living under the cat’s paw.’

      Surprisingly she did not rise to his bait. Instead she said, ‘And do you not think Lord Wincote might have the same sentiments?’

      ‘I am not privy to his sentiments, Vinny.’

      ‘Nor, as far as I can tell, to his true situation. Not that it matters, money is not important…’

      ‘Only because you have never felt the want of it.’

      ‘I told you before, I shall marry only when I fall in love. And if I fall in love with a pauper, so be it.’

      ‘Not with him, surely? He is not worthy of you.’

      ‘I shall say who is worthy and who is not.’ Her temper was up and he ought to have known better than goad her, because it only made her more determined to further the acquaintance of the young man in question. Too late, he realised the wisdom of silence and drew up at the door of Stanmore House without saying another word.

      He jumped down and strode round the phaeton to help her alight. She jumped from the last step and almost fell into his arms. He caught her and held just a fraction longer than he ought to have done, but the feel of her lovely body so close against his sent tremors of desire through him and he wanted to savour the feeling as long as he dared.

      ‘Will you come in?’ she asked, looking up into his grey eyes and seeing there a look which she could not fathom. It was sadness and tenderness and humour all mixed up together and it confused her. And there was a strange twist to his mouth as if he wanted to smile, but could not, which made her want to ask him what troubled him and to comfort him. ‘Mama might be back.’

      He released her reluctantly. ‘Does that mean I am forgiven?’

      ‘Of course it does, silly.’ The fleeting moment of intimacy was gone. ‘But you must make recompense.’

      ‘Oh?’ He raised one eyebrow. ‘And what might that be?’

      ‘Take me out in the phaeton again.’

      ‘Of course. It will be my pleasure.’

      ‘Tomorrow. Early. Seven o’clock.’

      ‘Now, Vinny, I never said—’

      ‘You said you would think about it and now you have thought and have decided that there cannot possibly be any harm in letting me take the ribbons in a deserted park. You think you might even enjoy teaching me, always supposing you manage to rise early enough.’

      ‘Oh, so you are privy to my thoughts, are you?’

      ‘Of course. You are an open book to me.’

      He did not think so, or she would have read the love in his heart, a love which had grown and matured ever since that day, three years before, when he had been introduced to her. His stepmother, who had an unerring sixth sense where he was concerned, had warned him that Lavinia was far too young to be thinking of marriage and, as he was often in one sort of scrape or another, the Duke would never countenance him as a son-in-law until he mended his ways.

      Mending his ways had been easy; after all, his misdemeanours had been minor ones, all part of the process of growing into manhood. Changing the way Lavinia looked at him was far harder. She was as elusive as a butterfly, there to be seen and admired, laughing with him, sharing confidences, expecting him

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