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      ‘I cannot imagine that. I find York stifling enough.’

      ‘Have you never been to London?’

      ‘I have never had cause to go there, thank goodness. I am certain that I would dislike it immensely.’

      ‘I loathe London.’ Had she just said that out loud? By the way he turned to look at her, his dark head slightly tilted to one side and his expression curious, Evie realised that she had. And to him, of all people.

      ‘Why?’

      How to explain something that she had never verbalised before? ‘It is crowded and unforgiving.’ Perhaps not the best choice of words, but fitting.

      ‘Unforgiving?’

      Oh, dear, definitely not the best choice of words. Now she had to explain herself and he would no doubt think her pathetic. ‘Even though it is filled with people, the society there is very close-knit. Everybody knows everybody else’s business.’

      ‘It is like that in the countryside also.’

      ‘Yes—but...’ Evie sighed, becoming increasingly aware of his intense gaze. ‘In London, everybody is judged. And once judged, it is impossible to be anything other than what you are perceived to be.’ She really should not have said that. Except, that was how she felt. Bottled, labelled and displayed on the shelf. In London, she was Evie the spinster. The plain wallflower with the dull personality. A woman whose ship had not so much sailed, but failed to leave the harbour. A nobody. A nothing. She doubted this splendid-looking man would understand how draining it was to be of no consequence.

      ‘And how are you perceived to be, Miss Bradshaw?’

      The question startled her and she blushed ferociously. She could hardly admit to the truth—but then again, she already had, she supposed. ‘I am perceived exactly as I am, Lord Finnegan. A plain, plump wallflower who has been so long on the shelf that she is almost a part of it.’

      ‘How old are you, Miss Bradshaw?’

      Goodness, the man was rude. Nobody asked a lady’s age. ‘Almost six and twenty.’

      ‘That is not old. You still have plenty of child-bearing years left.’ Another thing that, frankly, should never be discussed, especially as Evie’s heart lurched at the mention of the children she would never have. ‘And you are neither plain nor plump.’

      ‘You do not need to spare my feelings, Lord Finnegan.’

      The corners of his mouth curved up as he stared straight ahead. ‘I believe you know enough about me, Miss Bradshaw, to know that I am not a man to spare anyone’s feelings. If you want me to be completely honest, I believe that your choice of attire and matronly hairstyle make you appear plain and plump. And old, Miss Bradshaw. Far too old.’

      ‘You are a very insulting man, Lord Finnegan.’

      ‘Yet a moment ago you accused me of sparing your feelings?’ Evie could not think of a quick enough answer to that so marched on ahead to the crest of the hill. When she got there, and stared down, she stopped dead in her tracks.

      Ahead of her was what she assumed was Stanford House. Like Matlock House, it was Palladian in style and perfectly symmetrical. Unlike Matlock House, it appeared to be missing a roof.

      ‘I did tell you that it was uninhabitable.’ He came level with her and then jauntily bounded down the hill with a definite smug spring in his step, leaving Evie to trail despondently behind. Insufferable man.

      By the time she caught up with him he was a few yards from the shell of a house with his arms folded. It was obvious by the lack of glass in several windows, and the black stains that blotted the pale stone above those gaping holes, that there had been a horrendous fire. A horrendous fire that Fergus had neglected to tell her about during their hasty negotiations. Was nothing about her move to Yorkshire going to go to plan?

      ‘What happened?’

      ‘About three years ago, my dear brother had one of his house parties. I have never really got to the bottom of who did what and when, Fergus never invited me to any of his many entertainments and I would never have gone even if he had. Suffice to say, at some point during the night someone set fire to something. Because it had been a particularly hot summer and because they were all so deep in their cups that nobody had the good sense to throw water on the flames quick enough, the place went up like a firework. You might have noticed that the roof is missing. If you go inside, and I do not recommend that you do, you will also discover that the entire upper floor has collapsed as well. You could always pitch a tent in the grounds.’

      ‘You are enjoying this, aren’t you, Lord Finnegan.’

      His mouth curved upwards again and he nodded. ‘So—it’s back to London for you, I suppose.’

      The rush of pure, unadulterated fury was so sudden and so visceral, Evie quite forgot herself. Of their own accord, both of her hands shot out and pushed him firmly in the chest, sending him backwards so that he landed unceremoniously on his bottom on the ground. He stared at her in shock.

      ‘I am never going back to London! I do not care if I do have to pitch a tent! I am never, ever going to live with Hyacinth again! I hate that woman. I hate the way she makes me feel. And I hate her stupid, spiteful daughters. And most of all, I hate the way that I am when I am around them!’

      Evie covered her mouth with her hands and simply stared at him, shocked at her own lack of control. The anger on his face, changed to bewilderment. ‘Who’s Hyacinth?’

      Evie’s voice was shaking and so were her hands. She had just pushed a grown man, a very big, solid, hateful grown man, to the ground and she had no idea whether to be mortified or exulted. ‘She is my stepmother.’

      His dark head tilted to one side again as he assessed her from his seat upon the ground. ‘Why do you hate her so much?’

      A painful knot formed at the base of Evie’s throat and for a few moments she was certain that she might cry. ‘This is really not what I had hoped for when I came to Yorkshire.’

      In resignation, she lowered herself to sit on the ground as well, where she took several calming breaths. ‘My stepmother married my father for his money. When he died, the only reason she kept me on was because my father had left the bulk of his fortune to me, not her. But she resents me for it and spends every minute of every day reminding me of my shortcomings, making me miserable while she happily spends my money on her life and all I get to do is watch. In London, I am a doormat. An invisible nobody. I came here because I wanted to stop being a doormat. I am running away, you see, Lord Finnegan. I know that you probably think me over-dramatic or lily-livered for not standing up to Hyacinth, but if I stay there I will continue to fade away until there is nothing left of me but an outline. I cannot go back there; no matter how awful things are here.’

      * * *

      Finn did not want to feel sorry for her, but he did. He could see the tears shimmering in her pretty eyes that she would not allow to fall, saw the light of hope in them dull and hated the sight of it. He knew how painful it was to have all hope die. But she had misguidedly put all of her hope in Fergus so she was already doomed to be disappointed. ‘I doubt your life will be any better here with my brother, Miss Bradshaw. He will spend your money, too, and probably a darn sight quicker than this Hyacinth woman. And he will never be here. Already he has abandoned you for the gaming tables and I fear that he will always do so.’

      ‘I do know that, Lord Finnegan. It was one of the reasons why I became engaged to him.’

      Now Finn was truly baffled. ‘You willingly became engaged to a man who will make you miserable and ignore you, just as you claim this Hyacinth woman does?’

      ‘I suppose, to you, that does sound silly, but I have no desire to spend any more time with your brother than he does with me. I came here to live my own life, Lord Finnegan.’ She inhaled deeply and closed her eyes, and in doing it was almost as if she was repairing herself. When those eyes opened again there were

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