Bronwyn Scott – Scandal At The Christmas Ball: A Governess for Christmas / Dancing with the Duke’s Heir (страница 9)

Drummond laughed. ‘Aye, though I reckon if you saw it, you’d likely be disappointed. It has turrets right enough, and battlements and even a section of dried-up moat. If your taste runs to crumbling ruins, it’s romantic. I’ve often thought it would make a fine setting for a Gothic novel.’

Joanna chuckled. ‘Are you aware that your accent broadens whenever you talk about your homeland?’

‘Then it’s going to be nigh on impenetrable on New Year’s Eve—or Hogmanay, as we call it. His Grace asked me to brief him on all our Highland customs for the party. He has a piper coming, of all things, and has plans for us all to dance a few reels.’

‘Will you be wearing the kilt?’ Joanna asked, fascinated by the idea of him in such a garment, with those fine legs on display.

His smile faded. ‘I’ve not worn the plaid since I was last home, which was a long time ago. Too long. When my appointment with Wellington is confirmed, I’ve promised myself I’ll visit, for depending upon my posting, I may be abroad for the foreseeable future.’

And yet he had not returned in the last three years despite having ample opportunity to do so once he had left military service. His absence from the Highlands was deliberate then, but why? ‘So, instead of returning to the Highlands you chose to settle in Shropshire,’ Joana said, thinking to tackle the issue from another angle. ‘You have friends there? Fellow officers, perhaps?’

‘To my knowledge, there is not a single officer of the Scots Guards in that county or any neighbouring it. That was part of the attraction.’

Having no idea what to make of this, Joanna said nothing. It was an uncomfortable silence. Drummond had a habit, she’d noticed, of touching the scar which ran through his eyebrow, when he was discomfited. He was doing it now.

‘I have never thought of Shropshire as my home,’ he said finally. ‘It was simply a place to—to bide my time. And soon enough I’ll be posted abroad. Have you ever travelled to the Continent?’

‘I’ve never even been to Scotland, though I would love to stay in a romantic castle such as the one you described. I have a secret weakness for Gothic romances, I am embarrassed to admit.’

To her relief, Drummond’s harsh expression softened. ‘The reality is such places are full of cobwebs and mice, and the walls are crumbling with damp, and there’s always a gale howling down the fireplace. There’s nothing romantic about that.’

‘You’ve pretty much described my current abode,’ Joanna said.

He took her hands between his. ‘Is it really that bad?’

‘Oh, I’m sure you’ve suffered much, much worse living conditions while on campaign.’

‘Not always. I spent a winter in Seville, once. We officers were barracked in a palace, all tiled terraces and fountains, and marble courtyards. Oh, and orange trees, lots of orange and lemon trees. The scent in the morning, it was one of the most delightful aspects of staying there.’

‘And were there delightful Spanish ladies to keep you company?’

‘Oh, indeed,’ Drummond said with a wicked look. ‘One only had to pick one from the bunch, like plucking a ripe orange from a tree.’

‘I don’t doubt it.’

‘You know I’m teasing you?’ He caught her hands between his. ‘I’m thirty-two years old, Joanna, I’m no virgin, but I’m not a rake. There have been women from time to time and I’ve had my share of amorous fun, but there has never been anyone serious.’

‘Why not?’

‘The army always came first with me, and the army is no place for a woman.’

‘But there are army wives...’

‘And a very rough time they have of it. No,’ he said decidedly. ‘I would never want a wife of mine to lead that life.’

‘But since you left the army?’

‘Since I left the army, my life has been—uncertain, as unsuited to marriage as life in the army. And so I have never allowed myself to become anywhere near fond enough of any woman to ask her to marry me.’

‘Never allowed?’ Joanna exclaimed. ‘You find it so easy to place a leash on your emotions?’

Drummond gazed down at their hands, twining his fingers between hers, a frown furrowing his brow. ‘Normally,’ he said, looking up to meet her squarely, ‘but you seem to be providing a sterner test.’

Her throat went dry. ‘What are you saying?’

‘I don’t know, exactly. What about you, Joanna? Have you ever been in love?’

‘Good heavens, no,’ she exclaimed, thrown by his abrupt turn of the subject. ‘That is, I have never swooned or palpitated or—or felt as if I would die for the want of some man. I am no Clarissa, nor indeed Madame de Tourvel. Les Liaisons Dangereuses,’ she added, at Drummond’s questioning look. ‘Madame de Tourvel is seduced by Valmont and—oh, it doesn’t matter. What I’m saying is...’

‘That you have never been in love. But you have been kissed.’

She blushed. ‘Yes, most expertly by you, several times now.’

‘It is not like you to be coy. You know perfectly well I meant before.’

‘Sorry.’ She loosed her hands from his to try to cool her cheeks. ‘It is really very hot in here.’

Drummond shook out a large kerchief and dipped it in a little waterfall, handing it to her, watching her silently while she dabbed it gratefully on her heated skin, aware all the time that he was biding his time, that he would not let the subject drop. So she sighed and nodded. ‘There was a man. His name was Evan. We had known each other all our lives, and it was always assumed that we would marry, I suppose. He proposed to me on my eighteenth birthday, though there was no question of our marrying for some years, for Papa needed me. Then Papa died, and it made a great deal of sense for us to marry for I had no home, but I realised that I had never really—well, the truth is, I’d never really thought too much about it, and when I did think about it...’

‘You didn’t love him?’

‘Well, no, but I never thought I did, and he never pretended—we were very fond of one another, it would have been a very amicable marriage, but—oh, dear, this sounds dreadful—but it would have been so frightfully tedious, Drummond. You probably think me a most unnatural female. Evan did, but I knew I would not have made him happy. I was twenty-one. I had never ventured more than ten miles from home, and though I loved Papa with all my heart, I cannot pretend that his passing—it felt like a release. I didn’t want to swap one life of duty and devotion for another. As I said, you probably think that unnatural...’

‘Actually, I think it perfectly natural, and admirable.’

She was feeling hot again, though it had nothing to do with the heated succession house. It was the look on Drummond’s face. Desire warring with caution. ‘You said I’m proving a stern test.’

‘What I meant is that I fear we are playing a very dangerous game.’

‘But that’s exactly why it is not dangerous. It is a game, Drummond, it is not real. We both know that whatever happens between us will come to an abrupt end when we leave here.’

‘Is that truly how you feel?’

‘I cannot afford to feel anything else, and nor can you. We both have too much to lose. Despite your ambivalence, you need this post with Wellington, don’t you? And for Wellington to appoint you, the Duke of Brockmore must first approve you and then continue to vouch for you,’ she continued when he nodded reluctantly. ‘He would not approve of your association with me, Drummond. Believe me, if he had an inkling...’

‘I reckon the Silver Fox’s reputation for being all-seeing and all-knowing is much overstated.’

‘And I reckon we are making far too much of this—this attraction which exists between us,’ Joanna said, as much for her own sake as his. ‘I think our feelings have been exaggerated by the situation.’

‘Because we know we’ve so little time, you mean?’

‘Exactly,’ Joanna said. That is exactly it, she told herself.

Drummond pulled them both to their feet. ‘So you don’t think this—this thing between us, has any real foundation?’

Though it shimmered between them, it was most likely the succession-house heat haze, Joanna thought. Did a heat haze have the power to draw one body to another, or was it the gentle pressure of Drummond’s hands on her waist?

‘I think it is—I don’t know what it is,’ she said, her own hand lifting of its own accord to curl her fingers into the silky, damp curls at the nape of his neck. The heat was affecting her breathing. And his. She stared mesmerised at his mouth. His lips were sinful. That was every bit as preposterous as saying that hers were like cherries, or rose petals, yet there was something inexplicably sultry in the contrast of his full bottom lip, the thinness of his upper that made sinful the perfect word to describe them.

‘If we are playing with fire,’ Drummond said, ‘the sensible thing would be to extinguish the flame.’

There was barely an inch separating them now. One of his hands rested lightly on the base of her spine. One of hers lay flat on his chest, just at the point where his coat met his waistcoat. She could feel the dull, steady thud of his heart. Her own was hammering. ‘Is that what you want?’

‘No.’

‘Perhaps it will fizzle out of its own accord,’ Joanna said, aware she sounded unconvincing.

‘If we indulge it, you mean?’

‘Yes,’ she said without hesitation. ‘Do you want to indulge it?’