Mary Brendan – Regency High Society Vol 1: A Hasty Betrothal / A Scandalous Marriage / The Count's Charade / The Rake and the Rebel (страница 27)
‘Lord Sandford,’ she protested, weakly, ‘please release me. This is most improper!’
‘Call me Robert,’ he cajoled her, the fire back in his eyes. ‘Then maybe I shall let you go.’
‘Maybe! That’s very poor odds!’ Harriet replied spiritedly.
He put his head on one side as though considering this point, then nodded. ‘True. Call me Robert and I promise not to kiss you. How’s that?’
Scandalised, Harriet struggled to free herself. ‘You wouldn’t dare—you told me that you were no ravisher!’
‘There’s a first time for everything,’ he said coolly. ‘Call me Robert.’
Harriet stopped struggling and regarded him balefully. ‘Well, if it means so much to you—
‘Oh, Robert! Robert!
‘Harriet, my love, you are truly magnificent!’ Sandford stood up, swept her towards him and wrapped his arms around her, ignoring her squeal of dismay.
‘Stop struggling—otherwise I shall forget myself—that’s better. Now, listen to me, Harriet—please.’
For a moment he stood very quietly, simply holding her against him and, as her eyes crept up to his face, she could see that he had become very serious once more. She didn’t move, somehow content to remain within the circle of his arms, listening to the rapid beating of his heart. At last he spoke.
‘I know that nothing I can say will undo the hurt that I’ve caused you …’ He hesitated, choosing his words with meticulous care. ‘And it is probably of very little interest to you to know that, far from play-acting, I truly believe that I love you.’ She quivered and his arms tightened. ‘Yes, I do. I had begun to hope that you might learn to hold me in similar regard—I admit that I was mad with jealousy and so desperately afraid, my darling, I think I was about to lose my reason. I was ready to commit murder—I know that now. You brought me to my senses when you struck me and I knew instantly that I had been wrong—that the whole thing was clearly a well-executed plot …’
He stopped as Harriet pulled away from him.
‘Why were you so ready to think the worst of me?’ she cried. ‘You refused even to listen to me!’
Sandford grimaced, finding the memory of that episode of his behaviour particularly repugnant.
‘I had found certain items in a clearing near the gate,’ he said, clearing his throat.
‘What items?’ Harriet demanded. ‘And how did they concern me?’
Sandford flushed and shamefacedly fingered his cravat, as though it were suddenly too tight.
‘Your hat and a glove—I recognised them both, of course …’
‘And?’ said Harriet stiffly, aware that something worse was to follow.
‘A gentleman’s pocket flask—it had contained brandy,’ choked the viscount, unwilling to meet her shocked gaze. ‘And a crumpled cravat.’
‘Also a gentleman’s, I take it?’ Harriet’s eyes glittered.
Sandford nodded in dumb resignation.
‘All the signs of a sordid tête-à-tête, in fact?’ Harriet inquired in a deceptively sweet voice. ‘No wonder you didn’t want to listen to me!’
‘You had the smell of brandy on your breath!’ exclaimed Sandford hotly, in his own defence.
‘So that’s what that funny taste was,’ mused Harriet. ‘They must have given it to me after I passed out.’
Chagrined, Sandford reached out for her once more, but she neatly sidestepped him and opened the office door. Swiftly he strode towards it, attempting to block her exit, but she was out into the hallway in a trice.
‘No doubt your parents—who have proved themselves my true friends—have by now provided you with the correct version of that morning’s events,’ she said in a low voice, not wishing to attract March’s attention. ‘And your only excuse for your appalling behaviour is to tell me that you think you love me—well, we obviously have a very different understanding of the meaning of the word “love'', my lord. The man to whom I give my heart will
She turned to leave, but Sandford caught her arm. His face was rigid, his eyes unfathomable.
‘I wish you well in your search for this paragon,’ he grated, ‘although such a pattern of perfection is unlikely to choose you as his mate …’ He stopped, aghast. My God, what am I saying, he thought, horrified at his own words. He let go of Harriet’s arm and bowed stiffly. ‘My apologies, ma’am,’ he said and re-entered the office, closing the door behind him.
For a moment Harriet stood frozen with shock. His damning words, which continued to echo in her ears, had shaken her to the core, for she was obliged to acknowledge that he was right. In spite of her high-flown speech, she was painfully aware that it had been mostly her own impetuous and foolhardy behaviour that had brought her to this stand. From the time she had left her home in Lincolnshire, right up to this very moment, she had insisted upon going her own headstrong way, ignoring advice from all sides, interfering in other people’s lives—people she hardly knew, she realised, her face suddenly scarlet at some of the memories—and presumptuously assuming that she knew what was best for everyone. No gentleman on earth could be expected to regard such conduct with anything but the deepest abhorrence. What might be considered charming in a wayward child was not acceptable in a full-grown female. Would she never learn? she pondered in despair. Time and time again she had disregarded the warnings and now, it seemed, she had reaped the whirlwind and those rash and arrogant words she had so haughtily vaunted would surely return to torment her.
Hot tears welled up into her eyes as she made her way to the foot of the staircase and the sudden blurring of her vision caused her to stumble on the first step. She was aware of a firm hand on her elbow and an anxious March at her side.
‘Miss Harriet?’ His voice was gentle. ‘Are you unwell? Shall I call Rose? Come and sit down for a moment until you recover.’
He led her to a nearby chair and stood uncertainly by, not wishing to exceed his duties but angry that something or someone had upset his little favourite. Ever since that first evening when she had tiptoed nervously down the stairs in her borrowed finery he had felt that she was something special. Always a smile and a kind word for the servants, quick with her thanks for their services and he, for one, had never heard a single complaint pass her lips. He had watched her change from that laughing-eyed, bright-haired angel into a silent shadow of her former self, all in the space of three weeks. One hardly ever heard her spontaneous and infectious laugh these days, he thought morosely, and if that’s what being engaged does for a girl he was damned if he was going to offer for Maudie Hiller. He watched closely, wearing his usual impassive expression, as Harriet composed herself, dabbing at her eyes with the ridiculous piece of lace the ladies called a handkerchief, longing to offer her his own pristine equivalent but knowing that it would be quite overstepping the mark to do so.
‘Thank you, March,’ said Harriet tremulously, rising to her feet. ‘I fear I must be coming down with a cold. I will go up to my room now—if you would be so good as to send Rose to me?’
‘At once, Miss Harriet,’ said the loyal footman. ‘And perhaps a glass of wine—a well-known restorative, so I’m
told?’
‘Thank you, I would be glad of that.’ Harriet nodded, avoiding his eyes.
He watched her walk unsteadily up the stairs and had the most disrespectful urge to ‘pop’ his lordship ‘one on the beak'. Blinking, he moved smartly to the green baize door that led to the lower stairs and delivered his instructions to Rose.
Sandford, meanwhile, had been staring blindly at the sheets of paper in front of him on the desk, unable to believe that he had uttered those unforgivable words.
Any minute now I shall wake up, he thought, praying that he must be in the throes of some dreadful nightmare but, raising his eyes to the window and perceiving the peaceful summer scene beyond, he knew beyond doubt that the whole episode had been only too real.
With a shaking hand he reached for the decanter on the side table and cursed when he saw that it was empty. Damned servants! What did they think they were employed for? He tugged angrily at the bell-rope and waited impatiently for March to appear. Pointing curtly towards the tray, he raised his brows imperiously.
March bowed his head in acquiescence. The fact that the room had been occupied for some considerable time, preventing the carrying out of certain domestic tasks, was no excuse for such laxity, as well he knew and offered no plea in his own defence. He picked up the salver and walked swiftly to the door.
‘Your lordship’s pardon,’ he said, exiting at the double. ‘I shall attend to it at once.’
Sandford eyed the closed door sourly. The whole damned house seemed to be going mad, he thought, quite certain he had sensed hostility in young March’s demeanour. It’s her fault, he concluded savagely, sweeping the papers to one side. She has everybody under her spell, from the lowest boot-boy right up to …