A memory surfaced, of Stanton haranguing Lascelles about his treatment of his horse after their first outing with the hunt. The day they met Rosalind.
‘I am pleased to find you have your animal’s welfare at heart. Did you spend an enjoyable afternoon?’
Lascelles shrugged. ‘It was agreeable enough. I decided to familiarise myself with the neighbourhood and to make the acquaintance of some of my new neighbours.’ The smirk returned as Lascelles locked eyes with Leo. His look suggested there was more to his news than one objectionable visit to Frederick Allen. For the first time, Leo wondered if his cousin was aware of his own activities that afternoon.
‘I heard you called upon Mr Allen.’
‘Allen? Allen? Do I recall...? Oh, yes, indeed. The cripple. His name...somehow...slipped my mind.’
Distaste at his cousin’s sneer clawed at Leo. He would not continue to tiptoe around, guest or not.
‘You are aware, of course, that Mr Allen is the brother of Mrs Pryce?’
Lascelles’s dark eyes widened, mockingly innocent. ‘No, is he, Coz? Well, I shall bow to your superior knowledge of the Delectable Dorcas.’
His use of the nickname they had bestowed upon Rosalind—‘Dorcas’ after Shakespeare’s shepherdess in The Winter’s Tale—irritated Leo, but he held his temper in check. Lascelles was a complex and difficult man, a fact that was becoming more apparent by the day. It behoved Leo to tread carefully around this subject, even though his instinct as head of the family was to lay down the law.
‘You are unused to the customs here and of the behaviour expected of a gentleman.’ He rose to his feet and paced around the room. ‘You do wish to fit in here? You want to be accepted in society?’
Lascelles remained sprawled on his chair, but his eyes were watchful. ‘The widow and her crippled brother are hardly prominent members of society. Why, if you came across them in town, my dearest Coz, you would not even deign to notice them, they are so far beneath your touch.’
Again, Leo reined in his temper, distracting himself by examining a model of a Chinese pagoda displayed on a side table. It was exquisite, the ivory carved in intricate detail.
‘Ming,’ Lascelles said. ‘The Prince has one very similar, I am told. Now, that is the mark of a gentleman.’
Leo crossed to the fireplace, and settled his left shoulder against the mantelshelf, folding his arms.
‘You are mistaken. The mark of a gentleman has nothing to do with money or with fine possessions. Birth is, of course, important but it is manners that mark the true gentleman. Manners and the treatment of others and, in particular, the treatment of those of lower birth. If you do not understand that, Anthony—and believe it—you will never earn your place in society.’
Even as he spoke the words, Leo questioned whether Lascelles could ever be a true gentleman. It was not something that could be learned but was, in Leo’s opinion, something intrinsic in a man’s character. Looking at his cousin, at his insolent sprawl, he doubted Lascelles possessed that trait. Rather, he was more than ever convinced there was something rotten at the man’s core...something more than just bitterness over his illegitimacy. Stanton had been right: Uncle Claude—Fourth Duke of Cheriton—had been right not to wed Lascelles’s mother, and not only because of her profession. She would have made a terrifyingly unsuitable duchess with that temperament of hers. Leo still could not help feeling some guilt, however, and it was that guilt that had prompted him to accept Lascelles’s invitation to Halsdon Manor, to find out if their relationship could somehow be redeemed.
It seemed not.
He pushed away from the mantel. ‘I am going to see how Vernon fares in his revenge on Stan.’ He paused by Lascelles’s chair, steeling himself against the urge to wipe the mocking sneer from his face. No matter his aversion to Lascelles, he was family and he was also, for now, Leo’s host. ‘Will you accompany me?’
There was a pause. ‘Not for the moment, Coz. I shall join you directly.’
As he strode in the direction of the billiard room, his muscles tight with anger, Leo knew he should leave Halsdon and go back to London before he and Lascelles came to blows. It had always been thus between the two men—that constant vying for supremacy. Leo’s hope that his cousin had changed—mellowed—had not been realised: Lascelles was merely an older, more confident version of his younger self. He still knew what he wanted and, it appeared, cared even less about the means by which he got it.
Yes. A wise man would leave now before the antagonism lurking beneath the surface erupted.
A memory swirled and coalesced—bringing to his mind not only her image but the smell of her, the feel and the sound of her voice...low and musical, sending quivers of need chasing across his skin.
Rosalind.
No, he would not, could not leave. Not yet.
He was intrigued. He wanted more, wanted to learn more. And yet...
He paused outside the billiard room, ostensibly to examine a painting hanging on the wall opposite the door. His eyes were looking inward, however. His mind was filled with her. His blood stirred and his heart beat faster. Her desirability—his desire for her—was without question, and yet, beneath that craving lurked a whisper of disquiet.
Lies. Deceit. Secrets.
Could he trust her? He had already caught her out in one lie and he sensed there was something else. A secret. Something important to her that she withheld, cocooning it deep within.
He abhorred lies and deceit. He’d had his fill of those particular traits with Margaret.
When Leo’s father became the Fifth Duke, his health was frail and he had fretted over the continuation of the Beauchamp line. To give his father peace of mind, eighteen-year-old Leo had married Margaret, three years his senior. Looking back, he had been hopelessly naïve. Oh, Margaret had done her duty and presented him with two sons and a daughter, but her only interest from then on was the social whirl. She was a duchess and she wanted to live the life she believed her new station warranted. She lost all interest in both Leo and the children. For most of the year, she had stayed in London, only returning to Cheriton under duress.
And she had lied. Constantly.
And taken lovers. Many lovers.
Leo locked down his memories. The past was done. Long ago he had trained himself not to dwell on what could not be changed. And, after all, what did it matter if Rosalind held secrets? He would soon return to London and there was one thing of which he was certain: never again would he accept an invitation to Halsdon Manor. Once he left, whatever lies she told and secrets she held would have no power to hurt him.
He spun on his heel and walked into the billiard room.
‘Leo! Stan is a blasted bandit! I happened to glance out of the window and, whilst my attention was diverted, I swear he moved the balls.’
Stanton grinned and bent to take a shot, his ball hitting first Vernon’s cue ball and then the object ball—a cannon.
‘With skill like this, I have no need to cheat,’ he said. ‘That’s another two points and I win again. It is time you taught your brother how to lose gracefully, Your Grace.’
Vernon laughed and slapped Stanton on the back. ‘Good shot.’
‘Seems billiards just isn’t your game, Vern.’ Stanton shot a look at Leo. ‘Where’s our esteemed host? You two been locking horns again?’
Leo shrugged. ‘That’s putting it a bit strong, Stan. I should rather describe it as a robust exchange of views on a certain matter.’
‘His Grace—’ Lascelles had entered the room unnoticed ‘—proffered his advice on the behaviour expected of a gentleman and I, in deference to his position as head of our family, have given that advice my due consideration.’ He flicked a ball across the billiard table, then settled his dark gaze on Leo. ‘I shall call at Stoney End and tender my apologies to the cr—to Mr Allen. And to his entra
ncing sister.’ His eyes gleamed, malice in their depths. ‘She is entrancing, is she not, Coz? She certainly appeared to mesmerise you when I saw you earlier. Or was it the sun on the water dazzling you?’
Leo’s gut tightened. His instinct was right: Lascelles had seen him with Rosalind by the river. Quite without volition, the fingers of his right hand curled into a fist.
‘Sister?’ Vernon nudged Leo. ‘Have you found yourself a woman already, you sly dog?’
‘Oh, not just any woman,’ Lascelles said. ‘It was none other than the Delectable Dorcas. I believe my dear cousin is somewhat smitten. Oh, not that I blame you, Coz. She is an appetising morsel. I quite fancy a taste myself. Yes, I believe I must pay them a visit, make my apologies and then...let the best man win.’
He smirked. Fiery rage erupted inside Leo and he battled to damp it down. He sensed Vernon’s eyes on him, then his brother shifted, moving towards Lascelles. Good old Vernon—ever since boyhood, always ready to intervene when Lascelles pushed Leo close to the brink.
‘Dorcas didn’t seem too impressed with you the other day, Anthony,’ Vernon said, slapping his cousin on the shoulder. ‘Now, if I was a betting man, I’d call it a lost cause. It’ll take a mountain of grovelling on your part to change her opinion of you and—with the greatest respect, Cousin—you are not the grovelling type.’
Lascelles smirked. ‘Is that what you think, dear boy? Well, I might take you up on that challenge. I have time on my side.’ He caught Leo’s eye. ‘After all, the lovely Mrs Pryce is going nowhere and neither am I. I am sure I can persuade her to forget our most unfortunate introduction. It was quite out of character, isn’t that so, Coz?’
Leo held Lascelles’s gaze in silent challenge until a muscle bunched in Lascelles’s jaw and he looked away. ‘Stanton, would you care to try your skills against mine?’
‘Certainly.’ Stanton set up the table.
Leo wandered over to the window to stare into the dark night. He wondered what Rosalind was doing. How did she pass the evenings? Did she think of him, as he did her?
Vernon’s reflection joined his in the window as the click of balls announced that the game had started.
‘Is she a decent woman, this Mrs Pryce?’
‘She is.’
Vernon drew in a deep breath. ‘I do not know what Anthony saw, but—’
‘Her hat blew into the river and I retrieved it. Anthony, as usual, is making something of nothing.’
‘But I do know what he thinks,’ Vernon continued, as though Leo had not spoken. ‘If you should happen to see the lady again, do warn her to take care. Anthony always coveted what was yours and he has not changed in that respect. Do you not recall how he tried to ingratiate himself with Margaret?’
He did. He would see Rosalind tomorrow and he would warn her against Lascelles, even though he was convinced she needed no such warning to be cautious.
* * *
The next day Rosalind left Stoney End for her daily ride, trying not to hope she might see Leo again. The visitors at Halsdon would not hunt again today and she could not help but wonder how they—Leo—might pass the time. She had already forgiven his criticism over the way she protected Freddie. She should not have risen to his provocation. It had not been deliberate. He could not possibly understand how central her family was to her entire life.
She guided Kamal into the lane that led to Malton and there he was. Leo, astride the same huge bay he had been riding the first time they met, waiting at the edge of a stretch of woodland. Excitement fizzed inside Rosalind. There was no surprise on Leo’s face when she came into view—this was no coincidence and he was clearly not about to pretend otherwise. He had been waiting. For her. Her mouth dried and heat erupted through her as her heart thumped against her ribs.
She inclined her head. ‘Good morning, Mr Boyton. It is a pleasant day for a ride, is it not?’
His lips twitched. ‘It is indeed, Mrs Pryce.’ He raised his hat, his black hair gleaming in the light of a stray sunbeam. He manoeuvred his horse alongside Kamal. ‘A pleasant day that can only be improved by such agreeable company.’
Presumptuous. Full of confidence. But Rosalind liked that he did not beg permission to ride with her. He accepted it as his right. It was, she decided, refreshing. As long as he did not decide it was his right to criticise her relationship with Freddie again.
She smiled at him. Heavens, but he was attractive. Not just handsome, but...his whole being: his appearance, his attitude, his ease in himself. Even though she appreciated his assumption of control, she instinctively reached for the metaphorical reins.
‘Would you care to ride with me, Mr Boyton? I am heading for the village. You are very welcome to accompany me, if you wish.’
‘You are most gracious, ma’am,’ he murmured, a hint of laughter in his voice. ‘I should be delighted to ride with you.’
They rode in silence for several minutes.
‘I am forgiven, am I not?’
Leo’s sudden question made Rosalind jump. And then laugh, for it was so close to her earlier thoughts.
‘There is nothing to forgive. On my part, at least. I should beg your pardon for taking offence.’
‘Splendid.’
Rosalind reined Kamal to a halt. ‘S-Splendid?’
‘Indeed. I felt sure you would see the error of your ways if I prompted you.’
‘Why, you...you...’
‘Speechless, Mrs Pryce?’
Rosalind narrowed her eyes at Leo. ‘You are teasing me.’
‘I am? Now, can you be absolutely certain of it?’
She could see by the quirk of his lips that she was right. She laughed and shook her head at him. ‘It would serve you well if I sent you away for such impertinence.’
‘Impertinence? I am not a schoolboy, to be dressed down with a scold.’
‘Then kindly do not behave like one.’ Rosalind nudged Kamal into a trot, leaving Leo behind, but he soon caught up, his huge bay dwarfing the dainty Arabian.
‘And now we have broken the awkward silence, I shall allow you to lead the conversation if you will,’ Leo said. ‘That way, I shall not get into trouble for straying into territory you consider to be none of my business.’
Rosalind cringed inside as she recalled telling him that Freddie was none of his business.
‘I am sorry for saying that. I am protective of my brother. I have cared for him ever since he was a child.’
‘But he is a child no longer. His body may be damaged, but he appears to be an intelligent, well-educated man.’
‘Oh, he is. I am so proud of him... He has such a thirst for knowledge and to understand what is happening in the world. He is always reading, and he paints and plays the piano exquisitely.’
‘A true paragon of virtue,’ Leo commented drily. ‘If he were female, I might even consider courting him.’
‘Oh...you! You are teasing again. I merely wished you to understand that he is more than a cripple.’
‘You have no need to prove anything to me. I understand that very well.’
Silence reigned once again. As the village came into sight, the sound of crying brought them to a stop. A brick-built store by the side of the road appeared to be the source of the sound and Leo leapt from his horse.
‘Mr Boyton,’ Rosalind hissed. ‘Wait for me.’
‘It would be better if I check inside first,’ he said, then cocked his head as a shout of laughter erupted from within the building. ‘There might be danger. You should—’
‘That is a child weeping. Please. You will need me. What do you know about comforting a child?’
A fleeting frown crossed his forehead, then was gone. ‘Very well.’
He did not wait for her to dismount, but stepped forward and lifted his hands to her waist. She hesitated as heat fl
ared then, with an inner humph, she unhooked her leg from around the pommel and placed her hands on his shoulders, ready to dismount.
He took his time, allowing her body to slide—excruciatingly slowly—down the length of his before her feet touched the ground. Liquid warmth pooled at the juncture of Rosalind’s thighs and she swallowed hard, drowning in the depths of those mesmeric, silver-grey eyes.
A sudden shriek broke the spell and they sprang apart. Rosalind hooked the loop of her riding habit around her wrist, to manage the draping skirt, and followed Leo into the dark interior of the store. Three boys, possibly ten or eleven years old, clustered in the corner, their attention fixed on something huddled on the ground.
‘What are you doing in here?’
The lads turned. ‘This is my uncle’s store,’ the one on the right said. ‘We caught her thieving.’
A whimper sounded from the crouched shape. Rosalind’s vision adjusted to the dimness and she could now make out a small child, with a mass of tangled hair, clutching a half-eaten apple. Blood trickled from her nose, mixing with the snot and the tears that flowed down her face, forging tracks through the grime.
Leo reached into his pocket, then flipped a coin in the direction of the boy. ‘Get out of here,’ he said. ‘That will pay for the fruit. I will deal with the girl.’
The urchin wailed. The three boys fled and, before Rosalind could move, Leo was crouching down before the child, murmuring in his deep voice.
‘Hush now. They are gone. Are you hungry?’
The child’s wails quieted and then stopped as she hugged the apple to her chest. Leo reached out. ‘Come. Where do you live? Let me take you to your mother.’
The child shook her head.
‘You cannot stay here. Those boys will come back as soon as we leave.’
The child scrambled to her feet. Leo stood and took her hand. She clung tight to her apple with the other. As they neared Rosalind, and the light from the open door fully illuminated the child, Rosalind could not prevent herself from stepping back. Never had she seen a grubbier, more neglected child and her instinctive reaction was to keep her distance, lest she catch something. For certain the girl was riddled with fleas and lice and all manner of nasty afflictions. Then, almost immediately, compassion arose to drown out her revulsion. The poor child could be no older than six. One look from those huge, sad eyes tugged at her heartstrings.
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