A Question of Impropriety (8 page)

‘And it does not matter how tightly you hug that book, or how many times you repair your cap, life will still happen to you.'

‘I am not afraid of life.' Her voice rose sharply. ‘Can I help it if I am wary of your reputation?'

‘And if I promise to be on my best behaviour?' His voice lapped at her being. ‘Will you then continue this
conversation? I did so want to hear more of your views on my estate and what actions I should take.'

Diana glared at him. He was in sensible to reason. But it also seemed like life had taken a sudden unexpected turn. A little voice in the back of her mind warned about the dangers of becoming involved, however briefly, with a known rake, but she quashed it. But Lord Coltonby's interest was surely only neighbourly. A tiny tug of disappointment wavered within her.

‘As it appears that I cannot get rid of you, you may escort me back to my gig.'

‘I am de lighted that you have seen sense, Miss Clare.'

‘Miss Bolt and I were admiring your curricle the other day,' she said firmly, directing the conversation towards more impersonal topics as they started down the High Street towards the livery stables. For once she would indulge in speaking about horses to an expert. ‘Or rather
she
was, and I was looking at your horses. Are they from Tattersalls?'

Brett regarded Miss Clare. Her long eye lashes had swept down over her ivory skin. Her dark gown with its high neckline hinted at her curves rather than revealed them. Had he not held her in his arms, he would have been tempted to say that the curves did not exist. But he had, and his body knew they were there. Each tiny step she took was a victory. Slowly. Slowly he'd lead her where she needed to go. She was like a frightened bird and he looked forward to gentling her. However, it was not proving to be as easy as he had first considered. How to get under her defences? That was the question.

‘Do you like horses?' he asked, tucking the books she had chosen under his arm and guiding her progress along the street.

‘My brother despairs of me. He swears I will break my
neck one of these days. With him, they are an imperfect mode of transportation only.'

‘Your brother is not fond of horses? That makes sense. I never trust a man who does not have a passion for horses.' He forced his voice to remain smooth. ‘A man who has no time for horses has no time for life's pleasure.'

‘He has his reasons. Valid ones.' Miss Clare waved a vague hand. ‘I understand it, but I disagree. I have loved driving ever since my father first let me hold the ribbons. It was his first proper carriage and I was about four.'

‘Ah, that explains a great deal.' Brett gave a short laugh, remembering her indignation at being caught in the mud. His shoulders relaxed. He would use his new-found knowledge to his advantage.

‘Does it?' She tilted her head to one side. The shadow of her bonnet brim pointed directly to the fullness of her bottom lip.

‘Your annoyance when we first encountered each other.' Brett tucked her arm in his and began to stroll towards his curricle. Not too fast. She gave him a startled look, but he noted with inward pleasure that she did not draw away or find an excuse to depart. He would break down these barriers she had erected. ‘I thought it was directed at my rescuing you, but in reality it was directed at the situation. You hated being caught out, not being perfect. And when you are, you retreat.'

‘It was arrogance rather than in experience that led me into that mud pool.'

Brett watched the sunlight kiss her cheeks. There was a passion within this woman, as much as she tried to hide it. He could sense it. But she had re pressed it, hidden it even from herself. He would reawaken it and see if the woman she was now bore any relation to the quicksilver girl he had met in London. A memory of her laughing and pointing
at the fire works in Vauxhall Gardens suddenly surfaced and he knew he wanted to hear her laugh like that again. ‘Your eyes were spitting mad that day by the mud pool. They shone brighter than the fire works at Vauxhall. Surely you remember those.'

Miss Clare's face became clouded as the life drained from it.

‘I try to forget London.' Her long lashes swept down over her cheeks, hiding her eyes and her shoulders hunched ever so slightly. It was as if she expected to be beaten for it. An impotent rage coursed through Brett at his simple error. She had been at Vauxhall with Finch. He longed to have Finch in front of him, so the man could see what havoc his care less ness had wrought. Brett had disliked his superficial charm and easy manner years ago. He had seen the way the man whipped his horses and his careless disregard for their welfare after outings. No matter what the weather, or the time, horses had to come first.

‘Do not judge all men by the failings of one.'

He waited. A breeze blew a tendril of hair across her face. With impatient fingers she brushed it away, but still she said nothing. He willed her to understand.

‘I thought it was my love of horses that made him notice me.' Her voice was low and her fingers toyed with the string of her parcel. ‘I thought…that we had something in common. Rather, my money and his need for ready cash.'

She gave a hic cup ping laugh, as if she had practised the words a thousand times.

‘I am sure there were other reasons why he was interested in your hand.'

‘That is a back handed compliment.'

‘But sincerely meant,' Brett said gently. ‘Take a chance. Trust me to be different.'

Her eyes twinkled, transforming her face, back to the woman of the mud pool. He relaxed slightly. The mood had passed. He could reach her. Somehow he wanted to trans form her back to the woman who had been de lighted by Vauxhall's fire works. If he could do that, he would be well pleased.

‘Sincerity is always to be welcomed.'

‘Shall my horses meet you? However briefly?'

‘I would like that. I would like that very much.'

 

As they approached the curricle, Brett signalled to his tiger. The bays arched their necks and pawed the ground. Brett half-expected Miss Clare to behave like other women and clutch at his arm. Or possibly to turn her lips down in disapproval. Instead, she gave a de lighted smile, one that reached her eyes, and advanced towards the horses. She reached up and touched their necks, speaking to them in a soft crooning voice. His tiger nodded his approval.

‘It is good to see that you are fearless, Miss Clare.'

She gave the bays one last pat and then stepped away from them. ‘They are high-stepping beauties. I would love to be able to sit behind them…' she finished whist fully.

‘Now, come driving with me now.'

A strange light flickered in her eyes and he wondered if he had lost her. He willed her to say yes.

‘To drive or to watch you drive?'

‘You would have to prove your worth before I would allow you to handle the ribbons.' Brett gazed into her eyes. They were changing again.

‘Many more people claim to be able to drive to the inch, than can actually achieve the feat.' Brett shrugged.

‘And how does one prove this, if you refuse to let them drive?'

He regarded Miss Clare's gloved hands. They looked
strong and capable, but small. He shuddered to think what could happen if the horses bolted. The bays took all of his strength to control. ‘Before I allow my horses to be driven by anyone—man, woman or child—I make sure that I know the driver is up to the mark.'

‘Caution? Hardly a word I would have associated with you.'

‘Practical. It prevents accidents.' He touched his hand to his hat.

‘Why? How difficult are they to handle?'

‘They are a challenge. I enjoy challenges. They fly when I let them, but in the hands of an in experienced driver, I would not like to be responsible for the consequences. Are you tempted, Miss Clare?'

She gave the brim of her bonnet a tug, shading her face, deliberately hiding it from him.

‘I came to town in the gig.'

‘My tiger can return it.' He held up his hand and took a deep breath. It felt as if he were playing a very high-stakes game of whist. One final try, then he would be forced to resort to another gambit. But he would win. She wanted this. He could sense it in his bones. ‘I promise to be on my best behaviour. Are you prepared to take a ride behind the horses? To feel the wind against your face? They have a turn of speed that is almost unequalled. Of course, if you prefer to return home in the company of your staid mare, I understand completely. Do not complain you were never asked.'

‘I am no coward.' Diana fiddled with a button on her glove, weighing her options. Did she dare take the risk? Lord Coltonby had already made it abundantly clear that any attraction was on her part and her part alone. She was not risking her reputation. She was simply going for a drive
with a neighbour, an entirely different thing. ‘I should like to feel the wind against my face.'

‘A drive home, nothing more.' A faint smile played on his lips. His eyes held a distinct gleam. ‘I wish to be neighbourly, Miss Clare.'

Diana wet her lips, took once last glance down the High Street and nodded.

B
rett concentrated on the horses and the taut reins, rather than on the slim woman sitting next to him, but every so often he glanced over to where she sat, face entranced, watching the horses' every move. He had half-expected her to cling to his arm, the instant he allowed the horses to leap forward, but her back remained resolutely straight and her hands folded. She showed no inkling of screaming, but every aspect of enjoying the ride.

Colour had flooded back into her cheeks and her eyes shone with a blue-green intensity. She leant forwards slightly as if she was urging the horses to go even faster. The wind caught her bonnet and sent it flying back wards.

‘I had quite forgotten what it was like to have the wind blow throw my hair,' she said with a laugh as she struggled to replace the bonnet, holding on to it with one hand.

‘And do you like it?'

‘I like it very much. It is exhilarating.'

‘Good, I am glad. If I have made you remember joy, then it pleases me.'

‘Oh, yes, joy.' She leant forward. ‘Can you make them go faster?'

Brett flicked the reins and the horses sped away. He knew in that instant that he had never seen a woman more alive. Her love of carriages and fast horses shone from her—but it also made her dangerous.

He pulled on the ribbons and the horses came to an abrupt halt.

‘Why have you stopped here?' A furrow appeared between her brows as she turned in her seat, looking up and down the deserted road. Her hand clutched the side of the curricle and the bright colour faded from her face, draining all the life from her features. ‘Have I been foolish in the extreme? You gave your word, Lord Coltonby. Straight home.'

‘We are going back to your house, but I wanted to stop here for a moment. I wanted privacy for our conversation. We need to get the parameters in order.'

‘Take me back,' she squeaked. ‘Now! I command you! I beg you! Do as I ask.'

Brett resisted the urge to curse. He had misjudged the moment. He had to gain her trust, but certain things needed to be said before they went further. He always con ducted his romances in this manner. It made things less messy when the time came to part. He wanted Diana Clare to have no false expectations, no excuse to claim breach of understanding.

‘I have my code, Miss Clare. You are as safe here as you were in the library. I merely wanted to speak with you privately. Forgive the slight deception.'

‘Privately?' Her eyes widened, much as a horse's did when it was spooked.

‘To make sure you understand that I have no intention of marrying.' Brett made sure his words were said very slowly
and un hurriedly, almost singsong. ‘My attention is not to be perceived as a court ship. Marriage does not figure on my horizon.'

‘Am I supposed to swoon at this earth-shattering news, Lord Coltonby? You are not telling me anything that I don't already know.' She gestured frantically towards the road. ‘You may drive on, having said your pretty piece. Allow me to reassure your vanity by saying that I have no intention of marrying you.'

‘It is well we understand each other. I would hate for a miscommunication.'

‘As would I.' She turned her face away.

He reached out and his hand covered hers. Brett felt it tremble slightly and let it go. He would accept the strictures of their relationship for now, but he intended to have more. There was a passionate woman under her frosty exterior. He was certain of it. Brett silently cursed all who had made her this way. She was like some nervous wild thing, intent on camouflaging herself so that she could escape unnoticed. London gossip had badly scorched her, but he could see the woman inside trying to escape. ‘You are a welcome distraction from the necessary business of sorting out the estate, and I value your friend ship. I enjoy getting your perspective on the problems I face. Biddlestone nearly ran it into the ground.'

‘It was lucky you acquired it, then. It is an estate that begs to be loved.'

‘But seems unlovable to the casual observer.'

‘And are you a casual observer?'

‘I pride myself on my keen eye, Miss Clare.'

Diana shifted uneasily on the curricle seat, increasing the space between her and Lord Coltonby. With his thigh pressed against her leg, she found it difficult to concentrate on anything but his physique. He was speaking of more
than the estate. It terrified her that he might be speaking of her. ‘I need none of your flummery, Lord Coltonby. If you are going to persist in this sort of behaviour, we will have to return to being the barest of acquaintances. We need to decide which of the cottages you should…'

‘Brett.' His voice positively purred. And the look he gave her was pure male. A look that sent her pulse racing. The look of a rake, a practised seducer, she reminded her heart. ‘I really must insist you call me by my Christian name, if we are to be
intimate.
'

Intimate. Diana felt her cheeks grow hot at the picture it conjured up in her mind. She banished it, locked the thought away in that little part of her mind where she never permitted herself to go. Forced herself to remember the pain and humiliation she had suffered and to silence the little voice which pro tested that Brett was different. Diana took a deep breath and regained control. She would hold true to her promise. She would never be seduced again. She had learnt her lesson.

‘Acquaintances implies no intimacy.' She tilted her chin in the air and focused on the horses' ears. ‘Lord Coltonby or Coltonby will surely suffice. I cannot address you by your Christian name. Think of the scandal.'

‘I must disagree with you. The word said in private will have no effect.' His eyes danced with an unholy mischief and Diana began to wonder what precisely she had agreed to. She should never have behaved impulsively and agreed to the drive. She should have contained her temper. When would she learn not to give in to temptation? Reason was what was important. Brett's hand slid down her shoulder and his fingers curled around hers, held them in a light but gentle grasp. Diana resisted the urge to tighten her fingers about his. ‘Try it. Once. Here and now. No one but me will listen.'

‘But I…' Her tongue became thick in her mouth and she turned her head away. It seemed there were two of her—the lady she had promised over and over again to be on her journey from London to Newcastle, and then her true self, the one who could not resist temptation. She had thought the latter gone, but she had only been slumbering, waiting her chance. But was Diana ready for heart ache? For the pain, for the scandal?

‘Give it a try. You will find it quite simple. Allow my name to flow from your lips.'

‘Brett,' she whispered, her voice barely audible. Her lips ached as if they had been brushed by his. She touched her fingertips to her mouth. Concentrated hard. ‘There, I have said it. Are you satisfied?'

‘Say it like you mean it. Roll the R's.'

‘Brett!' Diana said, through gritted teeth. ‘And I never roll my words.'

‘I would have preferred honey-sweet seduction, but I will take the tartness of vinegar for now.' He clicked his tongue and the curricle began to move. Diana felt a sigh escape her throat. Of regret? Of disappointment? She refused to ponder the emotion.

‘You are incorrigible.'

‘So my nurses used to tell me.' His laughter rang out, startling the wood pigeons in the trees.

‘You had more than one nurse?'

‘My brother and I had a succession of nurses. It depended on whether my father was in funds. My mother used to despair. The worst was that the roof leaked. In many ways, I was pleased to be rid of the Abbey after my brother died. Constant repairs and a house so riddled with damp that one should start anew.'

Diana absorbed the knowledge. ‘But your father was an
earl. Surely he had the money to fix the roof and to keep the damp out.'

‘My father was also a poor gambler. He gave in to impulse and failed to do his research properly. Inclined to rush his fences. Neglected to ensure the settlement before his death.'

‘You are wealthy now. Or is that something else Lady Bolt has mistaken?'

‘My wealth is my own, Miss Clare. In that I have proved more adept than my brother or my father. The title I share with my fore bears. There is a difference.' He clicked his tongue and the horses stirred, obeying every flick of his ribbons. There could be no doubt that the beasts knew who their master was.
Their
master, but not hers. She refused ever to have a master.

‘Stop! Stop!' A young girl stepped out in to the road and waved her arms wildly. ‘Please stop, I beg you.'

Brett pulled hard on the horses and brought the curricle safely to a halt.

‘Jenny Satterwaite, what sort of mischief is this?' Diana asked before the girl had the chance to say another word. ‘I know about the tricks you and your brother played on Widow Tyrwhitt.'

‘No trick, Miss Diana.' Jenny drew a line in the dust with her toe. ‘And I did clean out her house, like. Mam said it were proper, like.'

‘Then what is the difficulty? Is it your father again?'

‘No, Miss Diana. He's back at the mine.'

‘Is some hazard up ahead?' Brett asked smoothly.

Jenny shook her head. ‘It's me mam. She's stuck. Stuck in the stair well and there ain't none that can help. Me and Jimmy have pulled and pulled, but she ain't moving.'

‘How did it happen?'

‘The stair boards were loose, but no one has fixed them.
We've been waiting for the new lord to come. Me mam said he would put it right.'

Diana shifted uncomfortably, not daring to look at Brett. She could not bear it if he refused this child.

‘He is here and he will help if he is able.' Brett leapt from the curricle. ‘Do you have someone who can hold the horses?'

Jenny's brow puckered. Then she nodded. ‘Jimmy can. He loves horses. Da is hoping to get him a job at the mine as soon as there's an opening.'

She ran off back in to the house, shouting. Diana stared at Brett in astonishment. What did he plan on doing? ‘Shall we send somebody out?'

‘Forgive me, Miss Clare but you will be slightly delayed. I believe this woman has the greater need.'

A small boy, a year or so younger than her nephew Robert, came out of the house. His eyes widened when he saw the horses. ‘I thought Jenny was funning me.'

‘If I give you a penny, can you hold these horse? Tight, mind, and don't let them move.'

‘I will do it, sir.' The boy stood straighter.

Brett held out his hand to Diana. ‘Right, shall we see about this woman in distress?'

They followed Jenny into the cottage and immediately were greeted by a series of moans. Diana's heart twisted. She had half-expected it to be another one of Jenny's tall tales, but Mrs Satterwaite was lying half in and half out of the stair well, her face creased in pain.

Without hesitation, Brett went over and lifted her out. There was a great cracking as the board gave way, but the woman emerged to great squeals of delight from Jenny.

‘Thank you, sir.' Mrs Satterwaite gave a tired smile. ‘I had no idea how I'd have kept going till them that lives next door came home.'

‘Is there some where you can rest?' Diana asked. The cottage with its narrow stairs was even darker and danker than she remembered from her visits.

‘Bed's upstairs. We had to let the down stairs room go and move upstairs now that money's tight.'

‘Look after this.' Brett took off his coat and handed it to Diana. Her fingers curled around the warm cloth and held it close. ‘I believe I can fix this—temporarily. Boards, nails and a hammer, if you please, young Jenny Satterwaite.'

The girl ran off and quickly produced them. Diana watched as Brett nailed the boards in place, covering the rotten patches. Then he tested each of the other stairs. ‘Not perfect, but it will suffice for now. I will send the workmen to fix it properly tomorrow.'

‘Yes, my lord.' Mrs Satterwaite's eyes grew big. ‘If you please, my lord, I've been telling me man about those boards for an age. He is a good man, Miss Diana. It were just the accident that turned his head.'

‘It will be sorted now. I intend to look after my tenants properly.' The words echoed in the small cottage. Before, she had thought his words were easy, but now she could see that he meant them. He cared about these people. ‘I trust you have no objections, Miss Clare.'

He took his coat from her unresisting fingers and they returned outside. Jimmy Satterwaite held the horses. His face was screwed up into an intense look of concentration. At Brett's approach, the horses pawed the ground but Jimmy clung on with dogged determination, preventing the curricle from moving.

‘I doubt my tiger could have done better.' Brett handed the boy a coin. ‘Come to my stables. I can always find a job for a boy who's good with horses.'

Diana watched the boy run back into the cottage, shouting the news. ‘You are not what I expected.'

‘Neither are you,' he murmured as the curricle started moving once again. ‘And do I have your leave? May I call you Miss Diana like the Satterwaites do?'

‘If you must.' She took a deep steadying breath and willed the ride to last a little longer, but already the gates to the Park were looming ahead.

‘Diana, named after the huntress goddess of the moon.' His voice purred her name, doing strange things to her stomach. ‘Have you been to Italy or Greece, Miss Diana? Have you seen how large and yellow the moon can be as it rises over the sea?'

‘I have only once been away from Northumberland—to London.'

‘A pity. Italy is beautiful, but with the war, Greece is more accessible.' He slowed the horses to a steady walk. His arm came over the back. ‘I should like you to see Greece with its hidden glades and moonlit beaches.'

Diana ignored the slight tremor inside her. Words flowed from him as easily as water slipped down the Tyne.