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A Lady for Lord Randall
Sarah Mallory


In a Time of War…Independent schoolmistress Mary Endacott has no intention of ever surrendering to a man – especially when she meets stubborn yet infuriatingly handsome Lord Randall! But with a major battle fast approaching normal rules dissolve, and Mary gives herself to him.… Can True Love Survive?Justin is renowned for his authority on the battlefield, but Mary is a challenge of a whole new kind!He’s determined to seize every moment of happiness while he can, but when the fighting commences will the promise of Mary’s kiss be enough to keep him safe?Brides of Waterloo: love forged on the battlefield…









BRIDES OF WATERLOO


Love forged on the battlefield

Meet Mary Endacott, a radical schoolmistress, Sarah Latymor, a darling of the ton, and Catherine ‘Rose’ Tatton, a society lady with no memories of her past.

Three very different women united in a fight for their lives, their reputations and the men they love.

With war raging around them, the biggest battle these women face is protecting their hearts from three notorious soldiers …

Will Mary be able to resist Colonel Lord Randall?

Find out in

A Lady for Lord Randall by Sarah Mallory

Discover how pampered Lady Sarah handles rakish Major Bartlett in

A Mistress for Major Bartlett by Annie Burrows

What will happen when Major Flint helps Lady Catherine ‘Rose’ Tatton discover her past? Find out in

A Rose for Major Flint by Louise Allen




AUTHOR NOTE (#ulink_bf956f03-1454-5df2-89f0-b774b7a322ce)


Why settle for one hero when you can have a whole bunch? That was the idea behind Randall’s Rogues—a crack artillery unit with brilliant but maverick officers (all handsome devils, of course) brought together by one very special leader: Justin Latymor, Colonel Lord Randall. And so the Brides of Waterloo mini-series was born! A Lady for Lord Randall is the first of three romantic adventures commemorating the Battle of Waterloo, which took place on 18th June 1815.

Randall is a professional soldier with no time for romance—until he meets the fiercely independent Mary Endacott. Against all rational judgement they are drawn together in the heady days before Waterloo, but can they ever find lasting happiness when their lives, their outlooks and even their principles are so very different?

The summer of 1815 was a momentous time. Napoleon was set to dominate Europe; Britain and the Allies were making one final stand against him. It would be nice to think that if Randall’s Rogues had ever existed they would have played their part in helping the Allies to victory on that day.

Working on this trilogy with Annie Burrows and Louise Allen has been immensely enjoyable and I learned even more about my craft—so thank you, ladies. Thanks also to Jos van Loo for his Belgian insider knowledge. Finally I am indebted to Trevor Rutter, whose battlefield tour of Waterloo was such an inspiration. Trevor was also extremely generous with his advice and encouragement while I was writing this book. If there are any errors in the battle scenes then they are entirely my own.

I do hope you enjoy reading this book—do contact me to let me know. You can find me at www.sarahmallory.com (http://www.sarahmallory.com)


A Lady for

Lord Randall

Sarah Mallory






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


ISBN: 978-1-474-00591-3

A LADY FOR LORD RANDALL

© 2015 Sarah Mallory

Published in Great Britain 2015

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of Harlequin (UK) Limited

Eton House, 18-24 Paradise Road, Richmond, Surrey TW9 1SR

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

Version: 2018-07-18


SARAH MALLORY was born in the West Country and now lives on the beautiful Yorkshire moors. She has been writing for more than three decades—mainly historical romances set in the Georgian and Regency period. She has won several awards for her writing, most recently the Romantic Novelists’ Association RoNA Rose Award in 2012 (The Dangerous Lord Darrington) and 2013 (Beneath the Major’s Scars).


Peter O’Toole (1932–2013)

An inspiration for many romantic heroes including Randall, my very own rogue male.


Contents

Cover (#u9c2e575c-a8d6-5022-834e-128f9f24b040)

Introduction (#u2047b89c-65f0-5c57-a566-5fd86f8ac44b)

AUTHOR NOTE (#u621c824a-c38b-5bba-9adc-4ea124be242e)

Title Page (#ubc48878d-621b-52a8-83cb-bca1b178aa32)

Copyright (#u3e471b98-794e-5c14-b8ea-12ec1c7b73cf)

About the Author (#udaefc276-954b-5125-95bf-cbe8e4fd8500)

Dedication (#u047d7b01-d9f7-57fe-bf7f-e8260ee246e7)

Chapter One (#u9ba04af7-4bb1-599f-a39d-8b0d369e1706)

Chapter Two (#ubd819deb-881e-5de7-ab1e-0633a61b1f8b)

Chapter Three (#u12b1c41b-9444-5049-b0b0-119e4e0a9a3c)

Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter One (#ulink_a9970d66-ddbf-51aa-888f-6f07dc1cde81)

Randall glanced at the clock. Had it only been an hour since they had arrived at the Bentincks’? It felt longer. He was not naturally sociable, preferring the company of a few close friends to parties such as this where the room was crowded with strangers, but he knew he must try to make himself agreeable, for his sister Hattie’s sake. The Bentincks were a cheerful couple whose children had flown the nest and who now liked to fill their time and their house with interesting young people. The problem was, their idea of interesting was not Randall’s. Hattie had explained that the Bentincks’ house would be full of intellectuals, artists and atheists.

‘And tradesmen, too, no doubt,’ he had retorted.

‘They are invited because of their intelligence, not their rank,’ she told him and gave a little trill of laughter when Randall grimaced at the idea. ‘You must come, they will be quite delighted to have an earl, a real live peer of the realm in their midst. And a soldier, to boot.’

‘And does the Bishop approve of you and Graveney attending these parties?’ he had asked her, thinking of her husband, the rural dean.

Hattie’s eyes had twinkled merrily at that.

‘Not at all, but Theo loves to go there, he approaches these evenings with all the zeal of a missionary. As he says, what is the point of always preaching to the converted?’

Observing his brother-in-law across the Bentincks’ drawing room, Randall could well believe it. Theo Graveney was involved in a lively discussion with a group of gentlemen in loose coats and untidy hair. Arms were flying and voices were raised as the debate grew ever more heated.

Randall’s gaze moved on. Most of the guests were writers or scholars, he guessed, his eyes dwelling on one or two shabbily dressed men with ink stains on their fingers. There were no military men present, save himself, the rest of the party being made up of tradesmen, artists and even a couple of French émigrés. They were all gathered in little groups, engaged in animated conversation. There was a smattering of women amongst the crowd, some of them pretty, in a blowsy sort of way, and all giving their opinions as decidedly as the men.

Randall disliked such loud, overbearing society and he had retreated as soon as he could to a quiet corner. He had known how it would be and he should have remained at Somervil. Oh, Mrs Bentinck had greeted him warmly enough, but her first comment had warned him just what to expect from the evening:

‘We are very informal here, my lord, and stand on no ceremony. I shall make no introductions, you must take your chances like the rest of the guests.’

She had carried Hattie away then, leaving Randall to mingle as he wished. But Randall did not wish. With Bonaparte even now marching through France and the country on the verge of war again, he was not to be distracted with idle conversation. His sister came up and handed him a glass of wine.

‘Well, Randall, what do you think of our little gathering?’

‘Little gathering, Hattie? Such a number would be considered a crush even in the Latymor town house.’

‘They travel from far and wide to attend the Bentincks’ soirées,’ she said proudly.

‘That may be so, but it is not to my taste,’ muttered Randall. ‘I am a soldier, plain and simple.’ A shout from the far corner caught their attention and he glanced to where a group of young men were now arguing noisily. ‘I have no patience with artistic tantrums.’

‘Pray do not be tiresome, Justin, there are more than just artists here, and plenty to entertain, if you are not too high in the instep.’ Hattie patted his arm, murmuring as she prepared to move away, ‘You should relax and enjoy yourself, dear brother. You are a man of the world, so I trust you not be shocked by the company we keep.’

* * *

Randall knew he could not stay in one spot all evening and he began to stroll around the room, listening to the conversations, but joining in with very few of them. He had not worn his uniform, but began to think he would have been more at home if he had done so. At least then it would have been plain what his role was and he would not have been asked for his opinion on so-and-so’s latest stanzas, or if he had read some new and profound religious tract. He was wondering how soon he could possibly retire without giving offence when a soft, musical voice sounded at his elbow.

‘You look a little lost, sir.’

He turned, vexed to find himself addressed by a woman he did not know. But he should not be surprised at such brazen behaviour, given the company gathered here tonight. He could not recall seeing her before amongst the crowd, for there was certainly nothing blowsy about her. She was neatly dressed in a gown of cream muslin with her dark hair swept up on her head, unrelieved by ribbons or flowers. She carried herself with an assurance that seemed odd in one so young—she looked about two-and-twenty, the same age as his sister Sarah. The woman was regarding him with a humorous twinkle in her green eyes and he found himself wanting to respond with a smile. Impossible, of course. One did not encourage such persons. Still, he replied more politely that he was wont to do.

‘Not lost. Merely daydreaming.’

‘I have not seen you here before. I am Mary Endacott, I am presently staying here. Mrs Bentinck is my cousin.’

She waited, clearly expecting him to introduce himself.

‘I’m Randall,’ he said shortly, rather taken aback by such forwardness.

Her brows went up. ‘The earl, Harriett’s brother?’

‘You are surprised, ma’am?’

His cold tone should have depressed any pretension, but Mary Endacott merely laughed at him.

‘Well, yes, I am. I would not have seen this as your normal milieu. The company is a little...radical.’

‘I arrived at short notice today.’

‘Ah, so you had no choice but to attend.’

He said carefully, ‘I am very happy to be here.’

‘But you would rather not socialise with us. I have been watching you, my lord, and you do not look to be enjoying yourself.’

‘That is because my mind is occupied elsewhere.’

‘On the forthcoming confrontation with Napoleon, perhaps?’

‘Amongst other things.’

She nodded. ‘It does seem rather frivolous to be discussing art and philosophy when the fate of Europe hangs in the balance.’

‘Just so.’ He glanced at her fingers, which were holding her closed fan. The right hand was folded over the left so he could not see any ring, but she had such poise and confidence that he guessed she was a married woman. He glanced about the room. ‘Which of these gentlemen is your husband?’

‘Oh, I am not married.’ She chuckled. ‘Actually, that applies to a number of the women here tonight, but in my case I am not in a union with anyone, either. Many here are opposed to the concept of marriage,’ she explained. ‘No church ceremony can bind a man and woman together, only love can do that. Love, and a commonality of intellectual interests, of course.’

Her eyes were fixed on his face and he had the impression she was trying to shock him.

‘And is that your conviction, too?’

He had the satisfaction of seeing that his blunt question had discomposed her, but then he was a little sorry when she looked away from him.

‘It is what I was brought up to believe.’

He said, ‘It would require a great deal of trust on the woman’s part, I think, to enter into such a union without the blessing of the church. She would not have the protection of the man’s name.’

‘She would not become his property, either. The current law is a scandalous state of affairs and has serious disadvantages for a woman.’

He inclined his head.

‘Very true, Miss Endacott.’

A female of decided opinions. Not his type at all.

‘Ah, Mary, so you have met my brother.’

He had not seen Harriett come up, but now she linked arms with Miss Endacott.

‘We introduced ourselves,’ he said shortly.

‘I would not have thought that necessary,’ said Harriett. ‘Did you not recognise the nose, Mary? All the Latymors have it, and any number of villagers, too, thanks to Papa. At home one could never walk through Chalfont Magna without encountering at least two of his by-blows. Oh, there is no need for you to look daggers at me, Randall, Mary knows all about our father’s dissolute ways. We are very old friends, you see. We were at Miss Burchell’s Academy together.’

He relaxed, just a little. So the forward Miss Endacott was one of Harriett’s free-thinking school friends.

‘That explains a great deal,’ he murmured.

Harriett’s eyes twinkled. ‘Has Mary outraged you with her radical ideas? Her parents were great admirers of Mrs Godwin—Mary Wollstonecraft—hence her name.’

Miss Endacott chuckled, a soft, warm sound that was very pleasing to the ear.

‘I certainly tried to be outrageous, Hattie, but your brother would not rise to the bait.’

‘Well, you know he is a soldier, and commands a company of rogues, so he is most likely unshockable.’

With two pairs of eyes fixed upon him, two laughing faces turned up to his, Randall felt ill at ease. He gave a little nod and left them. By God, he would prefer to face a charge by French cavalry than these teasing women! He passed Theo, who was at the centre of a group of clerics and rather surprisingly arguing for Catholic emancipation, and moved on to a group of young men who were discussing the Lake poets, but he was thankful when Mr Bentinck came up and carried him away.

‘You do not look to be enjoying yourself, my lord.’

‘I confess I have little in common with your guests,’ replied Randall carefully ‘I came to please my sister.’

‘Ah, yes. Mrs Graveney.’ His host nodded. ‘She may prefer not to be known as Lady Harriett these days but she is very proud of you, you know. She likes the fact that you followed your grandfather into the artillery rather than buying a commission. Well, sir, there are fellows over here whose conversation might be more to your taste.’

Bentinck took him across to a cluster of tradesmen who were eager for news of Bonaparte. Randall stayed for a while, discussing the latest situation and how it might affect their business, before moving on.

The good dinner his sister had provided at Somervil, plus the Bentincks’ excellent wines, were having an effect. Randall felt more relaxed, more able to participate in the conversations, but even as he did so, he found his eyes straying to Mary Endacott as she moved around the room. Her figure was very good and she had a natural grace. He liked the way the swing of her hips set the thin skirts of her muslin gown fluttering in the most alluring fashion as she walked. When she passed close to him he stepped away from the group he was with to talk to her.

‘You are not enamoured of any of the discussions, Miss Endacott?’

‘On the contrary, I find them all fascinating, but a heated debate on theology with Mr Graveney has left me sadly thirsty.’

‘Allow me.’ He accompanied her to the table at the side of the room, where an array of jugs and decanters were set out. He filled two wine glasses and held one out to her.

‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I am sure you are more used to raising a finger and having a servant wait upon you.’

‘Trying to put me to the blush, Miss Endacott? You will not succeed.’ He followed her to a vacant sofa and sat down beside her. ‘I am a soldier and accustomed to much rougher conditions than these.’

She laughed.

‘Of course you are. Hattie has told me all about Randall’s Rogues, the raff and scaff of the military gathered into one troop. Men it is impossible to place elsewhere. If you had not taken them most would have been hanged by now.’ She sipped at the wine. ‘I do not approve of war, but your efforts in this case are admirable; you have turned them into a formidable unit. From the despatches I read in the newspapers they acquitted themselves well in the Peninsula.’

‘They are all good artillerymen.’

‘Perhaps they have a good colonel.’

Randall shrugged.

‘I demand only two things, Miss Endacott, unquestioning obedience and loyalty.’

She shook her head at him.

‘Loyalty I can understand, but unquestioning obedience? I do not think I could give anyone that.’ She gave a little shrug and smiled at him. ‘Nevertheless, I have to congratulate you on your success, sir. To take such unpromising material and turn them into a crack artillery troop is no mean feat.’

‘A man’s background is nothing to me, as long as he can fight.’

‘But how does one control such men?’ she asked him.

‘Iron discipline. The lash and the rope. When a man joins the Rogues he knows it is his last chance.’

He saw the disapproval in her eyes.

‘That is a brutal way to go on, my lord.’

‘It is necessary. In war a man must know he can rely on his comrades.’

‘I would there were no wars and no need for armies.’

‘That is a dream of all reasonable beings, madam.’

He leaned back, watching the changing emotions flicker across her countenance.

She said a little wistfully, ‘My father was a great supporter of the revolution in France, and of Bonaparte, at first. Papa thought he would uphold democracy, until he proclaimed himself emperor and began to overrun Europe.’

‘Thus, until the world is at peace we shall always need soldiers, Miss Endacott.’

‘We shall indeed. But this is dismal talk, Lord Randall, surely there must be a more entertaining topic?’

‘Yes, you,’ he said, surprising himself, but it was worth it to see the becoming blush spread over her cheeks.

‘No, no, I am not entertaining at all.’

‘Will you not let me be the judge of that?’ She shook her head and looked as if she might leave him, so he said quickly, ‘Very well, what would you like to discuss? Let us agree that I shall allow you to choose the first topic for discussion. You must then allow me my choice.’

She leaned back against the arm of the sofa and regarded him, a faint smile playing at the edges of her mouth.

‘Very well. I would like to know what persuaded the great Earl Randall to attend the party tonight.’

‘That is simple: my sister asked me.’

‘Even though you clearly do not approve of us?’

‘Even so. I am only here for one week and did not wish to spend an evening apart from Harriett.’

‘Hattie always said you were the best of the Latymors.’ She observed his surprise and her smile grew. ‘You must remember I have been Hattie’s friend since our schooldays, Lord Randall. I am aware that your mother, the countess, was outraged when Harriett returned from school with her head full of independent ideas. Our intentions were very much the same, you see. We both wished to make our own way in the world and declared we would never marry. It must have been a relief when Hattie fell head over heels in love with Theophilus three years ago.’

‘It was. Graveney had a comfortable independence and my mother was too relieved to see her daughter respectably married to protest at her new son-in-law’s rather unconventional views.’

Randall was surprised that he should talk so freely. It was not his habit to discuss his family with anyone, but there was an elusive charm about this woman that put him at his ease.

‘Quite...’ she nodded ‘...and they have lived happily in Sussex ever since, unconcerned that Harriett’s family disapprove of the match.’

‘I do not disapprove,’ said Randall mildly. ‘For my part I have no objection to Graveney. He is a decade older than I am and we have little in common, but I like the fact that he has made no effort to ingratiate himself with the family and he is not afraid to speak his mind.’

‘You do not object to that?’ she asked, her brows raised.

‘No, I respect it. And I am content that the fellow can support Harriett and make her happy.’ He paused. ‘Now what have I said to make you smile?’

‘Hattie told me you were very different from the rest of the Latymors.’

‘Oh?’ He stiffened. ‘May I ask what she has said about our family?’

‘She did not imply any criticism,’ she replied quickly. ‘Merely that you are more tolerant than the others. I expect that comes from being a soldier and away so much. I believe your mama, Lady Randall, runs the house and estates at Chalfont Magna in your absence and looks after your younger brothers?’

‘Yes, they are twins and still at Eton.’

‘How old are they now, fourteen? I have no doubt they are very proud of you.’

‘I do not know, I hardly see them. I have been on campaign for most of their lives.’

‘That is very sad, they could learn so much from you. Have you no thoughts of leaving the army and going home, taking your place as head of the household?’

Home. Randall considered Chalfont Abbey. Had he ever felt at home there? His mother ran everything like clockwork and he had always been happy to let her do so. He felt a little spurt of irritation. How dare the woman question him in this way?

‘I have a job to do, Miss Endacott. Perhaps you do not understand that I have a duty to my men and my country.’

‘Of course I understand that, but perhaps, when this campaign is over, you might decide to stay at Chalfont. I am sure your mama would welcome your support.’

‘I doubt it. She has always managed very well without me.’

Even as he said it he was not sure it was true. This last short visit to Chalfont had shown him that she was growing older. She left more of the work to the stewards now.

‘What of the rest of your family? Harriett tells me your oldest sister is in Europe.’

‘Yes.’

‘You do not approve?’

He frowned. This young woman was too perceptive for comfort. He knew he could snub her, but he was enjoying talking to her, more so than anyone else he had met this evening. She spoke again, saying in a reflective voice, ‘From what Harriett has told me about Augusta I am sure she was eager to follow the ton to Paris.’

‘She was and her doting husband indulged her. My mother sent my youngest sister Sarah with them, knowing she would be thrown in the way of eligible young men and hoping she might be induced to accept one of them.’ He gave a little huff of amusement. ‘My mother thinks that at two-and-twenty Sarah is running out of time to find a husband.’

Again Miss Endacott gave that warm gurgle of laughter.

‘Yes, she is practically on the shelf!’

‘But her twin is unmarried—did you know there are two sets of twins in our family?’ he asked. ‘My mother has seven surviving children of which I am the eldest. Our father was very productive.’

His jaw tightened. The old earl had been well known for his insatiable appetite, not just for his wife but for any woman.

‘Yes, I did know Sarah had a twin brother, but when it comes to marriage it is very different for a man.’ Miss Endacott’s voice interrupted his bitter thoughts. ‘Gideon will be free to do very much as he pleases. How is he enjoying his new cavalry regiment, by the by?’

‘I have no idea, he does not correspond with me.’

‘If you will excuse my saying so, Lord Randall, you do not seem a very close family, but I believe that is the way amongst the nobility.’

‘And what do you know of the nobility, Miss Endacott?’

He spoke frostily and saw her visibly withdraw from him.

‘Now I have offended you,’ she said quietly. ‘I had best leave you—’

A moment ago he had been wishing her at Hades, but as she made to rise he put out a hand to stop her.

‘We had a bargain, Miss Endacott.’ The faint lift of an eyebrow told him she would dispute it and he tried for a softer note. ‘Please, ma’am, stay and talk to me.’

The distant look faded from her countenance and she sank back on the sofa, waiting expectantly for him to begin.

‘Do you make a long stay with the Bentincks, Miss Endcaott?’

‘Two weeks only. A pity because I would have liked to see more of Harriett.’

‘Then why not stay longer? I am sure if Mrs Bentinck cannot put you up my sister would be delighted to do so.’

‘She has already suggested it, but it cannot be, I am afraid. Business calls me away.’ She saw his puzzled look and laughed. ‘I am not a lady of leisure, my lord. I have to earn my living. If I were a scholar perhaps, or a poet or an author, then I might remain in Sussex and be busy with my pen.’

‘Oh? Are you in trade?’

That disturbing twinkle lit her eyes again.

‘Why, yes, of a sort. I must get back to my girls or—’ she corrected herself, a mischievous smile lilting on her lips, ‘my ladies, as I call them.’

A young man lounged up and laughingly asked Miss Endcaott to come and support him in an argument with his friends. When Randall bridled, incensed at being interrupted, the lady rested one hand on his arm.

‘You are not used to such freedom of manners, sir, but remember, no one here knows who you are.’ She rose. ‘Forgive me, I had best go, I have spent far too long with you already.’ Her eyes twinkled and she said mischievously, ‘My reputation would be quite ruined, you know, if I had one!’

Randall watched her walk away. He was intrigued. Who in heaven’s name was Mary Endacott? Not a scholar, she had said, but in trade. He regarded her retreating form thoughtfully. She had joined a group of gentlemen and was quite at her ease with them, laughing at their jokes and making a riposte of her own. She was not pretty in the conventional sense, but certainly attractive enough for the gentlemen around her to be captivated.

Some sort of trade. Involving ladies. And she had said she had no reputation to be ruined. Suddenly his sister’s words came back to him: ‘I trust you not to be shocked by the company we keep.’

Good God! His eyes narrowed. Was that what Hattie meant?

* * *

Mary tried to concentrate upon the conversation that was going on around her, but all she could think of was Lord Randall’s blue eyes and lean, handsome face. When she had seen him standing alone at the side of the room she had decided to take pity on him, knowing that the Bentincks’ unorthodox soirée would be a little daunting to a strange gentleman, and this man clearly was a gentleman. At first glance he looked quite slender and it was only when she drew closer that she realised it was his height that made him look perfectly proportioned. She had noted immediately the fashionably short hair—brown and sun streaked—and the exquisite tailoring of his coat. The dark blue Bath superfine fitted across those broad shoulders without a crease, its severity relieved by a white quilted waistcoat and the snowy white linen at his throat and wrists. He would be accustomed to society parties where the guests all knew one another and introductions would be carried out for any newcomer, to make sure their rank was acknowledged and understood. In an effort to put this stranger at his ease she had made the first move, only to have him look down his aristocratic nose at her. He had fixed her with that cool, aloof gaze and informed her that he was Randall, Harriett’s haughty and very proper brother.

Mary remembered the letters Harriett had received from him while they were at Miss Burchell’s Academy. Always short and to the point, advising Harriett of news—their mother’s removal to Worthing for a little sea bathing when she was recovering from influenza, their father’s ill health, his own promotion within an artillery regiment. Nothing chatty, nothing warm or comforting for his little sister miles away from the family home.

A servant had always been dispatched to take Harriett home so Mary had never met Justin Latymor and by the time the girls left Miss Burchell’s Academy he was a career soldier, not even selling out when his father died and he became the sixth Earl Randall. That Harriett was fond of her big brother was beyond doubt. She said he was the only one who had not lectured her upon her marriage to Theophilus Graveney, but Mary had built up an image of a cold, stiff-backed man, lacking in humour.

And so he had been, when she had first approached him. Or should she say accosted him? His tall frame was rigidly upright and he looked so hard and unmovable he might have been hewn from a single oak. He was clearly not accustomed to young ladies introducing themselves. Yet there was a sensitivity around those sculpted lips and there had been warmth and the suspicion of a gleam in those blue, blue eyes when he had spoken to Hattie. She had seen it, too, when he had surprised her by stepping aside to engage her in conversation.

‘You are allowing yourself to be dazzled by a title,’ she told herself sternly. ‘Shameful for one who believes in a meritocracy.’

Yet she could not get the thought of the earl out of her head. It did not help that whenever she looked about he seemed to be watching her. The idea brought an unaccustomed heat to her cheeks. It was so long since she had blushed that she had thought herself too old for such frivolity, but now she found that even at four-and-twenty a young lady could find herself attracted to a man. And not just any man, an earl, no less!

‘Mary, what are you smiling at?’

Mrs Bentinck’s voice brought her out of her reverie. Mary looked up. Her companions were huddled together to read an article in a recent edition of Cobbett’s Political Register, a publication that was known to induce indignation or outrage, but never laughter.

‘Oh, an old joke,’ she said swiftly. ‘My mind was wandering.’

Mrs Bentinck patted her arm. ‘What you need is sustenance. Everyone will be leaving soon and we will then have a little supper.’

She went off to see her guests out and Mary moved across to join Harriett, who was beckoning to her from the sofa.

‘We have been invited to stay to sup with you,’ she said, pulling Mary down beside her.

‘Oh.’ Mary found her gaze once more drifting to the tall figure of the earl standing before the fire. ‘But, Lord Randall must be exhausted if he only reached you today—’

‘Nonsense,’ said Harriett bracingly. ‘My brother is a hardened soldier and quite capable of staying up all night, if necessary, is that not so, Justin?’

Mary had thought the earl deep in conversation with Mr Graveney, but he turned his head and she found herself once more subjected to that piercing blue gaze.

‘Indeed it is, but it will be no hardship to spend a little more time here and in such delightful company.’

‘Why, Justin, that is quite the prettiest thing I have ever heard you say,’ declared Harriett, quite shocked.

Mary felt her friend’s speculative glance turned upon her and quickly looked away, busying herself with smoothing the wrinkles from her long gloves. When everyone else had left they went into the dining room where supper was set out, comprising cold meats, fruit and wine. Since informality was the order of the day Mary chose a seat between her cousin and Harriett. This put her as far as possible from Randall, which she thought safest for her peace of mind, so it was in horror that she realised her old school friend was rising from her seat, saying cheerfully, ‘Brother, dear, would you be kind enough to change places with me? I think I have a slight chill and would much prefer to sit a little closer to the fire.’

The next moment the earl was lowering his long frame on to the chair beside her. She tried to keep her eyes fixed upon her plate, but it was impossible not to look at his lean, muscled legs as he took his place. The black-stockinet pantaloons clung tightly to his thighs and she felt herself growing quite hot with embarrassment as her imagination rioted. Mary closed her eyes. Good heavens, she was not a schoolgirl to be so affected by a man.

‘Miss Endacott, are you quite well?’

The sound of that deep voice, rich and smooth as chocolate, did nothing to calm her, but the thought of making a fool of herself in front of everyone stiffened her resolve. She raised her head and managed to respond with tolerable equanimity.

‘Quite well, thank you, my lord. My thoughts were elsewhere.’

‘Thinking of the long journey you are to undertake at the end of the week, no doubt,’ said Mrs Bentinck, sitting on her other side.

Mary pulled herself together. She said gaily, ‘Oh, do not let us talk about me, I would much rather be distracted from the sad inevitability of leaving my friends.’

‘Randall, too, is leaving on Friday,’ put in Harriett.

‘Ah, to join Wellington’s army, no doubt,’ said Mr Bentinck. ‘Do you sail from Dover, my lord?’

‘Folkestone,’ the earl replied. ‘I have my own yacht there.’

‘Really?’ said Harriett. ‘I thought you had sold it.’

‘No. I sent it to Chatham to be refurbished.’

‘I told you he would not have disposed of it,’ declared Mr Graveney. ‘The rich must have their playthings, eh, my boy?’

‘It was used to carry some of our troops home from Corunna, was it not?’ Mary wondered why she had felt it necessary to jump to the earl’s defence, especially since it brought her to his attention once more.

‘Yes, it was.’

‘I think it was very good of you to join us this evening, my lord,’ declared Mrs Bentinck, relieving Mary of the necessity of saying anything more. ‘Mrs Graveney will have told you that our little gatherings tend to attract young men with rather revolutionary ideas.’

‘Which is why we enjoy your parties so much,’ cried Mr Graveney, waving his fork in the air. ‘For the cut and thrust of the debate. Some of these youngsters have fire in their bellies, eh, Bentinck?’

‘They do indeed,’ replied their host, ‘but most of them burn out as they grow up. One only has to look at Southey. Angry young rebel one day, tugging his forelock to the King the next.’

‘I rather fear expediency cooled a great deal of his radicalism,’ said Mary. ‘A poet must support himself.’

‘His principles must be in question,’ put in Lord Randall. ‘He could not otherwise relinquish them so easily.’

Mary shook her head. ‘I do not agree. Sometimes we have to compromise if we are to make a living.’

‘As you have done, Mary,’ Harriett added.

Mary felt the earl’s eyes upon her again and felt sure he was about to ask what compromises she had made, but before he could speak Mr Graveney introduced a new topic, which Mary took up with alacrity.

* * *

‘Well now, that was not such a bad evening after all, was it?’

In the darkness of the carriage Randall could not see his sister’s face, but he could hear the laughter in her voice.

‘Some of those young men would benefit from a little army discipline,’ he replied. ‘That would put their idealism to flight.’

‘But we need such men,’ argued Graveney. ‘Once these young fellows have formulated their ideas and matured a little, they will be the next to govern our great nation.’

‘If we have a nation by then,’ said Harriett. ‘The reports all say that Bonaparte has returned stronger than ever.’

‘That may be,’ replied Randall. ‘But this time he must face Wellington himself.’

‘And do you seriously believe the duke will be able to beat him?’

Randall thought of the seasoned troops not yet returned from America, the untried soldiers already waiting for their first taste of action, to say nothing of their leaders; the impulsive Prince of Orange, the bickering factions of the Allied forces. His response indicated none of his concerns.

‘Of course we shall beat him and this time it will be decisive.’

‘And you must soon go off to join your men.’ Harriett clutched his arm. ‘Promise me you will be careful, Randall.’

‘I am always careful.’

‘And you will take Grandfather’s sword with you?’

‘I never fight without it.’

He felt her relax. The sword was something of a lucky charm. Randall’s father had shown no inclination to become a soldier and the old earl had left the sword to his grandson. Randall had worn it at every battle, coming unscathed through even the heaviest fighting. He was not superstitious, but he knew his family placed great store by the talisman. He had been fortunate so far, but he knew his luck could not last forever.

Randall gave a little inward shrug. If this was to be the end, he hoped he would live long enough to see Bonaparte defeated. As for the succession, he had brothers enough to carry on the line. Thank goodness he had no wife to weep for him.

A vision of Mary Endacott came into his mind, with her dusky curls and retroussé nose and those serious green eyes that could suddenly sparkle with merriment.

As if reading his thoughts Harriett said, ‘I have invited the Bentincks to take tea with us on Wednesday. I doubt if Mr Bentinck will attend, but I hope Mary will come.’

‘Oh, Bentinck will be there,’ said Graveney cheerfully. ‘I told him I had acquired a copy of Hooke’s Micrographia and he is mad to see it. I have no doubt that you, too, would like to inspect it, my lord?’

Randall agreed, but was uncomfortably aware that he was even more keen to see Mary Endacott again.

‘Oh, fie on you, Theo, with your dusty books,’ cried Hattie. ‘I have something that will be much more diverting for Randall. If the rain holds off we will ride out together in the morning, Brother. You will like that, will you not?’

‘My dear, Randall has been in the saddle most of the day,’ her spouse protested mildly.

‘But he is a soldier and used to it, aren’t you, Justin? Surely you will oblige me by accompanying me tomorrow?’

‘To be sure I will, Hattie. I should be delighted to see what changes have occurred here since my last visit.’

‘Good. And I am lending my spare hack to Mary, who loves to ride. What a pleasant party we shall be.’

Even in the darkness there was no mistaking Hattie’s self-satisfaction. Randall sat back in the corner of the carriage and cursed silently. His sister seemed set on matchmaking.


Chapter Two (#ulink_3fa73179-87bb-567e-b180-8c95834a3c00)

Mary should not have been surprised when she looked out of her bedroom window the following morning and saw Lord Randall riding towards the house with his sister. He was staying at Somervil, so of course Hattie would want him to ride out with her. His horse had clearly been chosen for its strength and stamina rather than its appearance: a huge grey, so dappled that it looked positively dirty. However, she had to admit Lord Randall looked very good in the saddle. Her heart gave a little skip, but she quickly stifled the pleasurable anticipation before it could take hold. He was an earl, a member of an outmoded institution that bestowed power on the undeserving, and despite his attempts to be polite last evening, Lord Randall had made it very apparent he did not approve of her. His presence today was unlikely to add to her comfort.

Not that it mattered since she did not care a jot for the man. She was looking forward to riding out with Hattie and, if Lord Randall was with them, she would not let it spoil her enjoyment.

* * *

Harriett had promised to bring her spare horse for Mary, but the spirited little black mare that the groom was leading exceeded expectations and was clearly far superior to the elderly hack Harriett was riding. Mary expressed her concern as soon as she came out of the house to meet them.

‘No, no, I much prefer old Juno,’ said Hattie. ‘Besides, if you are only to ride out with me the once I would have you enjoy it.’

‘I shall,’ declared Mary, making herself comfortable in the saddle while the mare sidled and sidestepped playfully.

She was conscious of the earl’s eyes upon her, but he did not look pleased. Perhaps he would have liked to ride out alone with Hattie. Mary was aware of a little spurt of irritation. If so, that was hardly her fault. She turned the mare and rode beside Hattie, resolutely keeping her gaze away from Lord Randall.

Harriett led the way to open ground where they could give the horses their heads. As they galloped across the springy turf the earl kept a little distance behind, although Mary was sure he could have outstripped them had he wished to. Even when they slowed to a walk he showed no inclination to join them. By the time they turned for home Mary was beginning to feel a little uncomfortable and she decided to speak out. As they slowed to pass through a gap in the hedge she turned to address him.

‘I think you would rather have had your sister to yourself today, my lord.’

‘Nonsense,’ cried Harriett, overhearing. ‘Justin is always taciturn. He has no social graces, do you, Brother?’

‘One can enjoy riding without being obliged to chatter incessantly.’

‘Of course, but a little conversation would not go amiss,’ retorted Harriett. ‘For instance, perhaps you could compliment Mary on her gown last night. I thought it was particularly fetching.’

‘I never notice female attire.’

His crushing reply had no effect upon his sister, who continued blithely. ‘You cannot have failed to notice how well she rides, so you could praise her for that.’

‘Pray, Harriett, do not put me to the blush,’ protested Mary, trying to laugh off her embarrassment.

‘My sister is right. I am not one for female company.’

‘A gross understatement,’ declared Hattie warmly. ‘If ever I have a new gown I have to prompt him to say what he thinks of it, and even then he is very likely to make some devastating comment, if he does not like it.’

‘You cannot blame him for telling the truth,’ Mary pointed out.

‘Of course I can,’ replied the earl’s fond sister. ‘He has been too long in the company of soldiers. There is not a romantic bone in his body. And he is shockingly bad at compliments.’

‘I think Harriett is trying to say it is best to have no expectations where I am concerned, Miss Endacott.’ Lord Randall replied gravely, but there was a smile lurking in his eyes and Mary chuckled.

‘Thank you for warning me.’

‘No,’ went on Harriett with an exaggerated sigh. ‘My brother is a confirmed bachelor.’ Her eyes crinkled up as she added mischievously, ‘But we live in hope.’

* * *

‘Well, Mary, did you enjoy your ride today? It has certainly brought the colour to your cheeks.’

Mary smiled at Mrs Bentinck’s remark when she entered the drawing room before dinner that evening and she replied quite truthfully that she had indeed enjoyed her outing.

‘And how did you find the earl?’ asked Mr Bentinck. ‘Was he as cold and unsociable as last evening?’

‘Every bit,’ she agreed cheerfully. ‘Apart from one brief exchange he barely said a dozen words to me the whole time.’

They had not actually ridden together, he had made a point of keeping his distance for most of the ride, but she had been aware of his presence and had enjoyed knowing he was there. A little too much, if she was honest. The fact that they had hardly spoken to one another meant at least that there had been no chance for them to quarrel.

Mary was surprised and not a little shaken by the thought. Why should she not want to fall out with the earl, if they held opposing views? Heavens, could she be developing a tendre for him? She was far too old for that, surely? It was immature schoolgirls who became infatuated with a gentleman without any knowledge of his character, his thoughts or opinions, not sensible ladies of four-and-twenty. As Mary settled down to her dinner she had the uncomfortable suspicion that she was neither as mature nor as sensible as she had thought.

* * *

Randall and his sister returned to Somervil in silence. Hattie might have been tired from her ride, or anxious about the gathering rain clouds, but Randall suspected she was cross with him because he had not played the sociable gentleman she wished him to be. This was confirmed when they returned to the house and met Theo crossing the hall. He greeted them cheerfully.

‘Ah, there you are, Harriett. Did you enjoy your ride, my love?’

‘I did,’ she replied. ‘But I am going to tell Robbins to dose his master with Tincture of Spleenwort. Justin is decidedly liverish today.’

‘I am decidedly not.’

Harriett rounded on him.

‘You hardly said a word while we were out and you virtually ignored Mary. I was mortified.’

Randall ushered his indignant sister into the morning room. Theo followed and shut the door upon the wooden-faced servant in the hall.

‘You deliberately set out to be odious!’ fumed Harriett.

‘No, I set out to enjoy the ride. It was never my intention to entertain anyone.’

‘Mary is not anyone, Justin, she is my friend!’

‘All the more reason not to raise false expectations, then.’

‘There is very little chance of that,’ snapped Harriet. ‘She must think you quite the rudest man she has ever met.’

Randall frowned at her. ‘My life is in the army, Harriett. Women—ladies—play no part in it and never shall. You should know better than to play matchmaker with me.’

‘I was not,’ she protested, not very convincingly. ‘But I would have you be kind to Mary. It has not been easy, since her parents died, and although many would not approve, she is determined to earn her living in the best way she can.’ His brows rose and Hattie said impulsively, ‘Let me tell you about her?’

‘No. Harriett, I have neither the patience nor the inclination to be kind to your charitable causes.’ He paused and tried for a milder tone. ‘I have deliberately not spoken of Miss Endacott to you, nor have I made any enquiries about her, because I know that should I do so, your immediate reaction would be to start planning a wedding. And in this instance you must know better than I that Miss Endacott would not be a suitable match.’

‘She is no longer a part of our world, but her birth is perfectly respectable—’

‘Enough!’ Randall barked out the word and silence fell. He sighed, saying more gently, ‘Hattie, I am off to Brussels to meet the greatest threat to this nation that we have ever faced. I have no time for dalliance.’

Theo touched his wife’s arm, saying in his gentle way, ‘Let him be, my love. Your brother is about to go to war, his mind will not be distracted by such frivolities.’

Randall was grateful for Theo’s intervention, but his brother-in-law was not entirely correct. Randall was distracted by Mary Endacott. Uncomfortably so, which was why he had deliberately avoided her during their outing. There was no denying she rode well and looked extremely attractive on horseback. Her plain russet-coloured habit might be made of serviceable twill, but it did nothing to hide the curves of her body. He had been obliged to keep his eyes from her, and having spoken with her the previous evening he knew how easily she might draw him into conversation, so he had kept his distance for most of the ride.

Harriett was regarding him in reproachful silence and his conscience stirred. He would be leaving in a few days and did not wish to fall out with her.

He gave a wry smile. ‘I behaved badly, Hattie, I admit it. Forgive me.’

She pursed her lips, not completely won over. Theo chuckled.

‘I have never heard Randall make such a handsome admission before, my dear. You would be wise to accept it, I think.’

‘Oh...oh, very well. But I hope you will be a little more courteous when the Bentincks come to drink tea with us.’

Randall said nothing, reluctant to commit himself, and when Harriett suggested they should change out of their muddied clothes he was glad to make his escape.

* * *

A night’s reflection did nothing to restore Mary’s peace of mind and after breaking her fast in her room she went off for a long walk, hoping to regain her equilibrium before facing her hosts. Her favoured route took her past Somervil, where she was in the habit of calling upon Harriett, but knowing that the earl was in residence she set off in the opposite direction, preferring to take the rocky path through the woods rather than risk running into him.

Her strong attraction to Lord Randall at their first meeting must have been due to the amount of wine she had consumed that night. She had not considered herself inebriated, but there was no doubt that Mr Bentinck’s cellars were well stocked and the quality of the wines superb, so in all likelihood she had imbibed more than usual during the course of the evening. It was easily done, she knew, especially if one was anxious or distracted and there was no doubt that she was anxious, about her business, her finances and the long journey ahead of her. As for distraction, the presence of Lord Randall in the Bentincks’ drawing room had certainly caught her attention.

It was not that she had thought him the best-looking man in the room; tall, lithe men with handsome faces bronzed by the sun had never attracted her before. She preferred intelligent, cultured men. Scholars. Indeed, she had always considered hawk-like features such as Lord Randall’s to look a little predatory.

Nor was it his title—she despised the power that rank and wealth conferred upon a man, the inbred certainty that he might behave exactly as he wished, however badly. Perhaps the attraction was those blue eyes that seemed to burn into her. Or his deep, mellifluous voice. Whenever he spoke she was aware of its resonance and when he was addressing her it was as if he was running a feather over her skin. Even over deeply intimate places. Just the thought of it sent a delicious shiver running through her.

Perhaps she was becoming an old maid. She had observed how elderly ladies could turn positively skittish in the presence of a personable gentleman. They would simper and fawn over him in the most embarrassing way. Was that what was happening to her? She stopped, aghast at the thought. Good heavens, did she have so little self-respect that she was prepared to make a fool of herself over a handsome face? It must not be.

She pulled her pelisse a little closer and set off again, striding out purposefully along the track beside the stream. She would not allow herself to become such a figure of fun. She was an intelligent woman with more strength of character than that.

Anxiously she thought back over her ride yesterday. Thankfully she had done nothing, said nothing to show herself infatuated. Indeed, she had barely spoken to Lord Randall and when they had parted he had not rushed to help her dismount, but remained on his horse and at a distance, as if eager to get away. In fact, looking back, he had done nothing at all to win her good opinion.

‘So the attraction is all on your part,’ she told herself. ‘And you would do well to nip it in the bud, since it can bring you nothing but trouble.’

She was so caught up in her thoughts that she barely noticed the discomfort she felt in walking until it became positively painful. Something was rubbing against her left foot with every step. Coming upon a fallen tree trunk on the edge of the water, she sat down to investigate. The cause of the pain was soon discovered, a piece of grit had lodged itself in her boot. It had not only worn a hole in her stocking but had rubbed away the soft skin at the side of her foot, which was bleeding and throbbing painfully. How she had come so far without noticing it was a mystery. She looked around to make sure she was alone then removed her ruined stocking and dipped her bleeding foot into the stream. She gasped a little as the cold water rushed over her inflamed skin but after the initial shock she found the cool stream very soothing.

While her foot was soaking she picked up her discarded footwear. The brown half-boots were almost new so she was relieved to find the soft kid bore only the slightest trace of blood on the inside. They were so comfortable she planned to wear them on the long journey home, so she was very thankful they were not ruined.

Mary pushed aside the skirts of her walking dress and began to dry her foot on one of her petticoats. It was then that she heard the unmistakable sounds of hoofbeats. Someone was approaching.

‘Lord Randall!’

‘Miss Endacott. Can I be of assistance?’

Mary’s heart sank. Why did he have to come upon her when she was sitting with her dress pulled up over her knees? Her instinct was to shake her skirts down to cover her ankles, but after taking so much care to keep the blood from her gown it would be foolish to pretend there was nothing wrong.

‘I have a cut on my foot,’ she explained, trying to be calm, as if she was quite accustomed to exposing her leg to a gentleman. ‘It is only a small cut, so please do not...’

Too late. He had jumped down from his horse and was coming over to her.

‘Let me see it.’

‘No! It is nothing, I assure you. You do not need to trouble yourself.’

He ignored her protests and dropped to his knees, taking her heel in his hand. Mary kept very still and concentrated upon her breathing, which had become very erratic.

She said, with as much dignity as she could muster, ‘Thank you, my lord, but I do not wish to keep you from your ride. I am about to put on my boot—’

‘Nonsense,’ he said crisply. ‘It is still bleeding and needs to be bound up. Allow me.’

He pulled a clean handkerchief from his pocket and shook it out. Mary wanted to protest, but somehow the words died. His touch was sure and gentle, and a pleasant lassitude stole over her as he quickly folded the handkerchief into a bandage and wrapped it around her foot.

‘There, that should hold.’ He jumped to his feet. ‘However, your boot will not fit over it.’

‘Oh.’ Mary tried to drag her thoughts away from how disappointed she was that he was no longer cradling her ankle. ‘Oh, well, I—’

The earl handed her the empty boot.

‘I shall take you home on Pompey.’

Before she could protest he swept her up and placed her sideways on the pommel, then he himself scrambled up into the saddle. Mary felt herself blushing as he pulled her back against him.

‘There,’ he said. ‘You are perfectly safe.’

Safe in the sense that his arms were either side of her and she could not fall off, but she had never been so close to a man before, apart from her father, when she had been a little girl and he had pulled her up on to his knee. Now she felt the earl’s hard thighs pressing against her. She sat bolt upright, clutching at her empty boot and fighting the temptation to lean back and rest her head against his coat. As they rode off she noted that her bloodied stocking was still lying beside the stream. She said nothing. It was ruined, so there was no point in going back for it.

It was strange, thought Mary. Everything seemed much more intense than when she had been walking this same path only minutes earlier. Then she had barely noticed the bluebells and wild garlic that carpeted the ground, now the sight and the smell of them filled her senses. The sun shone more brightly through the budding trees and the birdsong was even louder and more joyous. It made her think of spring, and poetry. And love. She pushed the thought aside. She despised such sentimentality.

The earl made no effort to converse, but neither did he squeeze or fondle her. She began to relax.

‘I suppose I must thank you, sir, for rescuing me. It would have been a long walk back.’

‘I would do the same for any lame creature. Although if it was Pompey who had lost a shoe I should be obliged to walk with him rather than ride.’

She said unsteadily, ‘Are—are you comparing me to your horse, Lord Randall?’

‘Pompey is very valuable, Miss Endacott.’

He sounded perfectly serious and she stole a glance up at him. He was staring ahead, his countenance sombre but she had the distinct feeling that he was laughing at her. As if aware of her regard he looked down and she saw the glimmer of a smile in the depths of his blue eyes, like a sudden hint of gold at the bottom of a deep pool.

She dragged her eyes away. It could not be. This was Lord Randall, the stern soldier, a man completely without humour, Hattie had said so. But that look unsettled her.

‘If you put me down here, sir, there is a little gate in the palings that leads directly into the Bentincks’ garden. I need not trouble you to take me any further.’

‘It is no trouble, Miss Endacott. Pompey can easily take the extra weight, I assure you.’

Mary discovered that it was possible to want to laugh and to be angry with someone at the same time. She tried her firmest voice.

‘I think I must insist, my lord.’

‘But the gates are in sight. I shall deliver you to the door.’

Mary looked down. Pompey was a very big horse and it was a long way to jump. That is, if the earl did not tighten his arms and prevent her from escaping.

She said angrily, ‘Lord Randall, I find you odiously autocratic.’

‘And I find you annoyingly independent.’

She put up her head.

‘I am very proud of my independence,’ she told him. ‘I own my own house and my establishment is much sought after. It is patronised by some of the foremost names in the land.’

‘I am sure it is. But none of that is going to make me put you down so you can hobble back to the Bentincks and risk doing more damage to your foot.’

She ground her teeth.

‘I think it fortunate that you are a bachelor, sir. Your manners would not endear you to any woman.’

‘Then we are in accord, Miss Endacott. That is the very reason I remain single.’

Mary was so surprised by his answer she could think of nothing to say. Thankfully they were almost at the door, where her cousin was waiting for them.

‘I saw you from the drawing-room window,’ Mrs Bentinck declared. ‘What on earth has happened?’

‘Miss Endacott has injured her foot.’ The earl dismounted and lifted Mary into his arms, depositing her neatly on the doorstep. ‘Since she could not fit her boot over the bandage I brought her home. It is nothing to be anxious about, ma’am. Once the foot is bathed in salt water and a sticking plaster applied she will be able to walk on it again.’

‘Yes, yes, of course.’ Mrs Bentinck put her arm about Mary, saying in a distracted way, ‘But Mrs Graveney invited us all to take tea with her this afternoon at Somervil House.’

‘There is no reason why you and Mr Bentinck cannot come,’ he replied. ‘Although I am sure my sister will understand if Miss Endacott feels the need to lie upon her bed for the rest of the day.’

The earl gave them a brief nod and nimbly remounted his horse, riding off without a backward glance. Mary’s hands clenched around the hapless boot and she longed to hurl it after his retreating form. As if she was such a weakling that she must needs take to her bed over such a trifle.

* * *

Randall resisted the urge to look back. He felt sure that Mary would be looking daggers at him. He felt a smile tugging at his mouth: what was it about the woman that made him want to tease her? He rarely teased anyone. It was childish, but Mary Endacott made him feel like a callow youth again. Perhaps it was her independence, her determination not to seek his good opinion. That was unusual—he was far more used to females using every trick they could to attract him. She was the only woman he had met who considered he was right to remain a bachelor, although she could not know the true reason he would never marry.

After watching his mother lose her bloom while the old earl amused himself with a succession of mistresses, as well as the women at Chalfont Magna, Randall was determined never to inflict such a life on any woman. He had grown up with the conviction that one should marry for love, though heaven knew where that sentiment originated. But how could he insist that his wife should love him when he could not guarantee to be faithful to her? Like father, like son. Had he not proved, years ago, how alike they were? No. he would remain a soldier. That was a life he understood, a life he could control.

* * *

Mary pulled a clean silk stocking carefully over the sticking plaster on her foot. It barely hurt at all now, but she had decided she would not go to Somervil that afternoon. She had preparations to make before her departure, she did not have time for such a frivolous occupation as tea drinking. Harriett would understand.

And you will not have to see Lord Randall again.

‘All the better,’ she said aloud.

It will demonstrate to the world that you are the weaker sex.

‘It will demonstrate that I have the intelligence not to place myself in a position of danger.’

Danger? What danger can there be from a man who barely notices you?

She fluttered her hand, as if to bat away the unwelcome arguments that revolved in her head.

Lord Randall is no threat, and you will be leaving soon. There is no reason at all to avoid him. Unless you are afraid.

‘Of course I am not afraid,’ she told herself crossly.

But the thought rankled. Papa had brought her up to fear nothing and question everything. There was a logical explanation for all things, he had said. Face your demons and you will understand them. And Lord Randall could hardly be called a demon. Proud, yes. Autocratic, definitely, and used to being obeyed, but no demon.

She rose and shook out her skirts. She would go with the Bentincks this afternoon and prove to herself that there was nothing remotely dangerous in taking tea at Somervil House.

* * *

Harriett came forward as they were shown into the drawing room, saying cheerfully, ‘I almost suggested we should put a table on the terrace, it is so warm. But, Mary, what is this Randall tells me, you have hurt your foot?’

‘It is the veriest scratch,’ she replied, ‘As you see I am perfectly able to walk upon it.’

Mr Graveney and Lord Randall were standing together by the window and Mary dipped a curtsy to them both before choosing to sit down in a chair on the far side of the room. She had hoped that in his sister’s house the earl might look a little less imposing, but no. His upright bearing and long-limbed figure were even more noticeable next to portly Mr Graveney. Just looking at the earl made her mouth go dry. He looked so solid and dependable, and Mary thought suddenly how comfortable it would be to have someone she could lean upon.

‘That would be lovely, would it not, Mary?’

Mrs Bentinck was handing her a cup of tea.

‘I beg your pardon,’ she stammered. ‘My thoughts were miles away.’

‘Mrs Graveney was suggesting we should take a walk later, to see how they have landscaped the gardens.’

‘Yes, an excellent idea,’ Mary concurred. She really must concentrate.

‘Unless you would rather sit here and rest your foot,’ suggested Harriett. ‘Randall could keep you company.’

‘No, no, I am perfectly well, thank you,’ Mary replied hastily. ‘And I would very much like to see your gardens before I leave.’

‘Yes, they have turned out very well, I think,’ said Mr Graveney. ‘Although they are nothing to the grounds of Chalfont Abbey, Lord Randall’s country seat.’

‘I can take no credit for that. My military duties do not allow me much time at the Abbey, but my mother keeps everything in excellent order.’

Mr Bentinck turned to the earl.

‘I trust, my lord, that you did not suffer overmuch from being thrust into the lion’s den the other night?’

‘Not at all, sir.’

Harriett laughed.

‘My brother is being polite, Mr Bentinck. He thinks many of your guests would be improved by a spell in the military.’

‘And so they would,’ agreed Mrs Bentinck, chuckling. ‘Or even if they had to work for their living, as poor Mary is obliged to do, and to suffer the indignity of being shunned in polite society by those who are only too willing to use her services. Is that not so, my dear?’

‘Oh, it is not so bad, really.’

Randall saw the telltale blush stealing into Mary’s cheek as she murmured her reply and was glad for her sake when Bentinck took the discussion in a different direction.

It was no wonder she should look embarrassed. He glanced at his sister; she was continuing to pour tea as if nothing was amiss at all. He felt his jaw set hard in disapproval. Graveney had led his sister too far down the path of radicalism for his liking, but he was a guest in the fellow’s house, he could hardly voice his disapproval now.

* * *

When they had finished drinking their tea and the idea of a walk was again mooted he decided to make his excuses and withdraw. Unfortunately Hattie had other ideas.

‘Oh, but you cannot disappear now, Randall. Theo wants to show Mr Bentinck the new book he has purchased, and since you saw it when you returned from your ride this morning you must escort us.’ She took his arm. ‘Come along, a little fresh air will soon put that gloomy look of yours to flight!’

Harriett shepherded the ladies into the hall, saying as they put on their bonnets, ‘I intended to show Mary the gardens when she arrived last week, but the weather has been so inclement I have not yet done so. Do not worry, though, the new gravel paths will make it perfectly dry underfoot.’

The paths were indeed dry, but Randall soon discovered that they were not wide enough for them all to walk together. Harriett took Mrs Bentinck’s arm and moved ahead, leaving him no option but to walk beside Mary Endacott.

‘I doubt this is how you intended to spend your afternoon,’ she remarked. ‘If you have business elsewhere I do not mind walking alone.’

‘I am perfectly happy to escort you.’ He held out his arm to her. ‘Besides, to do anything else would incur my sister’s wrath.’

She chuckled at that.

‘I cannot imagine that would worry you overmuch.’

‘You were at school with Harriett, Miss Endacott. You know that she is not one to be gainsaid. All the Latymors are strong-willed, except my youngest sister, Sarah. She is very biddable.’

‘Overwhelmed by the rest of you, no doubt.’

‘Very likely. She is certainly unlike her twin, Gideon. He is a hothead.’

* * *

They strolled on, mainly in silence, but occasionally stopping to admire the new plantings and statuary that had been installed in the gardens. Randall found himself relaxing and enjoying the afternoon sunshine. He glanced down at the silent figure beside him. Mary looked completely at ease and he thought how comfortable it was to have a woman on his arm who did not consider it necessary to be chattering all the time. She was just the right height, too, her head no higher than his shoulder. They passed the new rose garden with its arbour at the far end. He imagined sitting beside her on the bench when the roses were in bloom and filling the air with their heavy scent. She might rest her head on his shoulder then. And if the air should be a little chill he might put his arm around her and rest his cheek against those dusky curls...

Confound it, man, you need to stop this, now!

‘I beg your pardon, my lord, did you say something?’

She turned her face up to him, delicate brows raised, green eyes enquiring. Randall felt a sudden impulse to pull her close and plant a kiss on those full, red lips. The rush of desire that fired his blood surprised him and he looked away quickly, clearing his throat as he sought for words.

‘You are returning to your, ah, business very soon, I believe.’

‘Yes, my lord. On Saturday.’

He kept his eyes fixed ahead, noting idly that they had fallen some way behind his sister and Mrs Bentinck.

‘And will you be sorry to leave?’

‘Of course. The Bentincks are not only relatives but very old friends and I allowed myself this short holiday after completing my trip to Cuckfield. My father left certain...affairs outstanding there when he died just over a year ago and I have now resolved them.’ She added, after a brief pause, ‘Debts, my lord.’

‘Ah, I see.’

‘I doubt it.’

‘Is that why you are obliged to, er, earn your living, to pay off his debts?’

She surprised him by laughing at that.

‘Not at all, I enjoy what I do, my lord. I hope you will not think me boastful if I say I have a talent for it. I am an independent woman, beholden to no one. In fact, I shall be glad to get back to work. I could not be happy with a life of idleness.’

‘Nor I.’

‘Then we are agreed upon something.’ She smiled up at him, as if relieved at the thought.

A mood of recklessness swept through Randall.

‘Why wait?’

‘My lord?’

They had reached a crossing in the path and with his superior height Randall could see over the surrounding hedge. Harriett and her companion were now making their way back through the box garden and towards the house. He led Mary into the shrubbery.

‘If you wish to work, as you call it, then you should do so.’

‘I do not think I understand you, Lord Randall.’

She stopped and turned to look up at him, still smiling, but with a faint crease between her brows. Unable to resist he put his fingers beneath her chin, tilting it up as he lowered his head and kissed her.

* * *

Mary was so surprised she could not move. Then, as his mouth worked its magic, she did not wish to do so. When he put his arms around her she leaned into him, kissing him back as if it was the most natural thing in the world. As if she had been waiting her whole life for this moment.

This reaction shocked Mary almost as much as his kiss, and when he raised his head she made no attempt to free herself, but laid her head against his chest, listening to the thud, thud of his heart. She was dazed, unable to understand what had occurred. Lord Randall, the taciturn, unromantic, unsociable earl, had kissed her. Her: plain, sensible Mary Endacott!

‘We have a couple of days before we must part,’ he said, his mouth against her hair. ‘We should make use of them. We must be discreet, of course. However free-thinking the Bentincks might be, I cannot allow my sister to know what is going on.’

Mary’s thoughts were still in chaos, her body trembling with the shock of his kiss, but even so she was aware that his words did not make sense. She put her hands against his chest and pushed herself away until she could look up at him.

‘What has this to do with my work?’

He was gazing down at her and there was no mistaking the look in his eyes, fierce desire that sent the hot blood racing through her limbs and made her aware of the ache pooling deep in her body, at the hinge of her thighs. If she had not been clutching at his coat she thought her legs might well have given way as that beautiful deep voice caressed her.

‘Everything. Let us understand this from the outset; it has always been my objective never to raise false hopes in any woman’s breast. I take my pleasures and I pay for them—and give pleasure in return, I hope.’

Those smooth, measured tones stroked her skin like velvet. She was in his arms, her lips were still burning with the memory of his mouth upon hers and at first she did not comprehend his words. But as their meaning filtered through the haze of well-being that his kiss had engendered, her euphoria began to ebb away.

‘You, you wish us to be...’ She swallowed. ‘To be lovers?’

Could she do it? Suddenly elation was replaced by uncertainty. She had discussed the possibility with her radical friends, but only as a concept, a brave and radical step that would fly in the face of convention. And in all her thoughts and discussions, her ideal man was one she had known for a long time, a trusted friend and companion, not a soldier whom she had met only days ago.

‘If that is the word you wish to put to it, yes,’ said Randall. ‘It will be business for you, but very lucrative, for I intend to be generous.’

Mary blinked. No endearments, no promises. The earl talked of business and suddenly his meaning became all too clear. She freed herself from his arms.

‘You...you think I am a—that I—’ Her hands went to her cheeks. ‘You think I would sell myself for money?’

There was no mistaking the bewilderment in his eyes. It was clear that was exactly what he thought. Disappointment, bitter as gall, swept through her.

‘Is that not the case?’ he said. ‘You told me you were in trade, spoke of your ladies, but perhaps since you are so successful you yourself no longer partake—’

‘P-partake?’ she stuttered. ‘Oh, good heavens, this is dreadful!’

She turned away, taking a few agitated steps along the path before wheeling around again. ‘I am an educationalist, Lord Randall. I run a school for young ladies!’

‘What?’

If she had not been so overwrought, Lord Randall’s surprise and consternation would have amused her, but she had never felt less like laughing in her life. In fact, she felt very much like weeping. Her hands crept to her cheeks again.

‘I see how it came about,’ she went on, almost to herself. ‘The radical talk, the company Mr and Mrs Bentinck had invited to their house—’

‘Not to mention your own teasing ways, madam,’ he added in a tight voice. ‘You said yourself you were trying to be outrageous.’

‘Yes, I know I set out to tease you, but when I spoke of earning my living I never thought that you would assume—’ She gasped. ‘Good heavens, that is disgraceful! Did you suppose that the Bentincks, that your own sister, would continue to acknowledge me if that were the case?’

A dull colour had crept into his lean cheek, but whether it was anger or embarrassment she did not know.

He said, his tone harsh, his words clipped, ‘Harriett warned me I would be shocked by the company. You yourself told me you did not believe in marriage.’

‘And in an effort to prove yourself unshockable you thought the very worst of me. You are correct, I do not believe in marriage. I was brought up to believe in a free union of minds, of hearts. A union of love, my lord, not prostitution!’

He said stiffly. ‘It was an error, but a reasonable one, given the circumstances.’

‘The circumstances?’

‘Of course,’ he retorted. ‘Your whole demeanour when you told me of your business, as if it were something quite shocking, and you made a point of informing me that you had no reputation. What else was I to think? Yes, quite reasonable, I would say.’

Mary gasped in outrage.

‘Quite unreasonable, my lord.’ Her lip curled. ‘But you are an earl. Perhaps you are in the habit of propositioning any lady who takes your fancy?’

‘Certainly not, but with your radical views you should appreciate my honesty. I would rather take my pleasures with a woman who understands there can be no possibility of marriage. I am no saint, Miss Endacott. There are many ladies of my own set, married ladies whose husbands go their own way and leave their wives to find pleasure elsewhere. I have enjoyed several liaisons of that sort in the past, but I make no secret of the fact that I consort with women of a more dubious reputation occasionally.’

‘And you pay them well for the privilege. Contemptible.’

‘Is it contemptible for two adults to enter into an agreement that gives them both satisfaction?’ His eyes narrowed and for an instant she saw a glint of something dangerous in their depths. ‘And I assure you the ladies are always satisfied, Miss Endacott.’

Confusion fluttered in Mary’s breast. Instead of begging her pardon he was boasting of his prowess and the worst thing was the way her body responded to his words, to that wicked light in his eyes. She wanted to throw herself into his arms, to beg him to kiss her again and show her just how satisfying his lovemaking could be.

She felt the rage boiling up inside her. How dared he do this to her? She was furious with him and with herself for allowing him to engender such emotional turmoil in her. Mary took a step away from him, saying in a voice that was not quite steady, ‘Excuse me; we can have nothing more to say to one another.’

Fighting back angry tears, she hurried out of the shrubbery. The scrunch of footsteps behind her told her that the earl was following and she quickened her pace until she was almost running.

‘Wait—Mary—Miss Endacott. Please!’ He caught her arm, forcing her to stop. ‘If you return to the house in such distress it will not go unnoticed. My sister would not rest until she had the truth from you.’

‘I am not distressed,’ she flung at him. ‘I am furious!’

He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and held it out.

She looked at it for a moment, wanting to consign it and its owner to Hades, but her eyes were wet and it would be difficult to remain dignified with a streaming nose. She took the proffered handkerchief and proceeded to dry her face.

The fine linen was freshly laundered, but mixed in with the clean smell of soap was a hint of spices, the same that had filled her senses while he was kissing her. Even now the memory of it made her ache with longing to be in his arms again. To repeat the experience. Heavens, how could she feel this way when he had treated her in such a fashion? Yet a tiny whisper of conscience could not be silenced. She had tried to shock him, but she had wanted him to think her a radical, not a, a...

‘You have good reason to be angry,’ he said quietly. ‘I have offered you a gross insult and I would not blame you for wishing to make my abominable behaviour known to the world. It is no more than I deserve, but to do so would reflect badly upon others. Upon my sister and your cousin, and I do not think you would want that.’

‘It was not only your behaviour that was at fault,’ she muttered, incurably truthful. ‘I have not acted with proper decorum and constraint, where you are concerned.’

She remembered when he had come upon her by the stream, her skirts pulled up around her knees. The image filled her mind, clear as a painting. Might he not think she had been deliberately leading him on?

‘What did you do, apart from take pity on a stranger and introduce yourself to me at the Bentincks?’

So he had not misinterpreted their meeting by the stream. Alongside her relief another emotion bubbled up. Her legs from knee to toe had been on plain view. A young man had once praised her neat ankles and now she felt a tinge of disappointment that the earl had not even noticed them.

‘No...’ he shook his head ‘...I have repaid your kindness very ill, but I do not want to make a bad situation any worse by subjecting you to questions you would rather not answer and possibly causing a rift between Hattie and her friends.’

‘Much as it pains me to admit it, you are right,’ she said bitterly, ‘I would not want anyone else to know of this.’ She took a few deep breaths and said coldly, ‘I am better now. Let us return to the house. We will forget this conversation ever took place, if you please.’

‘As you wish.’ He stepped aside. ‘Shall we go?’

They set off, keeping a space between them, as befitted distant acquaintances.

I might have been his mistress. I might have shared his bed.

Mary buried the thought. A free union, without marriage, to a man she truly loved and respected, that was something she might one day contemplate, but not a brief coupling with someone who was almost a stranger. She had not been prepared for how strong a lustful attraction could be. Her response to the feel of his lips on hers, the instinct to return his kiss, to mould herself to his body, that had shocked and surprised her, but Mary told herself now to put aside her distress and embarrassment. Such an experience would help her to be a better mentor to her pupils.

The gardens seemed to go on forever. Had they really walked so far? At last they reached the house. Lord Randall opened the door for Mary to enter. She dared not look up at him, but her eyes strayed to his body as she passed, remembering how she had laid her head against that superbly tailored coat, taken in the detail of each minute stitch, the fine embroidery on his waistcoat, the intricate folds of his neckcloth. The shameful thing was she wanted it all to happen again.

No, Mary, stop it!

‘I am leaving the day after tomorrow,’ he informed her, his steady voice indicating that his thoughts at least had moved on. ‘I shall take my leave of Mr and Mrs Bentinck now, so there will be no need for us to see each other again.’

‘None at all,’ she replied. ‘I shall make sure both your handkerchiefs are laundered and returned to you by then.’ She preceded him into the drawing room. She kept her head up, hoping her face showed no signs of the turmoil within. Only a little longer and her ordeal would be over.

‘So there you are. I vow I was about to send a search party into the shrubbery!’ Harriett’s knowing glance brought the colour flooding back to Mary’s cheeks.

She is teasing. She cannot know anything.

‘Quite unnecessary,’ Lord Randall responded coolly and Mary felt a sudden urge to laugh. His tone held the merest hint of disapproval for his sister’s levity, as if he was affronted she should even consider he might be dallying in the gardens. ‘We stopped to admire the rhododendron ponticum on the west terrace.’

‘Yes, yes, it has taken very well, has it not? I sent to Hackney for it, to Mr Loddiges’s nursery.’ Mr Graveney chattered on, delighted to discover the earl shared his interest in horticulture.

Mary took her seat beside Harriett, relieved that the conversation had moved on, although her mind was still too disordered for her to take part. She almost jumped when Harriett reached out and took her hand.

‘It has been so good to see you again, Mary, are you sure it is necessary for you to leave on Saturday?’

‘Imperative, I assure you,’ she responded. ‘My assistants at the school are very good, but they write to tell me there is a great deal of activity in Brussels—’

Lord Randall cut in. ‘I did not know your school was in Brussels.’

She managed to look him in the eye, albeit briefly.

‘Because I did not mention it, my lord.’

‘No.’ The earl turned a frowning look upon his sister. ‘Odd that Harriett should not mention it, either.’

‘Oh, well, it slipped my mind, Brother, but it is a most fortuitous circumstance for you, Mary.’

Mary shook her head. ‘I do not see...’

‘While you were in the gardens we came up with the most perfect plan.’ Harriett continued as if she had not spoken. ‘Mrs Bentinck and I agreed that we should feel so much happier to know you were not making that long journey alone, Mary. So Randall shall escort you!’


Chapter Three (#ulink_b1fa07ab-4ac8-5f1d-a183-3186b27b4bc1)

‘No!’

‘Impossible!’ Randall’s curt exclamation was as instant as Mary’s faint denial. He glowered at his sister. ‘Impossible,’ he said again. ‘I depart on Friday and will be travelling in haste.’

‘No, how can that be so when you have two carriages with you?’

‘But I shall be riding.’

‘I am sure Mary will not object to being alone in your carriage.’

‘But I do object,’ put in Mary, her colour considerably heightened. ‘I could not possibly impose upon Lord Randall.’

‘Now it is not like you to be missish for the sake of it,’ said Mr Bentinck. ‘What could be better than to have his lordship escort you to Brussels? It means you will have to leave a day earlier, of course, but Mrs Graveney has already told us that the earl has his own private yacht at Folkestone. So much more comfortable than taking the packet from Dover, what?’

‘I do not want to give up my last day with you,’ replied Mary firmly.

Randall glared at his sister, willing her not to continue with this farce. She ignored him.

‘That will be a wrench, of course, Mary, but I am sure Mr and Mrs Bentinck would be much happier to know you have an escort.’

‘I do not need an escort, Harriett, I am an independent woman.’

‘Of course you are, but you are also a sensible one, and with Wellington gathering so many troops together you may find it difficult to get a passage from Dover, not to mention the trouble you might experience once you reach the Continent. And it is not as if Randall does not have room for you,’ Harriett continued, breaching her brother’s next line of defence. ‘I saw the two carriages when they arrived; there is plenty of space for you and your baggage. Well, Justin, what do you say?’

Randall surveyed the assembled company. What could he say? To refuse Mary his escort would be extremely uncivil and against his own code of honour. That she was equally unhappy with the situation was evident. He managed a stiff bow.

‘If Miss Endacott would accept a place in my carriage, I would be only too delighted to escort her to Brussels.’

* * *

Mary cast a fulminating glance at the earl. She had been hoping he would provide some incontestable excuse why he could not take her up. If she was to refuse his offer now her cousin would be sure to ask why, and Harriett, too, would not rest until she had uncovered the true reason.

Mr Graveney broke the tense silence with a little laugh.

‘Poor Miss Endacott. It goes against the grain, I am sure, to be beholden to any man, does it not? And an earl, at that. I am sure you would much rather make your own way to Brussels.’

‘I would indeed.’

‘But my wife is quite right, my dear. With the current unrest in Europe you would be much safer travelling under escort and there could be none better than Lord Randall. We would all of us sleep easier in our beds to know you were with him.’

‘It is best to give in,’ said Harriett cheerfully. ‘Remember the Laytmor motto, Mary, semper laurifer. We always succeed. You cannot hold out against us.’

Mary bit her lip. Did she have any choice?

‘Miss Endacott,’ Lord Randall addressed her. ‘I appreciate that we have not long been acquainted and I am aware that our opinions are very different. However, they are right. There is danger for any young lady travelling alone. If you would honour me with your company for this journey, you will be treated with every respect and courtesy. You have my word on that.’

Mary knew he was referring to what had occurred in the gardens, he was telling her she could trust him. There was sincerity in his eyes, but more than that, there was understanding in their blue depths. She nodded.

‘Then I accept your offer, my lord. Thank you.’

A sudden murmur went about the room, as if everyone had been holding their breath waiting for her answer. Harriett clapped her hands.

‘Then it is settled. Randall shall take you with him, Mary. He travels with quite an entourage, you know—two carriages, his valet and groom—I am sure that it will be the most enjoyable journey you have ever undertaken.’

* * *

Harriett’s words came back to Mary as she stepped into Lord Randall’s elegant travelling chaise early on Friday morning. The carriage was well sprung, the seat and backrest thickly padded: physically she was assured of every comfort, she had no doubt, but after what had occurred, how could she be in the earl’s company without feeling some constraint? Her only consolation was that Lord Randall was riding, so she was relieved the necessity of conversing with him.

They set off at a frantic pace, the stops were short with barely time for Mary to drink the proffered coffee and nibble at a biscuit, but when the earl politely asked her if she would like more time she declined.

‘I was warned you travel at breakneck speed, my lord,’ she said as he accompanied her back to the carriage. ‘I am prepared for a little discomfort.’

‘I need to join my men as soon as possible. I have stayed too long in England.’

His cold tone vexed her and she retorted sharply, ‘Then pray, sir, do not mind me. I shall not hold you up.’

‘No, I do not intend that you shall.’

‘I expect no quarter from you,’ she told him bitterly.

‘Then you will not be disappointed.’

Biting her lip, Mary climbed into the carriage without another word and the door was closed behind her. Insufferable man, he seemed determined to annoy her. But as she settled back in his luxurious carriage she realised that she might be angry with him, but at least she was no longer embarrassed in his company.

The carriage door was wrenched open again and Lord Randall’s frame filled the opening.

‘Miss Endacott, we have a long journey ahead of us. Neither of us wanted to be in this situation, but it will be best if we remain civil to one another.’ His blue eyes bored into her and she felt compelled to respond.

‘You are quite right, my lord.’

‘I am not accustomed to looking out for anyone else when I travel. If there is anything you need during our journey, then you will tell me, if you please. I do not wish you to be uncomfortable.’

‘Thank you, I will remember that.’

With a nod the earl closed the door again and Mary sank back against the squabs. His speech had surprised her. She did not doubt he was sincere and a little smile tugged at her mouth. How infuriating of him to offer her that olive branch just when she had made up her mind that he was insufferably high-handed.

* * *

They reached Folkestone in good time for dinner. The landlord of the inn did not blink an eye when Lord Randall announced he would require another bedchamber for Miss Endacott. If he thought it odd that a single lady should be travelling alone with the earl, without even a maid to give her countenance, he did not show it as he escorted them to a private parlour.

‘No doubt, Miss Endacott, you will wish to rest and refresh yourself before we eat.’ Lord Randall dragged off his gloves and took out his watch. ‘Shall we say an hour?’

Mary inclined her head. ‘That will be more than sufficient for me, sir.’

‘Very well.’ His cool, aristocratic gaze moved to the landlord, who bowed low.

‘Dinner in an hour, my lord.’

Mary followed a serving maid to her bedchamber. Lord Randall had barely looked at her since handing her down from the carriage. It was possible he was embarrassed in her company, but she was beginning to suspect that this scant courtesy and abrupt manner was habitual. As soon as she was alone she washed her face and hands, then took out her hairbrush and began to brush out the tangles that a day’s travel had introduced into her hair.

Well, he had warned her, she should not complain. And besides, what was there to complain of? He had told her she only had to speak out if there was anything she required to make her journey more comfortable. She had been brought up to believe herself the equal of any man, so why should she object if she received no special treatment from the earl while they were travelling?

Mary paused, the brush strokes slowing. Strange that Lord Randall should be so lacking in social graces, when his father had been such a libertine. Perhaps his years of soldiering had coarsened him. Immediately she rejected the idea. Lord Randall’s manners were not coarse, it was merely that he did not flatter and cajole. She realised she did not mind his abrupt tone, in fact, she found it refreshing. Their walk in the gardens at Somervil had been perfectly amicable, until the moment he had made his disgraceful suggestion. Yet had she behaved much better? Had she not revelled in his kiss, in the feel of his arms about her?

A distant clock chimed, her hour was nearly up. Hurriedly, she re-pinned her hair. She would have to sit through dinner alone with the earl, and it would be very uncomfortable for them both if she showed embarrassment in his company. No, if he could cope with the situation, then so could she.

* * *

‘How is your room?’

‘Very comfortable, my lord, thank you.’

I can do this; we only have to remain polite to one another.

Mary walked to the table, which was already spread with a tempting array of dishes. The earl stood behind her, holding her chair. She could not see his face, but could feel his presence like a cloud hovering around her and she did not know if she preferred that or when he took his seat across the table and she was subject to his all-too-perceptive gaze. To avoid it, she surveyed the food on offer.

‘Are we wise to eat dinner, my lord, if we are sailing at midnight?’

‘Are you a poor sailor, Miss Endacott?’

At least he was not using her first name, even though the servants had departed. She tried to relax. He had given her his word he would treat her with respect.

‘My experiences so far have been very good, but I have not yet been aboard ship during a storm.’

She raised her head, listening to the wind buffeting the windows. The earl merely shrugged.

‘There is a light breeze blowing, nothing more serious. I spoke to my captain earlier and he is confident we will make a speedy crossing.’ He held up one of the dishes. ‘Come, try the chicken, it is excellent. And you will feel much better for a good meal, I promise you.’

Mary was not sure she believed him, but she took some chicken and added a little rice and vegetables from the selection before her.

The meal proceeded comfortably enough; they kept the conversation to unexceptional topics and Mary’s anxiety eased. She was able to enjoy her meal and the wine that accompanied it, so that by the time the covers were removed and a small dish of sweetmeats placed upon the table she felt quite comfortable in the earl’s company.

‘You said experiences, Miss Endacott. Have you made many crossings?’ he asked, pushing the little dish towards her.

‘No, this will be my third.’

‘And how long have you lived abroad?’

‘About seven years. I joined my parents in Brussels when I left Miss Burchell’s school.’

‘But your family was originally from England?’

‘Yes. Papa went abroad in the short-lived peace of Amiens. He had friends in Brussels, so he decided to settle there rather than in France.’

‘Ah. His radical ideas drew unwelcome attention in this country, I suppose.’

Lord Randall’s tone held no hint of condemnation and she answered with more frankness than she was wont to show to any but close friends.

‘Yes. His support for the revolutionary government in France brought him a notoriety he did not deserve. He was outspoken, yes, he supported the new government and the redistribution of wealth, but when he realised that democracy, true democracy, was being crushed in a reign of terror he spoke out against it, just as vehemently. Alas, it was too late, his name was too closely associated with the revolution. It was very hard on Mama, especially after...’

‘After what, Miss Endacott?’

She hesitated and forced herself to speak.

‘My sister died that same year.’

‘That must have been very hard for you.’

‘It was.’ She touched her napkin to her lips, avoiding his eyes. That subject was too painful to dwell upon, even after all these years. ‘My father had run up considerable debts, too, and the only way to avoid debtors’ prison was to flee the country. He and Mama set up a girls’ academy in Brussels, based upon the precepts of Mary Wollstonecraft, but it was not a success.’ Talking of the school was safer ground. She even managed a wry smile. ‘The Bruxelloise were no more progressive in their thinking than the English. Very few wanted to give their daughters an education that would rival or even surpass that of their sons, so Papa was obliged to abandon his high ideals and include more dancing and pianoforte lessons, at the expense of Latin and Greek. When I joined them I became a teacher at the school.’

‘Really? But you could not have been more than a child yourself.’

‘I was seventeen. Very well qualified to teach the younger ones, I assure you. Your sister was at the same school, my lord, you must be aware that Miss Burchell’s establishment gave us an excellent education.’

‘It gave Harriett a lot of dangerously progressive ideas,’ he retorted.

Mary laughed. ‘Teaching women to think for themselves is not dangerously progressive, Lord Randall.’

The look he gave her indicated that he disagreed.

‘And you took over the school when your father died?’

‘Yes. He had insisted I continue my studies when I joined him, so I was able to teach the older girls, too, by then.’

‘When did he die?’

‘Four years ago. My mother had passed on twelve months earlier, so I was alone. I took control—there was nothing else to be done. If I had sold the school there would not have been enough funds to support me for very long.’

‘Could you not have considered marriage?’

Her brows went up. She was comfortable enough now in his presence to challenge him.

‘You would advocate wedlock, when you will not contemplate it for yourself? That is rather hypocritical, my lord.’

‘Not at all. I freely admit that marriages can be successful, if one is fortunate. Hattie and her husband, for example, are very happy together.’

‘I am sure that is not merely a matter of chance, my lord. As with anything that is worth having, a happy marriage has to be worked at, by both parties.’

‘I am sure you are right,’ he conceded. He rested his elbows on the table and leaned forward. ‘But if not wedlock, was there no man amongst your radical acquaintances who would support you?’

She shook her head.

‘There has never been anyone for whom I have felt strongly enough to give up my independence.’

‘No one? Not even for a, er, temporary liaison?’

‘Do you mean have I had a lover?’ She met his eye without flinching. ‘Not one, Lord Randall.’

If she had expected to embarrass him into an apology, she did not succeed. He merely held her gaze.

‘No. He would have to be a very special man to win you, Mary Endacott.’

The compliment was unexpected and her cheeks flamed. Quickly she looked away, concentrating on choosing another little treat from the dish of sweetmeats while he continued as if he had said nothing amiss.

‘So you became a schoolmistress. It could not have been easy for a young lady on her own.’

‘It was challenging, certainly, but I had been involved in running the school since I arrived in Brussels, so I knew what was required. I abandoned the last vestiges of the radical education Papa had envisaged for his pupils and concentrated upon providing an excellent education for young ladies of refinement. Besides English, of course, and arithmetic, we teach geography, natural history, French and Italian, dancing classes, singing, harp and pianoforte. I was obliged to include some religious instruction, although it went sadly against the grain, but I salve my conscience by also teaching Latin and Greek, natural philosophy and Classics to the older children.

‘Word spread and the school began to grow, slowly. The Endacott Academy for Young Ladies is now one of the foremost establishments in Brussels, and not only for the Bruxelloise. I have a large number of English pupils, too.’ She smiled. ‘My father was not the only one whose financial situation made it expedient to leave England. However, I insist that fees are paid in advance.’

‘I admire your spirit. It takes courage and determination to make a success of such a venture.’

‘It was certainly hard work, but it is easier now. I have good staff working for me.’ She smiled. ‘What have I said? Why do you look at me in that way?’

‘I beg your pardon. I was searching for a word to describe you.’

She sat back, raising her hands in mock alarm.

‘Obstinate?’ she asked him. ‘Brazen? Infuriating?’

He shook his head. ‘No. Indomitable.’

Shock rattled through Mary. Was the earl paying her another compliment? She looked down at the table, unable to trust her voice and in truth not knowing what to say. Just when she thought she could be comfortable in his company he rocked her off balance. She thought again of the Latymor motto. Semper laurifer. Hattie had said it meant always succeed. Mary preferred to translate it as we never fail. To surprise.

From the corner of her eye she saw Lord Randall take out his pocket watch.

‘I have sent the carriages and the baggage on ahead to be loaded on to the yacht,’ he said brusquely. ‘We can walk to the harbour from here and since we have more than an hour before we need to board I suggest we go to bed.’ When she recoiled he gave an impatient sigh. ‘Not together, madam. You claim to be an intelligent woman, so please use that brain of yours.’

‘I was, my lord. I was remembering what you proposed to me!’

‘When I made you that offer I was under a misapprehension. Since then I have endeavoured to treat you with respect. But I am a soldier, Miss Endacott. I speak plainly and if that offends your sensibilities then I am sorry for it, but you’ll get no soft words from me.’

‘No,’ she muttered, ‘I am beginning to realise that.’ She rose. ‘But you are right, my lord. An hour’s rest now will stand me in good stead for the crossing, since I may not be able to sleep once we are at sea.’

She left the room with her head held high, but she had the uneasy suspicion that Lord Randall would consider she had flounced out. Semper laurifer. Never fail. To infuriate!

* * *

When they left the inn Mary was pleased to note that the wind had dropped a little and a good moon sailed high above them, bathing everything in a silvery light. The harbour was bustling with activity and noisy with boisterous male voices. She was glad of the earl’s arm as they made their way along the quay to a sleek, tall-masted ship, its outline black against the night sky. Lord Randall guided her up the narrow gangplank to the deck, where the captain was waiting.

‘Welcome aboard, sir. I have had a cabin prepared for the lady, as you instructed. Jack will show you the way now, miss, if you’d like to follow him.’

They had moved across to a large opening in the deck of the yacht and Mary stopped.

‘Oh, I...’ Her words trailed off as she saw the cabin boy disappear down the ladder-like steps into a dark void.

‘Allow me.’

Before she could protest Lord Randall had scooped her up and thrown her across his shoulder. The action was so unexpected that words failed her. Keeping one arm wrapped about her thighs, he made his way one-handed down the steps. Her cheeks were scalding as he set her on her feet and she was thankful that it was too dark for the waiting cabin boy to see her embarrassment. She was thankful, too, that she could not see his face clearly in the dim lamplight. He might well have been smirking, but all she could make out was his hand coming up to tug at his forelock.

‘This way, if you please, m’m.’

Mary hesitated. She wanted to rip up at the earl for his cavalier treatment of her, but he was already making his way back up on deck and she was obliged to swallow her indignation and follow Jack to her cabin.

It was small but surprisingly comfortable and as soon as she was alone she stretched herself out on the bunk while the heat of embarrassment faded. How dared he manhandle her in such a fashion, as if she was nothing more than a sack of wool? And he had carried her so effortlessly, as if she had weighed no more than a feather. She did not know when she had last felt so helpless. It had been most unpleasant, to be at the earl’s mercy like that. If only he had given her some warning, some time to prepare herself.

The yacht was rocking gently. Mary turned over and cradled her cheek on her hand. He had not even offered her an apology. Really, the man was impossible. He had no manners, no finesse. No wonder he had to pay for his, his pleasures as he called them. Surely no woman would want his attentions. But here she found herself remembering the glint in his blue eyes, the way his rare smile had sent her heart racing, the way her senses reeled when he had kissed her. He might well be able to please a woman, if he were to exert himself...

* * *

‘Miss Endacott! Miss! We will be arriving in Ostend very soon.’

The cabin boy’s shouts penetrated Mary’s dreams. She stretched, luxuriating in pleasantly sensuous feelings that still lingered until reality stepped in and she sat up quickly. Heavens, had she been dreaming of Lord Randall? She crossed her arms and hugged herself, trying to recall her dreams, but they had flown, leaving only the vague sense of well-being.




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