Главная страница | Современная зарубежная литература | His Countess For A Week

His Countess For A Week
Sarah Mallory


A pretend marriage to the Earl Sharing everything—except a bed… To uncover a ruthless killer, Arabella Roffey masquerades as the Countess of Westray—never expecting her ‘husband’ suddenly to appear! He could expose her, but instead he agrees to continue her ruse for a week. Randolph is brooding, handsome, and Bella likes him more than she should. Pretending to be his wife, she shares everything with him—except a bed—but the temptation to do so is becoming all too real…







Pretend marriage to the earl

Sharing everything—except a bed...

To uncover a ruthless killer, Arabella Roffey masquerades as the Countess of Westray, not expecting her “husband” to suddenly appear! He could expose her but instead agrees to continue her ruse for a week. Randolph is brooding, handsome, and Bella likes him more than she should. As she pretends to be his wife, they share everything except a bed—but the temptation to do so is becoming all too real...


SARAH MALLORY grew up in the West Country, England, telling stories. She moved to Yorkshire with her young family, but after nearly thirty years of living in a farmhouse on the Pennines, she has now moved to live by the sea in Scotland. Sarah is an award-winning novelist, with more than twenty books published by Mills & Boon Historical. She loves to hear from readers and you can reach her via her website at: sarahmallory.com (http://www.sarahmallory.com).


Also by Sarah Mallory (#u8698743f-fb21-5683-8a6c-9d22feb5b46c)

The Duke’s Secret Heir

Pursued for the Viscount’s Vengeance

The Infamous Arrandales miniseries

The Chaperon’s Seduction

Temptation of a Governess

Return of the Runaway

The Outcast’s Redemption

Saved From Disgrace miniseries

The Ton’s Most Notorious Rake

Beauty and the Brooding Lord

The Highborn Housekeeper

And look out for the last book

Lilian and the Irresistible Duke by Virginia Heath coming soon

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk).


His Countess for a Week

Sarah Mallory






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


ISBN: 978-0-008-90118-9

HIS COUNTESS FOR A WEEK

© 2019 Sarah Mallory

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

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.

® and ™ are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its licensee. Trademarks marked with ® are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other countries.

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




Note to Readers (#u8698743f-fb21-5683-8a6c-9d22feb5b46c)


This ebook contains the following accessibility features which, if supported by your device, can be accessed via your ereader/accessibility settings:



Change of font size and line height

Change of background and font colours

Change of font

Change justification

Text to speech



To Sylvia T—who encouraged me not to wait for

my dreams to come true but to go out and make them

happen. And who would probably think

RIP is a pretty boring thing to do.


Contents

Cover (#u55b68169-67c7-5833-a107-d7f90447a5cb)

Back Cover Text (#ubb98fc8d-d1cf-5a94-a7ef-b73a932954c5)

About the Author (#u7b1e90a2-bd91-519b-903e-e5af64316af9)

Booklist (#ue14b8033-52dd-52f8-9f3a-301e11cce624)

Title Page (#udeb9eacc-5dd7-58c2-8e92-e0af25a439ed)

Copyright (#u381745ca-7823-5f72-8ce8-eb387c86aa7b)

Note to Readers

Dedication (#uda53b030-77d5-5adc-9f60-6862777f96b8)

Chapter One (#ue91b14dd-ccec-501f-8e44-9f09cca46451)

Chapter Two (#u91c8e581-5276-599e-a6b0-507558e01aa4)

Chapter Three (#u2daa0f75-c9c6-5234-9051-2e59d67e4803)

Chapter Four (#u93571b4d-1c9b-52b4-b38c-842f6af6d25f)

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)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)




Chapter One (#u8698743f-fb21-5683-8a6c-9d22feb5b46c)


The short November day was coming to an end when the Apollonia entered Portsmouth Harbour, its sails turned pink by the setting sun. On the bustling deck one figure stood motionless, a gentleman wrapped in a heavy cloak. He wore no hat and his thick blond hair was ruffled by the breeze as he stared out across the water, his eyes narrowed against the evening sunlight. He did not look at the sturdy walls and menacing fortifications rearing up around them, but back out through the narrow harbour entrance towards the open sea.

The Captain approached him. ‘Beggin’ your pardon, sir, we’ll be docking shortly.’

‘What?’ He turned, his gaze and his mind taking a moment to focus on the Captain. ‘Ah, yes. You’ll be wanting me below decks, out of the way, I suppose.’

Reassured by the friendly tone, the Captain allowed himself a grin.

‘Aye, sir, if you will. There’s that many sacks and crates piled here...’

‘And you don’t want your men tripping over the passengers. Very well, Captain. I’ll go below, out of your way.’

‘I thank ’ee for it, sir. We’ll get you off as soon as we can, rest assured o’ that.’

With a smile and a nod, Randolph made his way back to the dark, airless cabin. It had been his home for the past six months; another few minutes could be easily borne. He threw himself down on the bunk and put his hands behind his head, listening to the shouts and thuds from the deck above him and wondering, not for the first time, if he had been wise to return to England.

He had been in Australia for six years and had made a good life for himself. He had maintained his health and had enjoyed running his own farm in Airds, on the land granted him following his pardon. However, when Chislett’s letter had arrived, it had not taken him long to convince himself it was his duty to return.

But now he wondered what awaited him. When he had left England, the country was recovering from the long and bruising campaign against Bonaparte. Randolph had taken little interest in English affairs since leaving the country, because he had never expected to return. He had not even expected to survive.

A gentle knock on the door roused him from his reverie.

‘Excuse me, my lord, I see your valise is not yet packed. If you will allow me...’

‘Oh, yes, Joseph. Come in.’

Randolph swung his feet to the ground and watched as his man collected up the few remaining items. He wrapped the folding bootjack in a cloth and pushed it into the already bulging bag, followed by the hairbrush and comb. When he picked up a penknife, Randolph held out his hand.

‘I’ll take that, Joseph. Thank you.’ He pushed the small knife into the pocket of his coat. ‘Are you sorry to have come back to England?’

‘It makes no odds to me either way, my lord. If you’d wanted to remain at Airds, I’d have been content to see out the rest of my life there.’

‘If this current venture turns out badly, we may yet return,’ said Randolph.

‘As you wish, my lord.’

‘Confound it, Joseph, must you always be so damned cool?’

The grey-haired servant gave one of his rare smiles. ‘Why, sir, I’d not have survived so long if I’d been anything else.’

‘True!’ Randolph laughed. He rose to his feet and put a hand on the older man’s shoulder. ‘What a sad trial I have been to you over the years, Joseph. I owe you a great deal. I should not have survived if it had not been for you. I wish you would let me—’

‘If you are going to offer me a pension for life, my lord, let me tell you now I don’t want it. Why, what should I do with myself, if I wasn’t looking after you?’

‘Aye, you’ve said that before, Joseph, but now we are back in the old country you might want to consider taking it a little easier. Settle down, perhaps. Find yourself a wife. I remember you and my sister’s maid were on good terms at one time.’

Something flickered in Miller’s eyes, but whether it was alarm, a fond memory or embarrassment, Randolph could not tell.

‘Let us get you settled first, my lord, and then we’ll see’ was all his man would say.

A voice could be heard in the passage, inviting all passengers to disembark. Joseph fastened the valise and picked it up.

‘Well, my lord, shall we go ashore?’






After so long at sea, it felt strange to Ran to have hard cobbles beneath his feet rather than wooden planking and constant movement, but he had little time to grow accustomed. The shadows were lengthening and he looked about him, his eyes coming to rest on a closed carriage with a soberly dressed figure standing by the door. Even after all these years Randolph recognised his family’s lawyer. He strode towards him, his hand held out.

‘Mr Chislett, good day to you.’

The man bowed low. ‘My lord.’

‘Come, man, take my hand,’ barked Randolph. ‘I’ve lived without ceremony for the past six years and I have no mind to begin yet, especially with such an old friend as yourself. And take note, I am travelling as plain Mr Randolph Kirkster for the moment.’

‘As you wish, sir.’ Chislett briefly shook hands, then waved towards the carriage. ‘I have only the one vehicle. We may need to hire another, if you have a deal of baggage.’

‘A couple of trunks and a few bags,’ said Randolph. ‘I think we shall manage.’

Within minutes the luggage was strapped to the coach and he and Joseph were settling themselves inside, together with Mr Chislett.

‘I have booked rooms for you at the Admiral,’ said the lawyer. ‘I am staying there myself and I hope it will suit. I thought that we might meet after breakfast tomorrow to discuss your situation.’

‘Why wait until the morning?’ said Randolph. ‘The sooner this business is concluded the better.’ He looked out of the window as the carriage began to slow. ‘Are we here already? Capital. Let us go in. Arrange dinner for the three of us in a private parlour, if you please, Mr Chislett. In, say, an hour. Joseph, I will leave you to organise our bags while I go and order hot water sent up to our rooms.’

With that he jumped out of the carriage and strode into the inn, leaving the lawyer staring in surprise after him.

Joseph Miller chuckled. ‘His Lordship’s not one to stand back and let others do all the work. Nor will he walk if he can run. Come along, Mr Chislett, let us get on with it!’






Ran sat back in his chair and gave a loud sigh of satisfaction.

‘After months of ship’s rations, I enjoyed that meal!’

He was sitting at the table in the private parlour of the Admiral with Joseph and Mr Chislett. The dishes had been cleared away and a decanter of the landlord’s finest brandy now stood on the table beside a jug of small beer.

Miller filled two glasses with brandy and pushed one towards the lawyer.

‘You’ll be wanting to get down to business,’ he remarked, picking up the second glass and preparing to leave.

Ran waved him back to his seat. ‘No need to go, Joseph. Heaven knows I have no secrets from you.’ He poured himself a tankard of small beer and turned to the lawyer. ‘Now, Mr Chislett, if you are ready, let us proceed with the business. Perhaps you might start by explaining to me again, and not in the legal jargon you used in your letter, just how it comes about that a disgraced baron, who was transported from this country in chains, is suddenly become the Earl of Westray? The connection was never even mentioned in my family.’

Mr Chislett picked up his glass and warmed it between his hands for a moment.

‘It is a simple story, my lord, but a tragic one,’ he began. ‘The Seventh Earl had two healthy sons and three younger brothers. As a mere cousin, your grandfather never considered the title would come down through his line. The youngest brother died without issue, the second had a son who was killed at Waterloo, and still no one saw it as a cause for concern. Then the Earl’s two sons were taken—one by fever, the other in a hunting accident—and the remaining brother discovered he had left it too late to marry and have a child. Thus, when the Earl died eighteen months ago, his brother succeeded to the title, but lived to enjoy it for only a few months. The Earldom therefore falls to the next male relative. That is you, my lord. You are now the Ninth Earl.’

‘And if I do not want it?’

‘As I advised you in my letter, the Earldom of Westray is an ancient title and includes several properties. There are any number of tenants, staff and their families all dependent upon the successful running of the estates. If you do not wish to claim the title, then we would do our best to administer the estates from London, as we have done since the Eighth Earl died nine months ago. The title would be dormant and pass on to your son in due course. If you die without issue, the title becomes extinct.’ The lawyer’s thin mouth turned down a little, expressing his disapproval of such a thought. He continued, his voice devoid of emotion, ‘Of course, my lord, you might choose to leave the administration to your stewards and enjoy the...er...fruits of your new station. That, of course, is up to you.’

‘You mean live like a lord while someone else does all the work? No. I thank you. If I decide to take this on, I would do my utmost to improve the estates, not milk ’em dry!’






Randolph sipped his beer. He had made a good life for himself in Australia. He had revelled in the outdoor life, running his farm, building it up into a thriving business. Also, the climate suited him and he was healthier than he had ever been, so much so that he had positively enjoyed the long sea voyage. It had been very different from the first one, when only Joseph Miller’s devotion had kept him alive.

‘Lord knows I don’t want the title,’ he said slowly, ‘but it is mine now and I cannot ignore it. As a boy I evaded all my responsibilities, leaving my sister to bear the consequences. I am deeply ashamed of the hell she went through for me. I will not shirk my duty a second time.’

The merry crackling of the fire filled the awkward silence. At last Joseph Miller spoke.

‘So, Lord Westray, we stay in England?’

Ran met his eyes, read the same affection and faith in them that had helped him through the darkest days. He smiled and raised his glass.

‘We stay in England.’

With the decision made, the atmosphere in the little room lightened. The canny lawyer was not given to displays of emotion, but Ran could almost feel the older man’s relief.

‘Very well, my lord. Firstly, I must give you the Westray ring.’ He pulled a small velvet pouch from his pocket and handed it over, watching as Randolph took out the ring and tried it first on one finger, then another. ‘If it does not fit, my lord, we can have it made larger.’

‘No, no, it fits snugly on my little finger,’ said Ran, holding up his hand. The gold signet ring felt heavy, but he would get used to that, as he would accustom himself to being Earl and all that entailed.

The lawyer looked relieved and permitted himself a little smile.

‘I am glad. Now.’ He fetched a thick wallet from the sideboard and carried it to the table. ‘I have one or two documents here that require your attention.’






When Randolph walked into the private parlour the following morning, he was surprised to see the lawyer already there and finishing his breakfast.

‘Good God, man, do you never sleep? It was well after midnight when we went to bed!’

‘I find a few hours is sufficient for me,’ replied Chislett. He nodded to Joseph, who was following his master into the room, then turned back to Ran. ‘If you have no further questions or instructions, I plan to set out for London as soon as I have broken my fast.’

‘I am sure I shall have a hundred more questions,’ retorted Ran cheerfully. ‘However, for the moment I am content with all we have arranged.’

‘Then I shall be on my way.’ Chislett drained his coffee cup and got to his feet. ‘Do not hesitate to write to me, my lord, if anything else comes to mind, and I shall look forward to seeing you in town in the spring. Good day to you, Lord Westray. Mr Miller.’

The lawyer went out and Ran walked to the window to watch his departure. Only when the carriage had drawn away did he turn back to survey the breakfast table.

‘By heaven, I have an appetite this morning, Joseph. I want more than bread rolls and coffee! Will you go and see if the landlord can provide us with eggs and perhaps some ham?’

‘Aye, willingly.’ Miller grinned at him. ‘Do you wish me to tell him who you are, puff off your consequence?’

‘No, damn you! I am not dressed for the part yet and want to enjoy my anonymity for a little longer.’ He hesitated. ‘You realise, old friend, our lives are going to be very different from now on. There are estates to be managed, staff and tenants to be considered.’

‘Aye, sir, but it’s nothing we can’t handle. Now, you sit down while I go and chase up this rascally landlord!’




Chapter Two (#u8698743f-fb21-5683-8a6c-9d22feb5b46c)


Randolph spent the day going over the paperwork Chislett had left him, putting it away only when it was time to change for dinner. He went off to dine with Lord and Lady Gilmorton at the King’s Arms, the hostelry that was enjoying their patronage.

Apart from the lawyer, whom he had sworn to secrecy, Ran had told only his sister, Deborah, and her husband that he was bound for England, and he was not surprised to receive a message that they planned to meet him at Portsmouth. He was delighted they should come so far, but slightly apprehensive, too, and he could not help putting a hand up to his neckcloth before he entered the inn.

As the tap boy showed him into the private parlour, Ran looked over the man’s shoulder to catch his first glimpse of his sister in six years. His heart swelled. He would have known her anywhere, neat as a pin in her Pomona-green gown and her brown hair swept up.

‘Deborah.’

She barely waited for the servant to close the door before she flew across the room, her green eyes over-bright with tears.

‘Oh, Ran, Ran. Is it really you?’

He caught her to him, laughing. ‘Well, I hope you wouldn’t throw yourself like this at a stranger!’ Keeping his arms tightly about her, he nodded to his brother-in-law. ‘How are you, Gilmorton?’

The Viscount came forward to meet him, a smile lightening his rather serious countenance, made all the more sombre by the scar running down his left cheek.

‘Very well, Randolph, thank you. If you put my wife down, I will shake hands with you!’

The tension melted away. Between laughter and tears he was dragged to the settle close to the fire while Deborah bombarded him with questions.

‘My love, give the poor fellow a chance to catch his breath,’ murmured Gil. He added, with a glint of humour, ‘She has been in alt ever since you wrote to say you were coming home.’

‘Then I pity you,’ replied Ran, dodging a playful blow from his sister.

‘Your letters were always so cheerful,’ she said now, clinging still to his hand and her eyes searching his face. ‘And you are well, now. Really well?’

He squeezed her hand, knowing what was behind the question.

‘Yes, truly. I avoid laudanum, never drink spirits and partake sparingly of wine. I have never felt better.’

Her eyes misted. ‘Then you were telling the truth in your letters, when you said transportation saved your life.’

‘Aye. I believe it did.’

He had told them nothing of the arduous months he’d spent aboard the transport ship to Sydney Cove. All the prisoners suffered from the harsh conditions, the sickness and deprivation, but he had also had to endure the unbearable craving for laudanum. There had been periods of delirium, even longer stretches of dark despair. He knew he was lucky to be alive and how much he owed to his valet. It had been Joseph’s diligent care that had saved him. His valet had given up his freedom to accompany him and it was a debt Ran could never repay.

‘Is Miller still with you?’ asked Gil, as if reading his thoughts.

‘Aye. I suggested he might remain and run the farm for me, but he preferred to come back. Mayhap he thought I would be as ill on this journey as the first time, but apart from a few days of seasickness at the start, the voyage was uneventful. Even enjoyable.’

‘So Joseph Miller has returned with you,’ murmured Deborah, her eyes twinkling with mischief. ‘My maid, Elsie, will be pleased to hear that.’

‘Do not tell me she has been pining for him all these years!’ exclaimed Ran, alarmed.

Deborah laughed. ‘No, no, of course not. But they were very friendly, at one time, and I did wonder—’

‘My wife is an inveterate matchmaker,’ the Viscount interrupted her, shaking his head. ‘Let it be, Deb. Give your brother and his man time to settle into their new life!’






Dinner was brought in and they moved to the dining table, where the talk continued, Ran describing his life in Airds, where he had been granted land following his pardon. He made light of the hardships leading up to that time, knowing that as an educated man he had received far better treatment than many of his fellow prisoners.

‘And what are your plans now?’ asked Deb.

‘He is going to transform himself into an earl,’ put in Gil. ‘Why else did he send us his measurements and ask that we have some fashionable clothes made up?’

Ran laughed. ‘That was Joseph’s idea. He knows I own nothing suitable.’

‘No, I regret I must agree,’ drawled his brother-in-law, casting an eye over him. ‘In that coat you would at best pass for a gentleman farmer. Thankfully, we have fulfilled your commission and you may carry away the trunk with you when you leave us tonight. Next time we meet I hope I shall not be ashamed to own you as my brother.’

‘Mighty good of you!’ retorted Ran, grinning.

‘But where will you go?’ asked Deb. ‘Why not come back with us to Gilmorton? Little James and Randolph would like to meet their uncle, I am sure, and you might remain with us for the winter.’

‘Aye, but do not come merely for your nephews’ sake,’ added her husband. ‘We’d be delighted to have you stay. For as long as you wish.’

‘Thank you, but that must wait, I am afraid. I have estates of my own that I need to visit first.’

‘Ah, yes. You are a wealthy man now, Ran.’ Gil sat back, cradling his glass between his hands. ‘A fortune and a title—you have become something of a catch!’

‘Gil!’ Deb gasped, half-laughing, half-outraged. ‘And you said I was a matchmaker!’

The Viscount raised his brows at her.

‘What have I said that is not true? The society pages may be agog with the fact that the new Lord Westray is a pardoned felon, but let me tell you, Ran, it does not diminish your attraction with scheming mothers one jot!’

‘We do not know...’ Deborah glanced shyly at her brother. ‘Perhaps there is a lady, back in Australia.’

Ran shook his head. ‘There was little opportunity to meet ladies in Sydney Cove, or Airds. Besides, I was too busy making a life for myself. Now, I suppose, I must consider the idea of marriage.’

‘By heaven, Ran, you are taking your duties seriously indeed!’ exclaimed the Viscount.

‘There is the succession to be considered.’ He shrugged. ‘It should not be difficult. There must be any number of eligible ladies who would suit. I am not that particular. I only need someone who will make me a comfortable wife.’

Gil snorted. ‘There is nothing comfortable about falling in love, my friend. It can be joyous, but it is also painful.’ He grinned at his wife. ‘Believe me, it is anything but comfortable.’

‘Then I shall not fall in love,’ said Ran simply. ‘I am too old for that nonsense.’

‘At eight-and-twenty?’ Deborah gave a little trill of laughter. ‘You are perfectly poised to make a great fool of yourself over a woman!’

Ran was unoffended. ‘Perhaps, but I doubt I shall have much time for that sort of thing for a while, at least. I have told Chislett he may now write to the steward at the Earl’s—that is, at my principal seat, Westray Priors in Oxfordshire, telling him I am in England and that I intend to travel there in a few weeks. However, from the papers Chislett left with me yesterday, I realise there is a small property in Devon, Beaumount Hall. It is near Tavistock, I understand. It seems a pity not to see it, since I am so close.’

‘Close!’ Gil frowned. ‘Why, that must be all of a hundred and fifty miles from here and I wager the roads will be shocking.’

‘But I am not going by road,’ Ran replied. ‘I have my sea legs now, you know.’ He grinned. ‘Joseph and I have booked a passage with a local vessel sailing to Plymouth on the morning tide!’






The weather proved fair for Randolph and Joseph’s journey to Plymouth, where they hired a coach to take them to Beaumount Hall. Ran looked about him with interest.

‘I had forgotten how it is here in autumn,’ he murmured, ‘the blaze of colour before the trees lose their leaves in winter. And it is greener, too.’

A contentment settled over him. A feeling that he had come home.






As the Viscount had predicted, away from the towns the roads were not good and they were relieved when, after an hour’s bumpy travel, the carriage turned to pass between open gates and into a small park.

‘The drive appears to be in good order for a property that has been vacant for at least a year,’ remarked Ran. ‘Let us hope the house is similarly up together. Chislett said there were a handful of staff in residence. Now, what did he say was the name of the butler? Meavy. And his wife is housekeeper.’

‘I still think we should have sent word we were coming,’ muttered Joseph.

‘Devil a bit,’ replied the new Earl cheerfully.

‘You will look no-how if they can’t accommodate us and we have to find lodgings in Tavistock!’

‘Oh, I doubt it will come to that. We have slept under the stars before now.’

‘Aye, but that was on the other side of the world!’

Ran merely laughed at his companion’s retort and leaned forward, eager for a glimpse of Beaumount Hall. He was not disappointed. It had been a fine day and the sun was setting in a blaze of golden light as the carriage swung around a bend and the house came into view.

It was an impressive building over three floors. There was more than a hint of the baroque in the redbrick exterior with its creamy pilasters reaching to the roof line on the corners of the house. More pilasters flanked the door, which was topped by a stone hood, richly carved like a shell. Randolph grinned at his companion.

‘You may be easy, Joseph! The roof looks sound, so at the very worst we may sleep on the floor here tonight.’ The carriage stopped at the shallow steps and Ran jammed his hat on his head. ‘Come along, then. Let us see how Meavy reacts to our arrival.’

However, when they were admitted to the house the butler looked surprised to see the new Earl, but not as shocked as Randolph had expected. Joseph had the letter of introduction from Chislett ready to wave before any suspicious custodians, but the butler scarcely glanced at it.

‘Welcome, my lord,’ he said, bowing. ‘It is unfortunate we had no notice of your coming today.’

‘There was no time,’ replied Ran, handing over his hat and coat. ‘If there is anything to eat in the house, then bring it to the drawing room, if you please.’

‘Very good, my lord. And what will you drink?’

‘I doubt you have any coffee.’

‘Lord love you, of course we have coffee, my lord. And tea.’

‘A pot of coffee, then.’ He glanced at Joseph. ‘You will come with me.’

His valet maintained his silence only until Meavy had shown them into the drawing room and closed the door.

‘They will think it a pretty rum do, my lord, you taking refreshment with a servant.’

‘They will grow accustomed to it! And you are not a servant. You are my aide-de-camp. I have promoted you!’ He threw himself down into a chair beside the marble fireplace, where cheerful flames blazed. ‘Later I shall demand to know what the devil they are doing keeping fires burning here when there is no one in residence, but for now I am damned glad of it.’

‘Aye,’ said Joseph, sitting down. ‘Seems a strange set-up to me, however. Servants in livery and fires burning when they did not know the master was coming.’

‘Mayhap they light a fire occasionally to drive off the damp—’ Ran broke off as the door opened and Meavy came in with a tray of glasses and a decanter. He was followed by a plump woman in a white apron and with a snowy lace cap over her grey curls. She introduced herself as Mrs Meavy, the housekeeper.

‘The coffee will be ready in a trice, my lord, but I thought, in the meantime, you might like to take a glass of wine.’ She put a tray of cakes and biscuits down on a side table and turned back to the Earl. ‘Well, my lord, this is a to-do,’ she said cheerfully. ‘If I’d known you was coming, I’d have prepared a dinner for you, but with Her Ladyship being out for the day, all I have ready is an egg-and-bacon pie—’

‘Wait a moment.’ Ran raised one hand to stop the garrulous flow. ‘Her Ladyship?’

The old lady blinked at him. ‘Why, yes, my lord. The Countess.’

It was Ran’s turn to blink. ‘Countess? You mean the old Earl’s widow is in residence here?’

He swore silently. He had not considered that possibility. Damn Chislett for not warning him!

The housekeeper gave a fat chuckle. ‘Why, no, my lord. I means your Countess, o’ course!’

Randolph ignored the choking sound coming from Joseph and concentrated on concealing his own astonishment.

‘Ah, yes. Lady Westray,’ he said, not betraying himself by the flicker of an eyelid. ‘She is gone out, you say?’

‘Aye, my lord. She went off to Meon House this morning to ride out with Lady Meon and then she is to dine there and stay the night.’

‘Is she indeed?’ He felt a laugh bubbling up and grinned at Joseph, who was still red in the face from coughing. ‘Then we shall join her there, once we have eaten something. Please bring us some of that pie, Mrs Meavy, and after we have dined, Joseph, you had best unpack and brush my evening coat!’






Ran gazed at himself in the long mirror, taking in the black coat with its gold buttons bearing the Westray crest. He had looked at it askance when he had pulled it out of the trunk of clothes the Gilmortons had procured for him, but now he gave a nod of approval.

‘Deb and Gil have surpassed my expectations,’ he declared. ‘Coat, knee breeches, the finest linen shirt, even footwear! Everything that is needed to convince doubters that I am indeed the new Earl.’

He was in the master bedroom, where a fire had been hastily cobbled together. Joseph was tenderly brushing the new chapeau-bras that would complete his ensemble, but he threw his master a frowning look.

‘Aye, my lord, but who is this mysterious lady masquerading as your wife?’ He kept his voice low even though they were alone in the room. ‘I’ve asked a few questions, discreetly, of course, but all the servants can tell me is that she arrived two weeks ago along with her maid and took up residence. Gave some taradiddle about your being on business at t’other end of the country.’

‘And they believed it?’ Randolph fixed a diamond pin into the folds of his snowy cravat.

‘Why should they not?’ Joseph spread his hands. ‘They’d heard the new Earl had been found and summoned to come home and claim his inheritance. Nothing more.’

‘I suppose I had ordered Chislett not to blab,’ said Ran, fairly. ‘And the lady’s maid, the one person who might be able to tell us what is going on, has accompanied her mistress to Meon House.’ He took the hat from Joseph and adjusted it at a rakish angle on his fair head. ‘This could prove an interesting evening.’

‘Perhaps I should come with you, my lord. In case there is trouble.’

‘I do not anticipate needing your help, my friend. You stay here and make sure the sheets on the bed are properly aired. It was made up in a hurry and I don’t want to catch my death of cold.’

‘After everything we’ve been through, it would take more than a damp sheet to carry you off, my lord,’ muttered Joseph, as he opened the door for his master to go out.






Meon House was situated just a few miles from Beaumount Hall, but Randolph’s coachman was unfamiliar with the territory and took a wrong turn. It was therefore nearly nine o’clock before the carriage arrived at its destination. Light poured from every window and the number of carriages he could make out on the drive suggested there was something more than a quiet dinner in progress.

It had started to rain and Ran hurried up the steps to the door, which a servant was holding open for him. In the hall a cheerful fire burned and Ran could hear the buzz of voices coming from the rooms beyond. The footman looked a little bemused when Ran gave him his name, but a lady, crossing the hall, stopped and came forward. By the way she dismissed the servant, Ran guessed this was Lady Meon. She was on the shady side of thirty, but taking in the voluptuous figure sheathed in gold satin and the glossy dark curls piled on her head, she dressed to advantage. She was an attractive woman, he thought, and she was well aware of it.

‘Lord Westray, this is indeed a surprise.’ The smile on her full red lips and the appraising look in her dark eyes suggested it was not an unpleasant one.

‘Yes, I am Westray.’ He smiled at her. ‘I beg your pardon for coming unannounced, but I have just arrived at Beaumount and learned my wife is here. I hope I have not interrupted your dinner?’

Ran took her outstretched hand and bowed over it, then worried that perhaps it would be considered an old-fashioned gesture. To his relief, the lady was clearly charmed. Her smile grew.

‘No, no, we are quite finished and everyone is in the drawing room. I shall take you in myself. That is—’ She stopped suddenly. ‘Have you dined, Lord Westray? If not, I am sure we can—’

‘I dined at Beaumount, ma’am, thank you.’

‘Ah, good.’ She tucked her hand into his arm. ‘Come along, then, my lord. Let us go in. But I must warn you, it is only a little party, just a few neighbouring families, which is all the society this isolated place can provide. Lady Westray was eager to meet her neighbours and I was delighted to oblige her. Heavens, how pleased she will be to see you!’

‘Not nearly as pleased as I shall be to see her,’ murmured Ran.

He accompanied his hostess into an elegant drawing room full of glittering light from the chandeliers and the jewels that adorned the necks of the ladies present. It might be a small party, but it was clear the guests considered it an important occasion.

There were only about a dozen persons gathered there, but from the level of noise in the room Ran thought the wine had been flowing freely. Two elderly matrons conversed on a sofa by the fire and an aged gentleman dozed in a chair. Everyone else was gathered by the large window bay. Lady Meon led Ran across the room towards them. The group consisted of three ladies and double the number of gentlemen, their attention fixed upon a lady who had her back to the room. She was talking in an animated fashion that set the skirts of her red silk gown shimmering.

As they approached, Ran took the opportunity to observe her. Even from the back the view was attractive. She had an elegant figure and her shoulders rose in smooth, creamy slopes from a low-cut bodice. Her graceful neck was adorned with a diamond collar and above that fair curls were piled artlessly upon her head. They glinted with her every movement, like newly minted sovereigns.

Ran glanced at the two other females, both matronly and grey-haired. Too old to be his Countess. His lips twitched and he felt a sudden kick of pleasurable excitement as they drew closer. By heaven, surely this vision in the red gown could not be...

Lady Meon reached out and lightly touched one scarlet sleeve.

‘Well, well, Lady Westray, you do not know how delighted I am to be the bearer of good tidings, for here is your husband, arrived in Devon this very night and come to find you!’

The lady turned quickly and Ran was dazzled by her smile of delight. It quickly faded as her lips formed a little ‘oh’ of surprise. She regarded him with a shadow of fear in the depths of her emerald-green eyes. His own smile grew.

‘Well, my dear, I believe I have surprised you.’

He reached for her hand, but even as he clasped her fingers she collapsed into a dead faint.

Ran did not hesitate. He scooped her up, the red silk skirts sliding with a whisper over his arm.

One of the matrons laughed. ‘There now, no one can doubt her astonishment! Poor little thing. Take her somewhere quiet, my lord, until she has recovered herself. We will happily wait for the pleasure of an introduction!’

‘Yes, yes, this way,’ cried Lady Meon, leading him away from the group. ‘There is a little room across the passage. Here we are.’ She opened a door and Ran stepped into a comfortable sitting room, where candles were already burning and there was a small fire in the hearth. ‘Lay her on the sofa, my lord. I shall send for her maid.’

‘No. No need for that.’ Ran put his burden down gently and sat on the edge of the sofa, beside her. ‘I shall take care of her now.’

‘Ah, of course you will. Who better to do so than her own husband?’

His hostess looked on with approval as he began to chafe the little hands and Ran shot her a smile.

‘No need for any fuss, Lady Meon. Her pulse has already grown steadier. Pray go back to your guests and assure them my lady has merely fainted. We shall join you again very soon.’

‘Very well, my lord. I shall leave you to look after your wife. I can see she is stirring. Good, good. But you must ring if there is anything you need, anything at all.’

Lady Meon departed, leaving Randolph alone with his lady.






Arabella surfaced from the dead faint, but kept very still, afraid the pain behind her eyes would be worse if she opened them. Someone was rubbing her hands, and a deep voice, rich with amusement, was speaking to her.

‘Gently now, my lady. You are safe.’

Safe! Her heart began to pound as memory returned. She was at Meon House and had been regaling her new acquaintances with some tale. Then Lady Meon had said her husband was there. For one brief, blissful moment she had forgotten that George was no longer alive. She had turned eagerly, only to find herself looking into the face of a stranger. That had been a cruel blow. Shock, heartbreaking disappointment and alarm had combined to render her senseless, but now she was awake and all too aware that she was in trouble.

The pain in her head had faded and she risked opening her eyes. The stranger was still there, holding her hands in a firm, sustaining clasp. He was nothing like George. He was older and his hair was fair, not brown. It was lighter than her own and, unlike George in those last months, this man positively glowed with health and vigour.

He smiled and something twisted, deep inside. She wanted to smile back at this handsome stranger, to lie still and enjoy his ministrations for a little longer. She quickly closed her eyes again. Heavens, what an alarming thought!

‘We are quite alone,’ he said. ‘There is no need for pretence.’

‘My fainting was no pretence,’ she told him crossly as she struggled to sit up. ‘Who are you?’

‘I am Westray,’ he told her. ‘More to the point, madam, who are you?’

She bit her lip. He was dressed fashionably and a diamond twinkled from the folds of his neckcloth, but he wore no other jewellery save for a gold signet ring. Could he really be the missing Earl? A felon. True, the reports said he had received a full pardon and she knew that people were transported for crimes as trivial as stealing a length of cloth, but he was a convict nevertheless.

She looked at him now, the candlelight gleaming on his mane of fair hair, his skin glowing with the golden tan of a man who spent his time out of doors. Or on a long sea voyage.

‘Well?’ he said, when she did not speak. ‘Personation, that is, pretending to be someone you are not, is a crime, you know. I think I am entitled to an explanation. Let us begin with your name.’

She looked at him defiantly and wanted to retort that he was the criminal, she had read about him in the newspapers. He was waiting patiently for her to respond and her defiance faltered. He did not look like a villain. Yet whatever he had done to earn his pardon, it did not mean she could trust him.

He appeared relaxed, even amused, but there was a steely strength about him. She knew he would not be fobbed off with anything less than the truth. She had no choice but to answer.

‘I am Arabella Roffey.’

‘Go on.’

His blue-green eyes were glinting with laughter but they were not unkind. She said impulsively, ‘I needed to be here. It is very important. Pray do not expose me!’

She moved to the end of the sofa, not trusting her legs to support her if she tried to stand. He shifted his position to face her, sitting back, his arms folded and smiling as if he was completely at his ease, but a second glance confirmed her original thought: he was as relaxed as a cat watching its prey.

‘How intriguing,’ he said cheerfully. ‘You had best explain it to me.’

‘I...’ She clasped her hands, squeezing them together to steady her nerves and gazing down at the white knuckles. ‘I am trying to find out who killed my husband.’




Chapter Three (#u8698743f-fb21-5683-8a6c-9d22feb5b46c)


It was not the answer Ran had been expecting. She did not look old enough to be married, let alone a widow. A closer look at her face made him reconsider. She would be one-or two-and-twenty, he guessed. She was very pale; there were dark smudges beneath her eyes and faint lines of strain around them. Young she might be, but he could believe she had known grief.

‘You think Lady Meon is responsible?’

‘No. Possibly. George was staying here with friends, you see. Before he died. From what he told me, when he was sick, I suspect, I believe something happened here.’

‘Why did you not write to the lady and ask her?’

She lifted her shoulders in a tiny shrug. ‘If my suspicions are correct, I doubt Lady Meon would have told me anything if I had approached her as Mrs Roffey.’

‘You decided you might have more success as a countess.’ When she did not respond he continued. ‘How long have you been masquerading as my wife?’

‘Just over two weeks.’ She added, as if in mitigation, ‘But only here in Devonshire and until this evening I had met only Lady Meon. Then she invited me to her party and I thought I might learn something.’

Loud voices came from the passage beyond the door. A burst of laughter and heavy footsteps.

She looked at him, her green eyes wide with alarm. ‘Will you tell them I am an impostor?’

‘Not here,’ he said, getting up. ‘Not tonight.’

Ran noted the slight lessening of tension in her dainty form.

‘I am most grateful, thank you.’

‘I will send for your cloak and order the carriage.’

That startled her.

‘But I cannot go now,’ she protested. ‘I have accepted Lady Meon’s invitation to stay the night!’

A grin tugged at his mouth. ‘Our hostess would hardly expect me to leave without you, but if you would rather I stayed, we could continue this charade until the morning.’

He let the words hang, watching with unholy amusement as the implication of his words sank in. She blushed furiously.

‘No, of course I do not want that!’ She rose and shook out her skirts. ‘I came in my own carriage. I will go and find my maid and we shall follow you.’

‘Oh, no, I do not intend to let you slip away from me. We shall return to the salon together and find our hostess. And then, my lady, I am taking you back to Beaumount. Your maid can pack your bags and follow later.’






Arabella wanted to protest, but she knew it would be useless. He was still smiling, but there was an implacable look in his eyes. She must capitulate. For now.

‘Very well. I will go with you, Lord Westray.’

‘How formal that sounds.’ He grimaced. ‘Very well, then. Let us take leave of our hostess.’

Arabella paused for a heartbeat. It was a risk to go off with this man, she knew that, but what choice did she have? She could confess everything and throw herself on the mercy of her hostess, but instinct told her not to trust Ursula Meon.

Did she trust the Earl of Westray? She looked at him again and realised that she did. She felt her world shift slightly, as if something momentous had occurred. It was irrational, illogical, but looking into his sea-blue eyes, she felt a connection, as if he would understand her. Nonsense, of course. Her thoughts were confused. She was still shaken, not yet recovered from her faint.

He held out his arm. ‘Madam, shall we go?’

Taking a deep breath, she put her fingers on his sleeve and allowed him to lead her back to the salon.






The party had grown rowdier in their absence and they entered to a confusion of chatter and laughter. The noise died as they walked in and Arabella felt as if every eye was turned towards her. She could not help clutching more tightly at the Earl’s arm. He put his hand over her fingers and squeezed them.

‘Do not be afraid to lean on me, my dear. I have you safe now.’

Arabella knew the caressing tone was as much for the benefit of the gathered company as for her. Lady Meon had flown out of her chair and was beside them, begging the Earl to bring his lady closer to the fire, asking if she could fetch her anything.

‘You might send for my carriage, madam,’ replied the Earl. ‘I would like to take my wife home.’

Home. Wife.

The words sent a chill through Arabella, dispelling the feeling of unreality that had possessed her since meeting the Earl. Common sense told her it was better to stay here, in company, rather than to leave with a stranger. To ride in a darkened coach with him and then to enter Beaumount. His house. As his wife. That would be foolhardy in the extreme. She needed time to think.

‘Oh, but I am so much better now, my lord,’ she said brightly. ‘Indeed, I am mortified that I should be so silly as to faint off. I beg your pardon and hope you will forgive me. I should dearly like to remain here for a little longer yet, at least until after supper—’

‘Alas, my love, I do not think that would be wise,’ the Earl interrupted her smoothly. ‘Lady Meon will understand, I am sure, that I want to have you to myself tonight.’

Arabella flushed at the inference, but she was also angered by the teasing note in his voice. It made her long to hit him.

‘Of course I understand, my lord.’ Lady Meon gave Arabella’s arm a playful tap with her fan. ‘You naughty puss, to tease him so, when I am sure you are just as eager to be away.’

The ladies were all smiling and nodding—one of the gentlemen even laughed. Arabella found herself blushing again, but she was not giving up just yet.

‘Naturally, I should like to be at home,’ she said sweetly, ‘and yet I think it would be better if I remained here, quietly, for a little while. Perhaps I might take a cup of tea before I leave.’ She turned her head to look up at the Earl and gave him a false, glittering smile. ‘That would also give my lord the opportunity to become acquainted with our new neighbours.’

His eyes gleamed appreciatively, acknowledging she had outmanoeuvred him.

‘As you wish, my dear, we shall stay a little longer.’

The tea tray was summoned and the Earl guided Arabella to a chair. She sat down, fanning herself, and watched through half-closed eyes as Lady Meon and her guests vied for Lord Westray’s attention.

There was no doubting their eagerness to become acquainted with the new Earl. Over the course of the evening she had learned that in recent times the Westray family had made little use of Beaumount. Everyone was aware of the present Earl’s history, but it made no odds to them. It was more important to be on good terms with their exalted neighbour than to worry about his past.

‘Do you intend to make this a long visit to Devonshire, my lord?’ asked Lady Trewen, wife of the local squire.

‘I hardly know, ma’am. A week, perhaps.’

‘There is good sport, sir, if you are a hunting man,’ declared her husband. ‘Plenty of fish and fowl to be had. And of course, fox and stag hunting. If you haven’t brought your own horses, I’d be happy to mount you on one of mine. I believe I have a couple that would be up to your weight.’

The Earl inclined his head. ‘Thank you, but I doubt we shall be in the area long enough for that. I have business in London that requires my attention.’

‘And your good lady is pining for society, I don’t doubt,’ said a bewhiskered gentleman. ‘You should come back in the spring or summer, my lord. Lady Meon’s house parties would be very much in your line, I am sure. Any number of young bucks from town come down, and lords and ladies, too. Ain’t that so, ma’am?’ He gave another hearty laugh. ‘Then my lady doesn’t have to rely upon country dwellers like ourselves to fill her drawing room!’

Lady Meon smiled and shook her head at him. ‘It is always a pleasure to invite my neighbours here, Mr Lettaford.’

Beneath her drooping lids, Arabella watched the exchange. The bonhomie was slightly forced. She had the impression the local families were not welcome at the Meon House parties and they resented it. She sat up a little and reached for the cup of tea that had been placed on the table at her elbow.

‘Goodness, ma’am,’ she exclaimed, ‘do people come all the way from London for your parties?’

‘It is not such a long way, Lady Westray,’ replied Mrs Lettaford, bridling in defence of her home. ‘There is a good road as far as Plymouth, because of the mail, and the roads around here are not as bad as some in the county. I am sure there would no inconvenience at all in travelling to the capital.’

‘Not that we have had any call to make the journey,’ added her husband. ‘We can find everything we need in Tavistock, or if not there, then in Plymouth.’

Mrs Lettaford glared at him before giving an angry titter. ‘Now, now, sir, Lord and Lady Westray will think we are all rustics living here.’

‘I can assure His Lordship that is not the case at all,’ purred Lady Meon, quick to soothe the ruffled feathers of her guests. ‘And it is true the road from London is a good one. My brother often comes to stay, but I confess we rarely entertain our neighbours when he is here.’ She gave a placatory smile. ‘He often brings his young friends, you see, who enjoy the break away from the constant social whirl of the capital. This is something of a repairing lease for them. We keep very much to ourselves, nothing very exciting at all.’

Arabella remembered George telling her much the same thing.

‘It is only a few close friends, my sweet,’ he had said. ‘It will be all cards and sport, neither of which interest you. You had much better remain in Lincolnshire, for you would not enjoy their company and there will be no other wives to chatter with. You would be bored within a day. Imagine then how I would feel, knowing you were not happy.’

In vain had she pleaded with him. He had merely pinched her cheek, told her he knew best and gone off, leaving her with his parents at Revesby Hall. If only she had insisted. If only.

She looked up to find the Earl was watching her.

‘You look tired,’ he murmured. ‘If you have finished your tea, my dear, perhaps we should take our leave?’

Arabella suddenly did feel fatigued. She could think of no reason to stay longer and she rose from her chair. When she suggested she would slip upstairs to fetch her cloak, Lady Meon said quickly she would send a servant to fetch it.

‘I need to tell my maid what has occurred,’ Arabella protested, but the Earl shook his head at her.

‘I am sure my lady’s footman can explain everything.’ He glanced a question at their hostess, who nodded. He continued smoothly, ‘You must not exert yourself any more than necessary. As your husband, I must insist, my dear.’

His smile was gentle, but she saw the gleam of laughter in his eyes and fumed in silence until the footman came back with her fur-lined cloak. The Earl took leave of the company, saying all that was proper, and Lady Meon insisted upon accompanying them to the door. As they crossed the hall, she gave a little laugh and touched the Earl’s arm.

‘My parties here are not quite as uneventful as I made out, my lord, I assure you.’

The lady spoke very quietly and Arabella had to strain to hear.

‘I would not for the world wish to offend my neighbours,’ Lady Meon continued, ‘but as you have seen, they are not the sort one would wish to make known to more...er...worldly friends. They would be shocked by our late nights and deep play, so it is best that they do not come. However, if you should be at Beaumount the next time I have house guests, be assured you would be most welcome.’ Arabella did not miss the slight pause before her final words. ‘And your dear lady, of course.’

‘I thank you, madam,’ he replied easily. ‘We should be glad to join you. On our next visit.’

They had reached the door and Arabella could see a dusty travelling coach waiting on the drive. Another moment and she would be alone with the Earl in that confined, dark interior.

Don’t go, Arabella. Say something, now!

There was still time. She might throw herself upon Lady Meon’s mercy, but something held her back. The Earl had taken her hand, but his touch was light, supportive rather than keeping her a prisoner. Perhaps it was foolish, but Arabella trusted him far more than she trusted her hostess. She swallowed down her nerves and managed to mutter a word of thanks before he escorted her down the steps and into the waiting carriage.

Arabella pressed herself into one corner, clutching her cloak tightly about her. To her relief, Lord Westray made no attempt to question her, or even to touch her, for the short journey back to Beaumount. They travelled in silence, and when they arrived, he helped her down and pulled her hand firmly on to his arm to guide her up the steps and into the house.

Meavy opened the door and did not appear in the least surprised to see them. He beamed, bowed, and when His Lordship declared they would take refreshments before retiring, he sent a footman running to light the candles in the drawing room and to build up the fire.

To Arabella’s stretched nerves, the period since leaving Meon House and arriving at Beaumount had seemed interminable, yet it had not been long enough for her to gather her thoughts. It had been madness to come back here with the Earl. As they made their way to the drawing room, questions raced through her head. What was she going to do? What was she going to tell him?

The servant withdrew, closing the door behind him. Arabella walked across to the fire to warm her hands. The Earl poured a glass of wine and handed it to her.

‘Apart from meeting you, madam, I have to say I found nothing untoward at Meon House tonight. The lady’s guests appeared to be respectable people.’

‘I am sure they are,’ she replied. ‘It would seem Lady Meon is at pains to keep her neighbours and her house guests apart. No one would admit it outright, of course, but more than one of the ladies gave the impression that they disapproved of the house parties at Meon House.’

‘Unsurprising, if they were not invited,’ he remarked. ‘I suggest you sit down and tell me what this is all about.’

She subsided into a chair. Time to decide what to tell him, and how much.

The Earl sat down facing her and said, as if reading her thoughts, ‘It would be best if you told me everything.’

‘I did not know you were in England.’

‘I arrived in Portsmouth a few days ago. Not many people know yet that I am in the country.’

She was about to ask another question, but he caught her eye, the warning in his own very clear. He would not allow her to digress. She took a deep breath.

‘At the end of June, my husband, George, returned from a visit to Devonshire, where he had been staying with friends. He was very ill and he died within weeks. He was in a bad way, raving that he had been ill-used. Robbed and poisoned. I thought at the time that he was delirious, but later, I discovered that he had spent thousands of guineas in a matter of months. You see, the marriage settlement had been drawn up in such a way that upon my husband’s death, the money invested in Funds reverted to me. I knew exactly how much it had been upon our marriage and I was shocked to see how it was depleted.’ She took a sip of her wine. ‘George was young and...and impressionable. I think he fell in with a bad crowd who tried to take all his money, but I do not know who they are. All I know is that he had been invited to stay at Meon House.’

‘One moment.’ He stopped her, frowning. ‘Why did he not take you with him?’

‘We had only just married.’

‘I would have thought that all the more reason to be together.’

She blushed, partly out of guilt because she had thought that, too.

‘It was only a small party, a few friends meeting up for gambling and a little sport. I should not have enjoyed it.’ George had told her as much, had he not? And he knew best; she had never questioned that. She said now, with a touch of defiance, ‘He was obliged to go because he had promised his friends, but I know he would have preferred to stay at home with me. He told me so.’

What George had not told her was that Meon House had no master. It had been an unpleasant surprise for her to discover its mistress was a widow. Even worse that she was a lively and attractive widow. Arabella had wondered more than once since arriving at Beaumount if jealousy was clouding her judgement of Lady Meon.

The Earl was speaking again and she dragged her thoughts back.

‘Do you believe it was these friends who took your husband’s money?’

‘Someone took it! From what he told me, before he died, Lady Meon lures unwary young gentlemen to her remote house and—and fleeces them.’ She frowned. ‘She most likely drugs them, too, so they know not what they are doing.’

‘That is a serious accusation. If it is true.’

‘I know. That is why I need to find some proof!’

‘And why you set yourself up as Lady Westray.’

‘Yes. I had read in the newspaper that the old Earl had died and that his heir was in the Antipodes and not expected to return for some time. By chance I noticed that one of the Earl’s properties was near Tavistock. It took only a little further investigation to show it was very close to Meon House.’

‘How convenient for you.’

She raised her head and continued with a hint of defiance.

‘I was determined to discover the truth and this was the perfect opportunity. Having lived in Lincolnshire my entire life, I thought it would be safe enough to masquerade as someone else. No one would know me.’ She added quickly, ‘Please do not blame anyone in your household for being taken in by my deception, my lord. I was very convincing.’

‘What exactly did you do?’

‘I turned up at the door. Told them your letter must have gone astray and that you would be following me to Devon shortly.’

He gave a shout of laughter. ‘The devil you did!’

She lifted her chin higher. ‘I gave Meavy a purse when I arrived, to cover any expenses I incurred while staying here, since you had not yet made arrangements with the bank. That helped to convince him I was genuine.’

‘I am obliged to you, madam.’

‘I assure you my funds are more than sufficient to cover anything I choose to do. I have merely made use of your house and your name.’

‘Merely made use of them!’

‘You were not using them, at the time,’ she retorted. ‘I had no idea you would choose just this moment to return to England, and even if I had known,’ she continued, with spirit, ‘I would not have expected you to come first to the least important of your properties!’

‘And you would still have carried out this charade? By heaven, madam, you are a cool one!’

‘I want to discover what happened to my husband! I have explained why I needed to come here. Why should you think it so odd?’

With a hiss of exasperation, he pushed himself to his feet. ‘For one thing, it is a hare-brained idea,’ he exclaimed, pacing the floor. ‘And for another, it is damned dangerous. Was there no one you could talk to about this? Relatives, friends?’

‘I have no family of my own. As for friends, there is no one I would trust.’

‘Why did you not tell your husband’s family?’

‘Sir Adam Roffey has a weak heart. Angina. He was laid low by his son’s death and I did not wish to add to his worries.’

He bent a frowning gaze upon her. ‘Do the Roffeys have any idea what you are about?’

She shook her head. ‘They think I am staying with an old school friend. They will not be anxious because I have Ruth, my maid, with me.’

‘The devil you have. Of all the foolish starts! How old are you?’

She put up her chin. ‘Two-and-twenty.’

‘And you said yourself you have never before been out of Lincolnshire.’

‘What has that to say to anything?’

‘You can know very little of the world. Whereas I...’ he stopped and raked one hand through his hair ‘...I know too much of it.’

‘I am well aware of that!’ she flashed back. ‘For all your title, you are no less a felon!’

His eyes darkened. She braced herself for a furious response, but he merely shrugged.

‘I cannot deny it. But that is all the more reason you should not be here. You should never have embarked upon such a foolhardy scheme, alone and unprotected.’

Arabella suddenly felt exhausted. George had been her world since childhood. Could no one understand that? Tears were not far away and she looked up at him, saying wretchedly, ‘What else have I to live for?’






Ran saw those emerald eyes shimmering with tears and thought she must have loved her husband very much. Something clutched at his heart and he turned away to resume his pacing.

He said, ‘Have you learned anything that might help you?’

‘Very little,’ she confessed. ‘I want to know who else was at Meon House when George was a guest there. I had hoped, tonight...’

He heard a sniff and glanced around to see her surreptitiously wiping her eyes. He paced a little more, trying to convince himself that the plan in his head was every bit as hare-brained as the one she had described.

‘Very well.’ He stopped in front of her. ‘Let us continue this masquerade for a little longer.’

She stared at him. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘I will help you. A short note to Lady Meon tomorrow should repair any damage tonight’s little fracas may have caused and we will work on the acquaintance until the lady divulges a little more information.’

‘No!’ She was on her feet now, staring at him as if he had run mad. ‘I cannot stay here.’

‘Why not? You have been content to do so thus far.’

‘That was different!’

‘How was it different?’ He uttered the challenge, preferring her anger to the desolation he had heard in that one sniff.

She glared at him. ‘You were not here.’

‘And now I am.’ He smiled. ‘Which will make your presence here all the more plausible.’ He saw her look of horror and added, ‘By Gad, madam, I am not suggesting we should be man and wife in anything other than name, but it will be necessary to live under one roof! I have already ascertained that Beaumount has separate rooms for the Earl and his Countess, so only your maid and my man need be taken into our confidence—’

‘But you are a—a criminal,’ she interrupted him, retreating behind her chair. ‘Perhaps even a murderer!’

Ran stopped, all desire to laugh gone.

‘You should have considered that before you began this charade,’ he threw back at her. ‘Let me allay your fears, if I can. My biggest crime was to be a damned young fool! I was sentenced to be transported for fourteen years and, having survived the voyage, I was prepared to serve my time and to make a fresh life for myself on the other side of the world. Circumstances, in the form of a pardon and the death of the old Earl, conspired to bring me back to England.’

‘But it cannot be long before people know you are in England,’ she argued. ‘Word will soon get out that you have no wife.’

‘By the time that information reaches Devon I hope we shall be finished here. You will disappear and no one need ever discover your true identity.’

‘But what of your staff?’ There was a note of desperation in her voice. ‘What must be their feelings when they know you have duped them?’

‘I did not dupe them, my lady! I have merely...’ he waved one hand ‘...not corrected the misapprehension.’

‘Now you are playing with words, my lord!’

‘Very well,’ he said, goaded. ‘They will believe you were my mistress. What of it? Is that not the sort of behaviour expected of great lords?’ He shrugged. ‘I shall no doubt feel obliged to apologise for playing such a trick, but I pay them well enough. The matter will soon be forgotten.’

‘Not by me!’

She was staring defiantly at him, her head up, eyes blazing, and suddenly he did not want her to think him the sort of master to disregard the feelings of his staff. He did not want her to think ill of him at all.

He said, ‘I do not like this subterfuge any more than you, but what’s done is done. We may as well continue with it.’

The words sounded gruff, uncaring, and she continued to stare at him with angry disapproval. Damnation! Did she not realise he was trying to help her? If there had been dark deeds at Meon House then who knew what dangers might await such an innocent if he left her to continue her enquiries alone. He issued his ultimatum.

‘So, you must make your choice, madam. You can either accept my help, or you give up your investigation and go home.’






Arabella glared at the Earl. Since leaving Lincolnshire she had been aware of how vulnerable she was, how alone. True, she had Ruth. The loyal maid had been with her since she was a baby, but if there was real danger, then she was putting Ruth at risk, too. Lord Westray might well be able to help her obtain the information she required. If one could forget his past.

It occurred to her that she found it only too easy to ignore the fact that he was a convict, but she was merely being charitable. Wasn’t she? All the guests at Meon House had had no difficulty in accepting the new Earl, even with his tainted history. Although they were not pretending to be his spouse. She swallowed.

‘Very well, sir. I will accept your help.’ She hesitated. ‘I am very grateful to you.’

Some of his stiffness disappeared and she saw the glimmer of a smile.

‘No, you are not at all grateful. You would like to tell me to go to the devil.’

Her own anger seeped away. ‘That would be very uncivil, would it not? In your own house.’

‘It would indeed.’ His smile fully appeared now. ‘Off you go to bed. We will discuss this further in the morning.’

She managed a faint smile herself and with a soft ‘Goodnight’ she left the room, forcing herself not to run.

When she reached her bedchamber, Ruth was pacing up and down.

‘Oh, thank heaven!’ She took her mistress by the shoulders and turned her towards the light, subjecting her to a close and critical inspection. ‘What happened? What has he done to you?’

‘Nothing, Ruth. I have come to no harm at all.’

The maid gave a loud sigh and plumped down on a chair. ‘I don’t mind telling you, when I heard that the Earl of Westray had turned up and was bringing you back here I was that worried! I fear we are undone, Miss Arabella.’

‘Nonsense. This is a slight setback, Ruth, nothing more.’

‘Has he not exposed you as an impostor?’

A small bubble of laughter fizzed inside her. She said airily, ‘On the contrary. He has agreed to help us.’

The maid looked anything but reassured by this news. She frowned.

‘And what does His Lordship want in return?’

Arabella could not deny she had asked herself the same question, but she was not prepared to speculate about that just yet.

‘I have promised him nothing,’ she said at last. ‘Now, help me to undress, Ruth. I need to sleep!’






A short time later Arabella was alone in her room, in her bed, with just the bedside candle burning. She lay back against the plump pillows, gazing up at the intricately carved tester as she thought about the new Lord Westray. She did not know what to make of him. He did not appear outraged at her deception, merely amused. Perhaps in comparison to his own dark deeds this pretence was a trifle, but when she had mentioned his past he had flinched as if she had touched an open wound.

She wished she knew just what he had done, that she had made more enquiries into his past, but at the time it had seemed unimportant; the new Earl was half a world away.

How old could he have been when he was convicted? She did not think he was yet thirty, so he would have been almost a boy, one-or two-and-twenty, perhaps. The lines around his eyes and mouth indicated more than mere laughter. Dissipation, perhaps. Or hardship. His hands, she had noted, were not soft, but calloused from tough, physical work.

How had he survived? What deprivation had he suffered? He had received a full pardon for his crimes, but the life he had led for the past six years must have left its scars. And she was in his house, posing as his wife. Strangely the thought did not worry her. She was not afraid of the new Earl, but perhaps she should be.

Arabella slipped out of bed and crossed to the connecting door leading to the Earl’s chambers. The key was in the lock and she turned it, giving a little nod when she heard the satisfying click. It was best not to take any chances.




Chapter Four (#u8698743f-fb21-5683-8a6c-9d22feb5b46c)


Randolph woke to the sounds of his man making up the fire in his room to ward off the damp, grey chill of an English November day.

‘Good morning, my lord. There’s hot water on the stand for you and I can light more candles, if you wish?’

‘No, thank you, Joseph. There is sufficient light in here.’

Ran pushed himself up against the bank of pillows and clasped his hands behind his head, his eyes fixed on the dark shape of the connecting door on the far side of the room. He had noticed yesterday that the key was on the other side. He had not tried the door, but he was damned sure if he did, he would find it locked.

As it should be, although he could not deny that knowing Arabella was sleeping in the next room had disturbed his rest. He spent a few moments in agreeable contemplation, allowing his imagination to picture her sleeping, her glorious golden hair spread over the pillows, eyes closed, the long lashes resting on her cheeks, her soft red lips inviting a morning kiss.

Enough! Ran shifted restlessly. It was an agreeable daydream, but he must put it from his mind. He threw back the covers and jumped out of bed. Mrs Arabella Roffey was only recently widowed and still grieving for her husband. Only a heartless rogue would take advantage of the situation.






He was finishing his breakfast when Arabella entered the dining room. She hesitated in the doorway, uncertain and shy. He gave her a reassuring smile.

‘Good morning, my lady.’

She was looking particularly fetching in a pale blue morning gown, her shining hair caught up with a matching ribbon, and he fought down an urge to jump up and escort her to her chair. A footman was on hand to do that and a second stood ready to pour her coffee and offer her a freshly baked bread roll.

‘I trust you slept well?’ he asked her as the servants withdrew from the room.

‘Yes. Thank you, my lord.’

‘I would much rather you called me Randolph.’

A blush suffused her cheeks. ‘I cannot do that!’

‘Why not? We are supposed to be man and wife.’ He pushed away his empty plate. ‘I warn you, I do not intend to call you my lady every time I address you. I shall call you Arabella.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘That is your name, is it not?’

Her chin went up. ‘Of course. I would not lie to you, my lord.’

‘No, it will be much better if we are truthful with one another. What plans do you have for the day?’

‘Why, none.’ The question appeared to take her by surprise. ‘If you had not arrived here, I should have been at Meon House this morning.’

Meavy came in with a fresh pot of coffee and Ran waited until they were alone again before replying.

‘Do you blame me for wanting to meet the woman masquerading as my wife?’

‘No, of course not.’

‘We shall pay a call upon Lady Meon today and I shall apologise for dragging you away so precipitately. Although everyone was most understanding.’

Her cheeks reddened. ‘It was mortifying.’

‘I am very sorry for it, but I think you deserved to be punished a little, do you not?’

He smiled, to take any sting from the words, but she did not see it. She would not meet his eyes. She had assumed a look of indifference and was studiously applying herself to her breakfast. Ran stifled a sigh. Perhaps it was best she stayed aloof. It was far too tempting to flirt with her.

She said quietly, ‘You said you would help me.’

‘And I will, but I need to know just what story you have given the people here if we are to carry on with this masquerade.’

‘I have told them almost nothing. They could hardly ask me about the reports in the newspapers concerning the new Earl. That is why I thought it would be safe to pretend I was your wife. I merely explained you had returned to England unannounced.’

‘Well, that much is true! What reason did you give for your coming to Beaumount alone?’

‘I said you had business elsewhere.’ She bit her lip. ‘I may have given the impression we had quarrelled.’

‘A lovers’ tiff!’ He grinned. ‘And your swooning would have done nothing to dispel that idea.’ He saw that she was looking uncomfortable and forbore to tease her further. Instead he said, ‘Tell me what you expected to achieve at Meon House.’

Arabella paused, considering. ‘I hoped to discover what went on there and which of George’s particular friends were there with him. He never told me, you see, and I knew so few of his friends. There were only two I recall coming to Revesby Hall. One was George’s groomsman at our wedding and the other was Frederick Letchmore. He called upon us soon after George came home that last time. My husband was very excited about his visit and could hardly be still while he waited for him to arrive. He was like a child anticipating a treat.’

‘And was that usual for your husband?’ asked Ran.

She looked troubled and did not answer immediately.

‘His temper had become mercurial in the past year. One moment he was all charming, devil-may-care insouciance, the next he was despairing. Blue-devilled, he called it, but said I must not worry. When Mr Letchmore arrived, George asked me to leave them alone together, to talk. Which I did, but not long after that he sent Mr Letchmore away. He was more angry than I had ever seen him. I clearly remember him saying, “You have killed me, Freddie. I trusted you to help but you have failed me.” Then Mr Letchmore rushed out and we never saw him again.’

‘And did you learn just how he had failed your husband?’ asked Ran.

She shook her head. ‘George was in a towering rage following the meeting, almost incoherent and railing against his false friends, as he called them. After his death I wrote to both gentlemen, but I do not think my letters ever reached them, for I had no replies. I discovered Letchmore had left England. I thought it might be to escape any repercussions over George’s death. I wondered... I thought perhaps he might be one of those gamblers who exist only to prey on unwary young men and relieve them of their fortune.’

‘You think your husband was one of those, er, unwary young men?’

‘Yes! Especially after I discovered how much of the marriage settlement he had already spent in just three months. It would explain his anger with Mr Letchmore, too. George would never tell me why he suddenly became so set against him.’

‘Sometimes illness can cause people to change,’ said Ran, choosing his words carefully. ‘Perhaps you could tell me about your husband’s last days, if it isn’t too painful?’

She pushed aside her plate and sat very still for a moment, her green eyes gazing at nothing.

‘He was very disturbed when he came home that last time. I had never seen him like it. He would go for days without sleeping, but sometimes he was almost euphoric, and would talk to me about what we would do when he was well again. At other times the black mood descended and nothing would please him.

‘I confess I did not like to be with George when he was in a temper. He would lash out at everyone. He even railed at Dr Philps and complained that everyone was against him. That we all wanted to kill him. The doctor had no remedy for whatever was ailing him. George grew weaker. He was very sick and could keep nothing down. He was very thirsty, too, and confused.’

Ran put his elbows on the table and leaned forward, watching her. ‘And what was the cause of this malady?’

She clasped her hands. ‘Dr Philps recorded the cause of death as convulsions, but I think that was to avoid any scandal.’

‘And what did the doctor say to you, privately?’

‘I did not actually speak to him.’

‘But you were Roffey’s wife. Surely they told you what was wrong with him.’

She looked a little confused. ‘Lady Roffey was in charge of the sickroom and dealt with Dr Philps. But when I suggested that George might have been poisoned, she did not disagree.’

Ran turned the coffee cup between his hands. ‘You were widowed after only three months of marriage and you told me your husband was away for most of that time. How well did you really know him?’

The worry left her face and she smiled. ‘We had known each other all our lives. Our two families have neighbouring lands, you see, and when my parents died Sir Adam and Lady Roffey took me in. I was ten, George a little older. They were all very kind to me and George was like an older brother.’ She added simply, ‘I worshipped him.’

Ran’s fingers tightened around his cup. ‘It was a love match, then.’

‘Of course. Our parents had always wanted the marriage to unite the two families. But you are not to think we were coerced.’ A shadow flickered across her face. ‘I would have married him as soon as I left the schoolroom, but George said we should wait. He did not wish to rush me into a marriage. He thought I might change my mind, but I knew I never should.’

‘And Lady Roffey brought you out? Why did she not take you to London?’

‘It was not necessary. I was happy to live at Revesby Hall.’

‘But the society there must be confined. I thought your husband wanted you to be sure of your feelings?’

‘He did, but I had always loved him. I lived for the few weeks every year that we spent together at Revesby Hall.’

‘He did not live there all the time?’

‘He was often away, visiting friends, and he used the family’s townhouse when he was in London.’

‘While you remained with his parents.’

‘You make it sound as if I was a prisoner,’ she retorted. ‘It was not like that at all.’ She gave a huff of impatience. ‘Oh, this is ridiculous! It does nothing to help me find out what happened to my husband.’

She made to rise and he said quickly, ‘Please, do not go yet. I beg your pardon, but I am trying to understand it all.’ She settled back into her seat and he continued. ‘This Mr Letchmore. You did not see him again? If he was such a good friend, did he not come to the funeral, even after their falling-out?’

‘I told you, he had gone abroad. He sent his condolences, but at the time I was glad he did not come. George had cursed him bitterly during his final days.’ She clasped her hands and looked at Ran. ‘It was only afterwards, when I learned the state of George’s finances, I suspected something had happened at that house party.’

She shook her head when Ran offered her more coffee. He refilled his own cup then said quietly, ‘What is it you suspect?’

‘Is it not obvious? They tricked him out of his money. You will recall last night that Lady Meon herself said they play deep.’

‘It is not against the law to gamble large sums,’ he said gently. ‘Or to lose them.’

‘No, I am aware of that, but George was the kindest, gentlest of men! To see him when he came home that last time, so angry, his health ruined.’ She put a hand to her cheek. ‘He tried to keep in spirits, for my sake, but often I heard him cursing his ill fortune. And once, when I went into his room, he told me he should never have gone to Meon House, that they were all thieves.’ She frowned. ‘At least, I think that is what he meant. It was very difficult to understand him at the end.’

‘You nursed him?’

‘No, not as much as I would have liked. Lady Roffey thought I might be carrying his child and said I owed it to my baby to keep away from the sickroom. She feared the shock and distress might be harmful. How could I argue, when Dr Philps agreed with her?’ Arabella sighed. ‘We had been married such a short time, I suppose it was natural that the doctor should defer to George’s parents. Sometimes, I think, if we had lived in our own house, it might have been different.’ Her shoulders lifted, then fell again. ‘And in the end, I was glad of their support when he...when he died.’

‘I am very sorry. It was very hard for you, to lose your husband so soon after the wedding.’

‘We were together, as man and wife, for less than a week after the ceremony,’ she said, wiping her eyes. ‘Then he was obliged to go to London because he had received word from a friend who needed his help. But does that not show you what a good, kind man I had married?’ When Ran said nothing, she went on, a hint of defiance in her voice, ‘George would much rather have been with me. He told me so.’

‘And from town he went directly to Devon?’

‘Yes. His visit to Meon House had been planned for months and he could not cry off. His parents were not happy about it, but they, too, had to acknowledge that if he had given his word then he must go. When he came home, he was dying. But you must see now why I want justice for him?’ She looked at him, determination in every line of her body and a sparkle in her eyes. ‘If someone is responsible for George’s death, then they should pay!’

Randolph said nothing. He knew only too well the temptations awaiting any young man with money in his pocket. His gut feeling was that this was a wild goose chase, that she was clutching at any straw rather than face the fact that her husband was a wastrel. But if he did not help her, she would go off alone and into heaven knew what danger. He stirred his coffee, giving himself time to think.

‘I have been over and over everything,’ she said, a frowning gaze fixed on the table. ‘Meon House is the only clue I have to where he was and what he was doing before his death. I know there is a link. I am sure of it.’

‘Then we must find out more about Lady Meon,’ he said. ‘But there is little we can do for the moment. As it is such a fine day, I thought I would take a stroll through the gardens and take stock of what I own here. Will you come with me?’ The look on her face made him laugh. ‘You are not cut out to be a spy, madam. I can read your thoughts quite clearly in your countenance. You want to drive over to Meon House immediately and talk to the lady, do you not? However, I suspect you might find she has not yet left her room. Besides, unless you are prepared to tell her who you are and ask her outright about her house party, I doubt you will discover anything useful by such a direct approach.’

‘No, you are right.’ She gave him a rueful smile. ‘I need to cultivate patience, do I not? Very well, my lord. Allow me time to fetch my shawl and I will join you.’






It was cold, but the sun was shining when they went out of doors and there was the merest scattering of small clouds sailing across the blue sky. After making a tour of the stables, service buildings and kitchen gardens, all of which they agreed were in a relatively good state of repair, they made their way to the pleasure grounds to the south and west.

The ground sloped away from the house and the gardens were laid out over a series of terraces, providing extensive views across fields and wooded hills as far as the Tamar. Winter had not yet tightened its grip and many of the distant trees still retained their red and gold leaves.

They progressed to the lowest level, where a stone wall separated the formal gardens from the surrounding park. A wide gravel path ran between the lawn and herbaceous borders where a few late-flowering plants still bloomed. Randolph breathed in deeply, realising again how much he had missed the bracing chill of an English autumn.

He had thought conversation might be difficult, given his past and Arabella’s reason for being at Beaumount, but within minutes they were chatting away like old friends. He was grateful that she did not ask him about his life in Australia, how he had survived, how he had suffered. Instead she took inspiration from their surroundings and asked him about the landscape and the plants to be found on the other side of the world.

‘I attended a talk in Lincoln last year, about Captain Cook’s voyages to the southern hemisphere,’ she told him. ‘England must look and feel very different to you now.’

‘It is colder,’ he said. ‘And the birds are generally smaller and less colourful. Quieter, too. Less raucous. I had forgotten how soothing it is to hear the gentle hoot of an owl or the morning trill of birdsong. And the flowers around Sydney Cove are very different from those in England. They have vibrant colours to match a hot country where the rocks steam after a summer storm.’ He waved at the near-empty flower beds. ‘Although I am sure these are very pretty in the summer months. But it is the night sky where I notice the change most. The different stars.’

‘Do you look at them, too?’ she asked, turning her head to smile up at him. ‘I used to spend hours at my window at school, looking out, looking for shooting stars, to make a wish.’

‘And what did you wish for.’

‘Oh...’ She waved her hand. ‘At first it was unattainable things, such as wishing Mama and Papa had not died of the fever. Later, I wished that a handsome prince would carry me away and marry me.’ She laughed. ‘And in a way, that wish came true, only it was Sir Adam and Lady Roffey who carried me away when they took me to live with them.’

‘And you married their son.’

‘Yes. My handsome prince! Not that I needed to wish for that. We had plighted our troth years before, as children. I told you, I’d loved him all my life.’

‘People change.’

‘Not George,’ she said confidently. ‘When I finished my schooling and returned to Revesby Hall, we were as much in love as ever. He was at university by then, of course, but I saw him whenever he was home for the vacation. Or if he was rusticated.’ She laughed. ‘That was a frequent occurrence!’

‘He was a wild young man?’

‘No more so than any other.’ She frowned a little. ‘His health suffered whenever he was away, but after a few weeks of fresh air and good food he was quite himself again. His mother and father were always happy to have him at Revesby. He was an only son, you see, and they doted on him.’

‘And you married at one-and-twenty?’

‘Yes. George had wanted us to wait until he came into his grandfather’s inheritance at five-and-twenty before we married, but when I reached my majority I gained control of my own fortune and Sir Adam told him he had better look sharp or some other young man would take my fancy! Not that there was any likelihood of that. I was far too much in love.’

But was he in love with you?

Randolph could not be sure if it was that question or the small cloud passing in front of the sun that made the air suddenly colder. Its shadow also appeared to sober Arabella and the look she cast up at him was more than a little defiant.

‘Perhaps you think George did not share my feelings, but you are wrong. He told me often and often how much he loved me. That was the reason we continued to live with his parents, you see. He did not wish to use my fortune to buy a property, even though I had made it all over to him to do with as he wished.’






Arabella stopped. She was chattering on as if she had known Lord Westray for years, telling him details he did not need to know. That he most likely did not want to hear. After all, he did not know George, did not love him as she did. Hot tears stung her eyes. She turned away, hunting for her handkerchief.

‘I beg your pardon.’ Her voice caught on a sob. ‘I did not mean to b-bore you.’

He put his hands on her shoulders. ‘Arabella.’ His voice was low, quiet. ‘You could never bore me.’

She had been struggling alone with her grief for months and it was such a comfort to have him there, strong, protective. Somehow, it lessened the pain of her bereavement.

A footman was hurrying towards them and Arabella quickly pulled away from Randolph, flapping one hand at him.

‘I shall be well, my lord, if you give me a moment. I pray you, go and see what your servant wants.’

He walked away and she wiped her eyes. A few deep breaths were all that was required to banish her tears, which surprised her, until she remembered how she had wept when George died. The time for such displays of grief was over. She had set herself a task and must concentrate on that. She gave her eyes a final wipe, blew her nose, and when she heard the Earl’s firm step approaching her again, she was ready to turn and look at him. He was smiling.

‘There is no need to worry that our sudden departure last night offended Lady Meon. She is even now in the drawing room!’

‘Excellent news, my lord.’

She managed an answering smile and he held out his arm. As they turned to make their way back to the house, Arabella noticed a figure on the upper terrace.

She was surprised into a little laugh. ‘I believe Lady Meon is coming to find us.’

Even as she uttered the words the lady waved and ran lightly down the stone steps.

‘I hope you do not mind my coming outside,’ she called to them as she reached the next set of steps. ‘I should very much like to see the gardens, if I may join you?’

‘To see the gardens, at this season?’

Randolph’s muttered response made Arabella want to giggle, but she stifled it.

She waved to their visitor and called out politely, ‘Of course, madam. We should be delighted to have your company.’

The lady approached, her fur-lined tippet bouncing around her shoulders as she descended the last flight of steps.

‘I came to ask after your health, Lady Westray. How relieved I am to see that you have fully recovered from last night’s little shock.’

‘Thank you. I am perfectly well now.’

It was the first time Arabella had seen the lady out of doors without the face veil she invariably wore when riding. At all their other encounters during daylight hours, Lady Meon had been indoors and at pains to sit with her back to the window. Arabella thought now that candlelight was much kinder to a countenance well past the first bloom of youth. It concealed the lines and faint sagging of the skin that were all too apparent in the pale sunlight.




Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.


Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/pages/biblio_book/?art=48663758) на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.

Sarah Mallory

Тип: электронная книга

Жанр: Современная зарубежная литература

Язык: на английском языке

Издательство: HarperCollins

Дата публикации: 16.04.2024

Отзывы: Пока нет Добавить отзыв

О книге: A pretend marriage to the Earl Sharing everything—except a bed… To uncover a ruthless killer, Arabella Roffey masquerades as the Countess of Westray—never expecting her ‘husband’ suddenly to appear! He could expose her, but instead he agrees to continue her ruse for a week. Randolph is brooding, handsome, and Bella likes him more than she should. Pretending to be his wife, she shares everything with him—except a bed—but the temptation to do so is becoming all too real…

• Добавить отзыв
• Имя
• Комментарий
• Опубликовать