Elizabeth Mansfield (11 page)

Her eyes flew to his face, and finding him smiling down at her kindly, she colored slightly. “I … I … would not call it coercion, exactly. My aunt, despite a rather forbidding exterior, is really very kind.”

“I didn’t mean to imply that she would
beat
you, my dear,” Lord Denham said drily. “I only meant that, without her urging, you would not have come.”

“You are embarrassingly direct, my lord.”

“I’m sorry if I make you uncomfortable, but I know no other way to learn to understand you. Why did you not wish to ride with me today?”

“I should think the answer to that would be evident,” Letty said, matching his directness with her own. “People in our … situation do not usually seek out each other’s company, do they?”

“By ‘our situation’ you are no doubt referring to the fact that I am your rejected suitor. I can perfectly understand your reluctance to accept me as a husband, Miss Glendenning, but does it necessarily follow that I am unacceptable as a friend as well?”

She looked up at him candidly. “As a friend, my lord? Is that your purpose in seeking me out? To develop a friendship between us?”

“Yes,
one
of my purposes. Why not?”

“I know that friendships between men and women do exist, but I can’t believe they can come about after such a beginning as ours,” Letty said skeptically.

“I don’t think there are any immutable rules governing the conditions in which friendships can develop,” he pointed out reasonably.

“Perhaps not, but in our case, there are … certain blocks …”

“Such as?” he asked intently.

She lowered her eyes. “Such as a feeling of discomfort … about the past.”

“But I assured you last night that we need think no more about the past. I promise to avoid the
subject of marriage completely—at least until or unless you give me leave to reopen it. Doesn’t that dispense with the embarrassment of the past?”

Letty, intensely aware of a greater embarrassment by far than his rather uninspired proposal, did not answer.

“Doesn’t it?” he insisted, looking at her closely.

She knew that a negative answer would prompt closer inquiries, and a positive one would be tantamount to giving him permission to pursue their relationship. Either course of action would give her pain. How like him to place her in this untenable position!

Before she could decide what to say, he abruptly steered the horses to the side of the road and brought them to a halt. He threw down the reins and turned to her, grasping her shoulder and turning her so that she had no choice but to face him squarely. “Letty, let’s be honest with each other,” he said earnestly. “I know that I thrust upon you an unwanted proposal of marriage and that I’ve said or done something that offended you. But please believe that I wish nothing more than to make amends.”

Letty raised her eyes and looked at him levelly. “That is not honest. It’s your
mother’s
wish, not yours.”

Roger dropped his hold on her and stared in astonishment. He had not expected quite so much honesty as that. “My mother’s wish?” he asked awkwardly.

“Your mother’s and my aunt’s,” she said calmly.

Roger smiled ruefully and rubbed his chin. “That’s a leveler,” he admitted. “You have me there.”

“Then there isn’t any more to be said, is there? I think you’d best turn the horses around and take me home.”

“No, not quite yet, young lady,” Roger said, undaunted. “There is still a great deal to be said. I admit that, at first, my interest in you was inspired by my mother. But since last night, my interest has needed no outside prodding. In fact, I’ve been wishing that both your aunt and my mother would, in future, stay out of our affairs. I hope you believe me.”

“It makes no difference whether I do or not,” Letty told him bluntly. “A friendship between us is impossible in any case.”

Roger shook his head. “If we were to be completely honest, my girl, we’d admit that even the things we’ve just been saying are nothing but subterfuge and nonsense. There can be only
one
real barrier to a friendship between us.”

“Oh?” Letty couldn’t resist asking. “And what’s that?”

He took her chin in his hand and tilted up her face. “That you hold me in dislike,” he said simply, his eyes fixed on her. “Only tell me
that,
and I shall disturb you no further.”

Letty, forced to meet his dark, questioning regard, felt herself freeze. Tell him you dislike him, she told herself. It was much the simplest solution to this tangle. One simple little sentence—I cannot like you, sir—and he would be gone from her life. But her throat was constricted, and she could scarcely breathe. She couldn’t even lower her eyes to escape his penetrating look. No words came.

The look in his eyes changed. Without taking his eyes from her face or releasing her chin, he slipped his free arm around her and gently drew her to him. “Does your silence mean that you
don’t
dislike me?” he asked softly, his eyes glinting with a smiling warmth. “That you feel
some
little liking?”

Her heart was racing. He was too close, his look too intimate. She had to put an end to this—now! But still she couldn’t speak.

“Say something, girl,” he urged, smiling. “Just say that you feel enough liking to pursue a friendship. Just a
little
would be enough.”

He had had no intention of kissing her. She was so young and looked so frightened, he knew that
she would require the most gentle, sensitive handling. But at that moment her bonnet slipped back, and her face, which had been partially shadowed, was suddenly fully exposed. He was struck forcibly by its surprising sweetness and something that was not sweet—something unfathomable and mysteriously challenging—lurking in her eyes behind the fear, and he forgot himself. Almost without realizing it, he bent his head to hers.

Sensing his intention, she found her voice. “No!” she gasped, trying to push herself away from him. “No—!”

But it was a gentle kiss, soft and undemanding, and she realized that she could pull away easily if she wished. She felt dizzy, however, and everything seemed to be spinning around, requiring that she shut her eyes and cling to him for support. After a while, he let her go, but it took a moment more before she felt steady enough to open her eyes. When she did, she found him looking down at her with just the merest hint of a smile in his eyes and at the corners of his mouth. He leaned over to her, replaced her bonnet firmly on her head, then stooped and picked up the reins. She stared at him wordlessly as he calmly turned the horses around. Then he turned to her. “I think we may safely say,” he said, his hint of a smile broadening into an infuriatingly exultant grin, “that you like me enough.”

Letty knew she was not in her best looks when she entered the Pump Room with her aunt and her sister the following morning. The blue shadows beneath her eyes and the excessive pallor of her face could be directly attributed to the fact that she had spent another sleepless night. Even Aunt Millicent had noticed the ravages the night had wreaked in her appearance and had suggested that she return to bed. But Letty would not hear of it. She had an urgent need to visit the Pump Room this morning—a need that neither her aunt nor her sister could suspect. With luck, this morning’s activities would bring a solution to her problem.

For Letty’s sleepless night had not been in vain. With the early morning light an idea had dawned—an idea of such audacity, deceit, and cunning that she was dismayed that she had thought of it. It was an idea completely unworthy of Mama’s sweet, obedient, well-behaved, dutiful daughter, and she laughed aloud in pure pleasure as she imagined putting it into action. It was shockingly dishonest and unladylike, but it was the very thing to put that unprincipled libertine, Roger Denham, in his place.

Letty knew that she should reject the idea out of hand. There was no doubt at all that it was highly improper and unworthy. But it was the only way she could think of to keep Roger at arm’s length, and she knew that he must be kept away from her at all costs. She had spent the last few sleepless hours reliving the events of that morning, enduring the humiliation of realizing that she had behaved in the most spineless, weak-kneed, addlepated manner imaginable. Lord Denham had certainly carried the day. Not only had she not repulsed his brazen advances—she had met his embraces with only the flimsiest, the most feeble pretense at resistance. She had lain in his arms as bedazzled as a schoolgirl, unable to utter a word. She had been an easy conquest, an almost-willing victim of his practiced charm. But this idea—if she could put it to work—would be her armor against him in the future.

She looked around the Pump Room gingerly, hoping for a glimpse of Brandon Peake, the person who would be most instrumental in putting her plan into action. But he was not there. At that moment, she was startled to hear Prue whisper in her ear, “Thank goodness he isn’t here!”

“Who?” Letty asked, confused.

“Mr. Peake,” Prue said, making a face. “I hope he’s broken a leg or something.”

“Prue!” Letty exclaimed, shocked. She had an uneasy feeling that Prue had been reading her mind. “Why?”

“Why! Because he’s an odious, spying, priggish fool, that’s why!” Prue declared venomously.

“Has he done something to offend you, Prue?” Letty asked in surprise. “He seems to be a most docile, agreeable young man.”

“Agreeable? Not to me,” Prue said. “I hope I never see him again. I’ll tell you about it later.”

Fortunately for Prue, Letty was too preoccupied with her own thoughts to notice that, for the rest of the morning, Prue’s eyes flicked to the doorway every few minutes, unconsciously watching for the appearance of the young man she hoped never to see again. Letty, too, watched the door for the very same young man, but Brandon Peake did not appear.

Brandon, chagrined and embarrassed by the scene with Prue the day before, had decided to avoid
the Pump Room. Instead, he went for a stroll in the Parade Gardens. He paced its lanes until he had traversed every corner of the park, but his spirits remained downcast. Finally, weary and depressed, he sat down under a shady tree, pulled a book from his pocket, and tried to lose himself in his reading. So quickly did the book absorb him that he didn’t hear the clatter of approaching hooves until a horse and rider flew by him, liberally spraying him with a shower of pebbles and mud. With a sharp oath, he got to his feet, berating the careless horseman loudly and brushing himself off.

The horseman, however, had pulled up, dismounted, and leading his horse behind him, was walking quickly back in Brandon’s direction. “I say, I’m terribly sorry,” the rider said as soon as he came within earshot. “I didn’t see you sitting there until I was almost upon you.”

Brandon, not one to hold resentment long, was perfectly willing to forgive him. “Oh, it was nothing. No real harm done,” he assured the rider, who had now come up to him.

“But your breeches are badly stained!” the rider said. “I am most truly sorry. If you’d care to step round to my rooms—they’re only a short distance from here—my valet will see to them immediately.”

“Thank you, but that won’t be at all necessary. It’s the merest trifle, sir, I assure you,” Brandon told him. “Oh,” he added, recognizing the rider, “you’re Lord Denham.”

“Why, yes,” Roger said, putting out his hand with a ready smile, “but I don’t think I—”

“I’m Brandon Peake. We haven’t met, but I saw you the other evening at the concert. You were speaking to Miss Glendenning. Lady Upsham told me who you were.”

The two men shook hands warmly. “Are you well acquainted with Miss Glendenning, Mr. Peake?” Roger asked.

“With Miss Letitia Glendenning, quite well. She has been kind enough to show an interest in my studies.”

“Really? You are most fortunate,” Roger remarked casually.

“Yes,” Brandon agreed. “Not many young ladies are interested in the classics. Her sister, Prue, for instance, thinks my studies are the greatest bore.”

“Oh? Does she?”

Brandon sighed. “I’m afraid so. She told me in so many words that my classical quotations were … were …”

“Were what, Mr. Peake?” Roger prodded, watching Brandon with amused curiosity.

“She said they were …
offensive.
” Brandon admitted with a blush.

“Offensive! I’m sure you must have misunderstood—”

“No, I don’t think so. Miss Prudence Glendenning doesn’t mince words.”

“It seems not,” Roger said, trying to hide a smile. “I don’t know her very well, but she seems a very lively girl. Sometimes lively young women are wont to say things they don’t mean.”

“Oh, well, I don’t suppose it matters, one way or the other,” Brandon said glumly.

“No, I suppose not, especially since the
other
sister is so encouraging,” Roger ventured.

“Yes, the elder Miss Glendenning is quite interested. I’ve been thinking of reading some of
this
to her. Catullus, you know. I would like to hear her reactions to some of these lyrics—the more proper ones, of course.”

“Are you reading Catullus?” Roger asked enthusiastically, reaching for the book and leafing through the pages. “I was quite fond of him, too, when I was your age.”

“Oh, do you know the classics, Lord Denham?” Brandon asked in surprise. “I didn’t think …”

Roger grinned at him. “Didn’t think a man of my stamp would ever open a book, is that it?”

Brandon nodded guiltily. “I meant no disrespect, sir. It’s only—by your leave—you Corinthians, especially those of note like yourself, are not usually known for your scholarly abilities.”

“I don’t claim to be a scholar, not by any means, but I did engage in serious study of the classics in my school days—with great enjoyment, I might add—and even now may be found in my library from time to time for purposes other than sitting by the fire with a glass of port.”

“I do apologize, my lord,” Brandon said in a chastened voice.

“Don’t be a cawker. How would you be expected to know my interests?” Roger pointed out reasonably. “But to return to the subject of Catullus, what made you choose him to read to Miss Glendenning?”