Regency Debutantes (40 page)

Her eyes held his for a moment longer before glancing away.

‘Kathryn?’

She shivered.

The tips of his fingers brushed against hers. ‘Why might that be?’

She shook her head in denial.

‘Kathryn,’ he said again, more gently this time. ‘Will you not tell me the reason?’

A soft sigh sounded in the air. ‘Please, Lord Ravensmede, I must—’

‘You have not told her of our study in astronomy at Lady Finlay’s ball?’

Her cheeks reddened. ‘Of course not!’ Indignation flashed
in her eyes. ‘I don’t wish to sound rude, my lord, but the reason that I’m assisting in the kitchen is none of your consideration.’

Ravensmede looked at her with growing intensity. ‘On the contrary, Miss Marchant,’ he said quietly, ‘it is everything of my consideration.’

Miss Marchant ignored his remark and continued, ‘Now, if you will please excuse me, my lord.’

‘No,’ he said with a wicked glint in his eye.

The poor girl paled.

‘How long is this…punishment to endure?’

A guarded look closed over Miss Marchant’s face. ‘I didn’t say anything about a punishment.’

His eyes held hers. ‘How long?’

Her gaze flickered away. She made to step back.

Ravensmede touched his fingers to her chin, guiding her focus to his. ‘Let me help you, Kathryn.’

For an instant, just one fleeting moment, he saw the softening of her expression, the hope that shone in her eyes. ‘Help me?’

‘If you were to be under my protection…’

A pause, followed by a dawning realisation. And then it was gone, replaced instead with hurt disbelief, and finally furious humiliation. ‘Certainly not!’

He had never had such an offer so adamantly refused.

She jerked away, leaving his fingers suspended in mid-air. ‘I don’t need your
help,
Lord Ravensmede.’ Her voice was cool, her words clipped. ‘I bid you good day, my lord.’ She bent to retrieve the sack of potatoes.

But Ravensmede was there first. He watched her cheeks blanch and her eyes widen.

‘My offer stands, Miss Marchant. If you should change your mind, you need only send me a message. Perhaps in time you will view matters differently.’

Her nostrils flared with fury. Her small breasts rose and fell with the quickening of her breathing. ‘I will never accept such an offer!’ Her hand tugged at the sack.

But Lord Ravensmede held firm. In one easy motion he tucked the sack neatly beneath his arm. ‘My horse is tethered close by. We’d best fasten this to Rollo’s saddle and make our way smartly to Green Street if these potatoes are on this evening’s menu.’ There was a teasing note in his voice, and the suggestion of a smile. Then off he sauntered towards the gelding, leaving Kathryn staring after him.

The sack was securely attached to the horse when he heard the rustle of her skirt behind him.

‘Lord Ravensmede, surely you cannot seriously mean to accompany me home?’ The glorious spread of hair had disappeared beneath a bonnet that matched the unfashionable brown coloration of her dress. The glare of sunlight exposed the fragility of her face, highlighting the smudges below her eyes.

A muscle twitched in Ravensmede’s jaw. ‘But of course, Miss Marchant. It would not be gentlemanly to do otherwise.’ He’d be damned if he let her struggle beneath the weight of that load.

Panic rose in her voice. ‘No, it won’t do. You mustn’t! Please pass me the potatoes at once.’

Ravensmede turned to face her, a twinkling in his clear green eyes. ‘Have no fear, they’re fixed firmly in place and shall not dislodge.’

‘My lord,’ she said in a stage whisper, ‘I must insist that you return my potatoes and cease this…this.’ she plucked the word from the air ‘…madness, at once!’

The corners of Ravensmede’s mouth twisted upwards. ‘I believe that I’ve already explained my position, Miss Marchant.’ He tried not to laugh. ‘The potatoes are quite safe.’ One dark eyebrow arched. ‘Now, if you wish to avoid a scene I suggest that you take my arm and let us be on our way.’

Several murmurs alerted Miss Marchant to the interest growing around their conversation. At least two ladies were staring. She sighed and tentatively touched her fingers to his sleeve, only to find them firmly tucked within the crook of his arm.

With Miss Marchant secured on one side, and Rollo and
the precious cargo on the other, Lord Ravensmede made his way towards Green Street.

Blast the confounded man! How dare he take such a liberty! She’d have rather balanced the potatoes on her hip to Stepney and back than endure this. What could he be thinking of? His offer of help? Help, indeed! Like a fool she had thought it an honest offer until the truth of his meaning had dawned. What kind of woman did he take her for? Well, he would soon learn that Kathryn Marchant had no need of his sort of help, not now, not ever!

She sneaked a look up at his face. His strong handsome features showed not the slightest hint of discomfort. In fact, if she hadn’t known better, she could almost have sworn that he was actually enjoying himself. Such behaviour was only to be expected from a man with Ravensmede’s reputation. Not that she knew exactly what it was that he was actually guilty of, only that there were many pursed lips and raised eyebrows at his arrival, and that he had a penchant for women, gaming and drink…in that order.

Her eyes dropped to the burgundy coat, the matching waistcoat and immaculately arranged neckcloth. And lower still to the buff-coloured pantaloons that hugged the muscles of his thighs in a quite indecent fashion. The pristine condition and expensive cut of his clothing only served to emphasise the tawdry state of her own. Realising that she was staring at his lordship’s thighs brought her gaze rapidly up, only to meet with an amused pair of green eyes.

‘Do I meet with your approval, Miss Marchant?’ His voice was a slow delicious drawl.

‘Most certainly not,’ she snapped, feeling her cheeks begin to burn. Then, realising just how rude she sounded, added, ‘I appreciate that your intention to relieve me of my burden is one of kindness. It is, however, quite unnecessary.’

That slightly mocking gaze found hers once more. ‘On the contrary, Miss Marchant, I assure you that I’m never kind.’
Emerald lights danced in his eyes, rendering them such an unusual colour that it took the immense application of Kathryn’s will-power not to stare.

Not trusting herself not to deliver him a sharp retort, she bit her tongue. They strolled along in silence and all the while she took care to keep her face turned from him.

It was some minutes before he spoke again. ‘It appears that I’ve unwittingly offended you, Miss Marchant. Or have you just a natural aversion to my company?’

Her head swung round with surprise at the directness of his question. It was a big mistake. Those alluring eyes were on her again. A tingling sensation crept across her skin. Her tongue tied itself into knots and she quickly glanced away. ‘I…I’m…’

His voice lowered, so that the words would reach her ears alone. ‘It did not seem so at Lady Finlay’s ball.’

She stared at him aghast. ‘You appear to be labouring under some false impression of my character, my lord.’ Her hand tried to wriggle free of Ravensmede’s arm.

He did not release her. ‘Where precisely have I erred?’

As an elderly lady peered down at her from a passing carriage, Kathryn ceased her struggle.

Keeping her expression carefully bland as if they were discussing the weather, or other such matters, she whispered, ‘How can you ask such a thing?’ She glanced around and recognised that they were close to Green Street. ‘Please hurry, my lord. I have kept Mrs Moultrie waiting some considerable time.’

If anything, Ravensmede’s feet dragged.

‘My lord, I’m very late.’ Agitation raised her voice, and she tugged at his arm to propel him faster.

His lordship stopped stock-still. ‘What are you so afraid of?’

‘Nothing.’

A cynical brow raised. ‘I’ll speak to your uncle. The situation may change if he realises that your shoddy treatment has not gone unnoticed.’

Kathryn paled at the very thought. Heaven forbid that he
should do such a thing! ‘No!’ She licked her suddenly dry lips. ‘Thank you, but no. It would serve only to make matters worse.’

Ravensmede looked at her, then slowly resumed walking towards Green Street. Once they reached the Marchant residence he loosened Rollo’s load and made to mount the steps up to the front door.

‘Lord Ravensmede.’ Kathryn gently pulled at his arm.

‘I won’t see you struggle beneath this weight.’

Her fingers tightened around the broad band of muscle. She looked up into his face and bit at her bottom lip. ‘Very well. Then please come this way.’ She made to walk around the side of the house.

The Viscount of Ravensmede showed no sign of moving. ‘I find I have a preference for the front door. I’ve never used a servants’ entrance in my life, and I don’t intend to do so now.

Kathryn’s heart missed a beat. The blood drained from her face. She composed a breath. ‘Please, my lord.’

The green eyes held hers, and in his gaze was understanding and determination. ‘It’s better this way,’ he said softly, and, tucking her hand into his arm, walked up the steps.

The bell rang. And in that moment of waiting, Kathryn was never more aware of the absurdity of her situation. The tall handsome aristocrat by her side, a sack of potatoes under one arm, her own hand tucked in the other, standing at the front door of the house in Green Street for all the world to see. Footsteps sounded from within. The trickle of fear surged and she felt suddenly that she might be sick. She tried to remove her hand from Lord Ravensmede’s arm.

His lordship’s hold tightened.

The door opened.

Kathryn swallowed hard.

‘I’m here to call upon Mr Marchant,’ said Lord Ravensmede and thrust the sack into the unsuspecting manservant’s hands. The sack was followed by Ravensmede’s card.

The manservant stared first at the potatoes, then at Lord
Ravensmede, and finally at Kathryn. He blinked once or twice, seemingly unable to find words.

Ravensmede gestured Kathryn in ahead of him. ‘After you, Miss Marchant.’ Once within the hallway he raised Kathryn’s hand to his lips. ‘So fortuitous to have met you again,’ he said gallantly, and finally released her.

‘Lord Ravensmede,’ she said, and gave a small curtsy. Even her breath was shaky.

‘Ever your servant,’ he said and bowed.

With a very straight back, and very precise steps, Kathryn walked away…while she still could.

Only then did the manservant remember himself enough to stop gaping and fetch the master of the house.

Lord Ravensmede was wiping his hands on a pristine white handkerchief when Henry Marchant entered the drawing room.

‘Lord Ravensmede! What an unexpected pleasure.’ Mr Marchant bustled forward, unable to believe just who had called upon him. His lordship might be considered one of the worst rake-hells in London, but, as the current Viscount of Ravensmede, heir to an exceptionally wealthy earldom, and in receipt of a considerable allowance, he was not a man that Henry Marchant felt any inclination to snub. Ravensmede made the Marchant monies look like a pile of pennies, and he was what Henry for all his hard work could never hope to become—an aristocrat. As the initial surprise waned Henry began to calculate just how advantageous Lord Ravensmede’s visit might prove. Mr Marchant was, after all, in possession of a young and attractive daughter, and his lordship had ever been known to have an eye for a beautiful woman. The possibilities danced before him. ‘Please take a seat. Would you care for a drink?’

‘Brandy, if you have any.’

‘Most certainly,’ said Mr Marchant. He poured the brandy into two crystal glasses and passed one to Lord Ravensmede.

Ravensmede made himself comfortable in the chair and leisurely
perused the surrounding room before turning his attention to Henry Marchant. ‘Perhaps you may be able to assist me, Mr Marchant.’

Mr Marchant’s chins wobbled in delight. ‘Of course, my lord, in any way that I can.’

‘It is the most peculiar of situations.’

‘Indeed?’ The older man leaned forward.

‘I chanced upon your niece while I was out. She was carrying a sack of potatoes.’

There was the smallest silence before Mr Marchant spoke.
‘Potatoes,
you say?’

‘Most definitely potatoes,’ said Ravensmede, and waited.

A subtle pink coloration crept into Henry Marchant’s complexion. ‘I don’t understand. What on earth would Kathryn be doing with potatoes?’

‘My question precisely, sir. Naturally no gentleman would allow a lady to carry such a burden.’

‘No, no, of course not,’ Mr Marchant added in bluff agreement.

‘I therefore carried the potatoes in her stead.’

‘You?’ said Mr Marchant weakly.

‘Me,’ said the Viscount of Ravensmede, and smiled grimly.

‘Good God!’ came the whispered reply.

‘Financial straits are always embarrassing, sir, but it is a gentleman’s duty to spare his womenfolk.’

The colour of Mr Marchant’s cheeks deepened to puce. He stuttered so much as to almost choke on the words. ‘M-m-my finances are all in order. You are mistaken, sir, in your thoughts. I employ a house full of servants.’

‘Indeed?’ Ravensmede paused. ‘Then why was Miss Marchant sent to do a servant’s job?’

‘I’ve no idea, but rest assured, my lord, I shall discover what this business is about.’

‘I’m glad to hear it.’

‘Kathryn is very grateful for my family’s charity and tries to make herself useful in return. Perhaps that was her intention
in this instance—well meant, but poorly judged. There is, after all, no fathoming the workings of the female mind!’ Mr Marchant laughed. It sounded false and uneasy in the room.

Ravensmede raised a single eyebrow.

Mr Marchant hurriedly cleared his throat. ‘As I was saying, I mean to get to the bottom of the matter. Kathryn came to us when my brother tragically died some number of years ago. She has been welcomed into the bosom of my family. I’ve never been one to flout my duty, my lord, and I trust that no one would suggest otherwise.’

‘Heaven forbid, sir.’ Ravensmede took a swig of brandy and stood to leave. ‘You stock a fine brandy, Mr Marchant.’