Regency: Rakes & Reputations (Mills & Boon M&B) (33 page)

‘I really cannot imagine that anyone would be able to find fault with a single thing, Mrs Bellamy,’ she assured her earnestly. ‘Everything looks so clean and bright—it’s quite the loveliest cottage that I have ever seen, and the gardens, well, who could possibly ask for a more delightful view?’

Crossing over to the open window, she poked her head out, only to find her senses almost overwhelmed by the fragrant scent of the densely blossomed honeysuckle bush, whose branches had spread their tendrils right across the cottage wall just below the room’s windowsill. And then, as her eyes travelled slowly across the neatly laid out gardens before her, they fell upon an arching rose arbour at the far end of the side garden, beyond which another glorious aspect threatened to take her breath away. There, with its gently sloping banks edged with aspen and willow trees—complete with all the obligatory bulrushes, water lilies, swans and assorted ducks of her childhood imaginings—lay a small but picturesque lake, its limpid waters sparkling invitingly in the afternoon sunshine. The entire prospect was so devastatingly awe-inspiring that she was rendered almost speechless.

‘Perfect,’ she breathed softly. ‘Truly perfect.’

‘I am so glad you approve, ma’am.’ The housekeeper
beamed as she turned to leave the room. ‘I have always thought it a most pleasant view, myself. And now, if you will excuse me, I must go and see about that hot water I promised you.’

T
entatively retracing her steps down the stairs some ten minutes later, Sophie was well on the way to convincing herself that Viscount Helstone must be something of a mind-reading magician for, having brought her to this delightful cottage, presumably with the sole intention of persuading her to accept his offer, he seemed to have managed to conjure up almost every one of the wild and wonderful fantasies that she had held dear for most of her childhood years and beyond.
How Mama would love all this,
she thought dreamily, as she ran her fingers over the smooth, lovingly polished surface of the mahogany banister rail.
And what an incredible place for Roger to come home to in the holidays! All those trees, just waiting to be climbed, and the lake—how he would revel in fishing there—possibly he could even have a boat of his own! We could have picnics by the lakeside, and in the winter, when the water froze …

‘A penny for them, Miss Flint!’

The sound of Helstone’s deep voice at her elbow
wrenched her from her daydream. With a gasp of dismay, she spun round, her cheeks aflame.
What could she have been thinking, to let her imagination run away with her in such a foolish manner? To accept Helstone’s offer would mean totally cutting herself off from her family, just as her father had done from his all those years ago. There would be no way on earth that she would ever see her mama strolling across these lawns twirling her parasol, and her brother would most likely never be allowed to speak to her again, let alone climb the apple trees in Laurel Cottage’s orchard!

‘Hardly a sufficient offer, perhaps?’ continued the Viscount, easing himself away from the doorframe against which he had been leaning while watching Sophie’s preoccupied descent of the stairs. ‘I have the feeling that your thoughts were worth a good deal more than that—but I shan’t press you, so your secrets are perfectly safe, I promise you.’

Which is probably just as well,
thought Sophie, steadfastly refusing to look at him.
If he had the slightest inkling of where my thoughts were leading me, I cannot begin to imagine what his reaction would be!

‘Come,’ he said, holding out his hand. ‘Mrs Bellamy tells me that she has laid tea in the pavilion—it seems a pity not to take advantage of the sun while it is still shining.’

A pavilion too? Sophie could hardly believe it. Was the man supernatural?

‘I didn’t see a pavilion when I was looking out of the window,’ she said, as she tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and allowed him to lead her out of a side door onto a path that led through the abundantly stocked flower gardens down towards the lake.

‘No, you wouldn’t,’ he explained. ‘It is hidden away
on the other side of the rose arbour—I found that the trellising helps to ward off the wind.’

‘You designed all this yourself?’ Sophie could not conceal her astonishment.

‘Not all,’ he replied, a soft smile tugging at his lips as he registered her incredulous expression. ‘Just a few minor improvements here and there. Do you approve?’

‘I’m utterly overwhelmed—it would be difficult to imagine anything more perfect. It is so kind of you to allow me to see it all.’

Kind!
Marcus blanched. Kindness had been the last thing on his mind when he had drummed up this idea. Total seduction of Sophie’s senses had been his original intention, followed by …

Grimacing, as the only too familiar ache in his groin assailed him once again, he bit back a groan.
Take it easy,
he rebuked himself.
Slowly does it—it wouldn’t do to frighten the lady away entirely!
Apart from which, he found himself admitting there was something oddly refreshing about Sophie’s refusal to bend herself to his will—a distinct change from his many past conquests, who had been only too eager to bestow whatever favours he required in exchange for some paltry bauble or other. Sophie, on the other hand, had even made a point of turning down his offer to pay for that damned atlas of hers, insisting that she would somehow find the money and reimburse him! Having managed to scotch that plan by getting Broomfield to exchange the tattered copy for a much newer version, Marcus was surprised that Sophie had not yet tackled him over that particular subterfuge.
Probably saving it up to attack me with it when I least expect it,
he concluded ruefully, as he attempted to ply
her with the various sumptuous dishes that Mrs Bellamy had laid out for them.

‘But there is far too much food here for just the two of us!’ she protested, laughingly waving away his offerings. ‘I couldn’t possibly eat that amount of veal pie—you must cut that slice in half, at the very least!’

‘But you’ve taken scarcely enough to feed a kitten,’ he complained. ‘Do try some of this chicken. It is utterly delicious, I swear. We can’t have Cook thinking that we don’t appreciate her culinary arts—good cooks are very hard to come by.’

‘Well, just a little, perhaps,’ conceded Sophie, holding out her plate in order that he could serve her a slice of the succulent meat. ‘But I really need to save a little space for those delicious-looking strawberries—I can’t remember the last time I had any and I do enjoy them so.’

In fact, her enjoyment of the whole afternoon was such that she had all but ceased to be chary of him. After all the deprivation that she had suffered during the past few months, she was finding the Viscount’s dedicated attention to her every need so very heart-warming. Not only that, but the sheer beauty of her surroundings was threatening to dazzle her entirely, making her uncomfortably aware of the fact that, should Helstone happen to choose this particular moment to launch another one of his amorous assaults on her, she very much doubted that she would be able to find either the strength or the willpower to resist his advances.

Fortunately for her peace of mind, the Viscount’s thoughts appeared to be elsewhere.

‘You’ve led a most unusual life, haven’t you?’ he asked, reaching forward to pass her a generous helping of the ripe red fruits. Then, repositioning himself
comfortably against the stone bench’s fat cushions, so that he could indulge himself in witnessing Sophie’s sheer delight in what was, to her, yet another unexpected luxury, he murmured, ‘Care to tell me about it?’

‘Our life was no different from any other family who chose to follow their loved ones to war,’ replied Sophie, somewhat evasively. ‘My mother travelled with my father when his unit was sent to Ireland back in ninety-two, and we always accompanied him thereafter—that is,’ she amended, ‘Mama and I did. Roger, my brother, was sent away to school when he was eight. When Papa was killed, of course …’ Her voice trailed away and her eyes were suddenly filled with desolation. Biting back the tears that threatened, she attempted a mocking laugh. ‘The rest you know—lack of finance required me to seek some sort of position, but, since I had nothing to show in the way of references, I was obliged to settle for the Crayfords’ offer.’

Although he was tempted to remind her that his own proposition far outweighed the Crayfords’ in terms of generosity, Marcus held his tongue, having just recalled the chance remark made by his brother the previous day.

‘Your father,’ he said, leaning forward. ‘He must have been an officer to have been allowed to have his family travel with him. What rank was he, may I ask?’

‘He was a Lieutenant-Colonel,’ responded Sophie instantly, her chin held high. ‘He died attempting to move his unit to higher ground and was awarded for his bravery—not that such an accolade is a great deal of help to us now,’ she added bitterly. ‘But I am still immensely proud of him, nevertheless.’

‘And rightly so,’ returned the Viscount, much moved. ‘He was clearly a credit to his country.’ He paused,
slightly unsure of how to phrase his next question. ‘My brother once spoke to me of a Lieutenant-Colonel Pendleton-Flint,’ he then said. ‘He wouldn’t have been your father, by any chance?’

‘Yes, he was,’ she replied dully. ‘And if you are wondering why I do not use my full name just ask yourself how many people would wish to employ a companion or governess with a double-barrelled name. The employment agency advised me to discard the Pendleton, on the grounds that it might give prospective employers the idea that I had ideas above my station!’

‘But that’s nonsense!’ protested Marcus angrily. ‘Surely everyone is entitled to use their given name, no matter what their walk of life?’

‘It would appear not, my lord,’ rebutted Sophie, as she rose from her seat. ‘Needless to say, I would appreciate your discretion in this matter—I already have enough with which to contend after your claiming to be a cousin of mine, without having to explain my reasons for not using my full name.’

She paused and then, fixing him with an angry glare, went on, ‘Which reminds me—I believe I am in your debt for an even greater amount than the three shillings and sixpence we originally agreed upon. Perhaps you would let me know the exact figure and I will do my best to see that you—’

‘Heaven preserve me from idiotish females!’ exploded Marcus, jumping to his feet and cutting her short. ‘You know perfectly well that you haven’t a hope in hell of being able to pay me back this side of Judgement Day, so will you kindly desist from mentioning the subject again?’

Sophie’s face whitened. ‘Was the book so very expensive then?’ she persisted, quite resolute in her
determination to refund the Viscount the full amount of her indebtedness, regardless of how long it might take.

‘What does it matter what the damned thing cost?’ he cried, clapping his hand to his brow. ‘I shan’t accept a single penny from you and that’s final! No!’ he ordered, as she opened her mouth to protest. ‘I won’t hear another word on the subject! If you imagine that I’m going to stand here arguing over a paltry ten shillings, you are—oh, damn it to hell!’

As the sound of Sophie’s barely suppressed chuckle filled the air, a rueful smile spread across Helstone’s face. ‘Rolled up, lock, stock and barrel!’ he groaned, as he threw himself back onto his seat.

‘Don’t fret, my lord,’ cooed Sophie gleefully, reaching forward and patting him on the hand. ‘I was bound to have found out eventually—I had it in mind to ask Mr Broomfield had you refused to tell me!’

Marcus stared at her, shaking his head in self-disgust. Then, as the seed of an idea planted itself in his brain, ‘How much do these Crayfords actually pay you, then, Miss Moneybags?’ he asked carelessly.

‘Twelve pounds a year, all found,’ replied Sophie, caught off guard by his casual tone.

‘Good God!’ The Viscount was visibly shocked. ‘The miserable skinflints—even my sister’s governess gets twenty pounds a year and her husband is the most tight-fisted clutch-purse known to man! How, in God’s name, do you manage on such a pittance?’

‘There are plenty of people who survive on a good deal less,’ she retorted dryly. ‘I have more than enough for my own needs and I even manage to put a little aside every quarter to send to my mother.’

‘And you would rather live like that than …?’ he
asked, eying her wonderingly. ‘Hardly the most flattering thing I’ve ever been told!’

Sophie shrugged. ‘It’s just a question of self-respect, my lord. That and—’ She stopped, her cheeks flaming.

‘And what?’ he prompted, impatient to know her true reasons for continually turning him down.

Blinking rapidly, she turned away, so that the Viscount could not see her face.

‘I’ve always supposed that I would—give myself to someone that I loved and who loved me in return,’ she said, in a low voice. ‘And, even though marriage is denied me, I see no reason to relinquish my principles.’

Marcus stilled, his eyes focussed on her back. Then, ‘In what way is marriage denied you?’ he demanded hoarsely. ‘You are quite lovely.’

Turning to face him, she gestured impatiently. ‘I am a dowerless, impoverished governess, and the only gentlemen who cross my path are those whose inclinations are as far removed from thoughts of marriage as are your own, sir!’

He stiffened as hot colour mounted his cheeks, struck silent by her damning words and heavily conscious of the fact that the charge was impossible to deny. In fact, no one knew better than he that his recent behaviour in regard to this chestnut-haired siren had been well outside his normal code of conduct, and the disquieting awareness of which, it had to be said, had caused the Viscount a good many sleepless nights of late. From the very first moment he had set eyes on her, he had felt himself drawn to her in a way that was both compelling and yet at the same time quite mystifying. Sophie’s departure from the tavern had left him feeling so bereft that he had, unaccountably, badgered his brother into helping
him search for her, and now that he had found her again he knew that his life meant nothing unless she agreed to be part of it. Now, however, since she had made it quite clear that the final objective was to be denied him, regardless of anything he might say or do, any attempt on his part to continue with his carefully thought-out plans to persuade her to succumb to his desires now seemed totally pointless.

Apart from an offer of marriage, of course,
he allowed, with an inward grimace, supremely confident in the knowledge that should he, as heir to the Bradfield earldom, ever care to cast his hat into that particular ring, he would have the pick of the Season’s debutantes scrambling to take up his offer.
Should I be mad enough to venture into that hornets’ nest!
thought Marcus scathingly.
No, thank you! I’m more than happy to leave the question of succession to Giles—let him put his head into the parson’s mousetrap, if he must. Marriage is most definitely not on the cards, as far as I’m concerned!

At his continued silence, Sophie returned to the table and, holding back a disconsolate sigh, picked up her discarded napkin and proceeded to fill it with random scraps of food.

‘With your permission, I shall go and feed the ducks,’ she said, casting a questioning glance at the Viscount’s scowling visage.

‘As you wish,’ returned Marcus, with a careless shrug. He was beginning to regret his decision to bring Sophie to Laurel Cottage. From now on this peaceful bolt-hole would be forever tainted with tantalising images of her walking down the stairs, strolling through the gardens admiring his designs, daintily sipping champagne in the pavilion—his very favourite spot of all—and now…