Rake's Reform. Marie-Louise Hall

too emphatically.

      “Pity.” He was almost sober suddenly. “You would not reconsider if I told you your hair was the colour of gold, your eyes as dark and mysterious as that pool, that I shall die if I do not kiss you—”

      “No!” She laughed, but got up abruptly and almost ran to where the dripping spaniel had dropped its stick, before adding, with all the lightness she could muster, “but before you expire, do tell me of any last requests and I shall be happy to see they are carried out.”

      “Heartless—heartless,” he reproached her softly as he watched her bend lithely and throw the stick with an easy competency not often seen outside of Mr Lord’s new cricket ground. “How can you be so heartless at sunset, beside a waterfall of rainbows?”

      “I daresay I have not read enough of the latest novels,” she said as she watched the spaniel plunge into the shallows of the pool again. “But it is beautiful, isn’t it? I shall miss coming here.”

      “Why should you miss it? So far as I am concerned, you may come here whenever you wish.”

      She started as his voice came from immediately behind her shoulder. He had moved as silently as an Apache warrior across the muddy grass until he was a scant pace behind her. She turned, and then wished she had not as he met her gaze. She felt her heart leap and race beneath her ribs as if she had suddenly found herself between a she-bear and its cub. It was ridiculous, she told herself, ridiculous to think he had meant that nonsense about kissing her, ridiculous as this soaring feeling of happiness because he seemed to like her.

      “That is very good of you, but I should not like to intrude.” Her words came in a rush.

      “I should count your presence an advantage rather than an intrusion.”

      His voice was soft, warm, like his blue eyes as he sought and held her gaze. “So promise me you will come here again, whenever you wish?”

      Annabel had been right, she thought wryly. He was seductive, far more dangerous than any of the trappers she had encountered while staying at Lilian’s boarding house in St Louis. And this was no polite invitation from one neighbour to another to visit his garden. Any well-bred young lady would refuse such an invitation without hesitation.

      But then, she wasn’t a well-bred young lady, she was Janey Hilton, colonial and daughter of a millhand. And Janey Hilton was tired of a life that held no more danger and excitement than taking a fence on her horse…tired of trying to behave like an English lady and being constantly reminded that she had failed.

      “Thank you, I will,” she said, holding his gaze steadily.

      “You will? Alone?” He could not quite hide his surprise.

      “Yes,” she replied with a calm that she was very far from feeling. “It is a very special place for me.”

      “And for me—now.”

      It was her turn to be caught off-guard by his sudden unexpected seriousness; she let her gaze drop to the ground.

      “Why is it so special for you? Because it reminds you of home?” he asked as he, too, dropped his gaze, and flicked a stone into the water with the toe of his top boot. “Or did you meet with your betrothed here? No—don’t answer that,” he said as he heard her sudden intake of breath. “I had no right to ask such a question.”

      “No, you did not,” she agreed, staring at the ripples that spread out from where the stone had sunk, wondering how they had come so far so fast. It was, she thought, as if they had known each other for years, not a few minutes.

      “The answer is no,” she said quietly. “Edward would never have considered meeting me in such a place alone, even if I had suggested it—he would have considered it far too improper. He was always very concerned for my reputation. He was a curate and very principled.”

      “They usually are, until it comes to getting a lucrative living or catching an heiress,” he said cynically.

      “That is unfair. He was a good man. He did a great deal for the poor and he cared for me, not for my money, I am sure of it.” But was she? The words sounded hollow, even to her own ears. Of late, she had begun to wonder about Edward, wonder if he was all she had once thought him…wonder if he would have been so prepared to overlook her shortcomings, or quite so supportive of her efforts to improve conditions for the poorer families in the village if she had not been her grandfather’s heir.

      “I am sorry,” he said as he watched her face. “Cynicism becomes something of a habit.”

      “Like flippancy?” She gave him the ghost of a smile, remembering their first encounter in the lane.

      “I am afraid so.” He smiled back at her ruefully. “But—”

      “Jem!” she interrupted him sharply, horrified that for these few minutes she had forgotten the very reason she had come to meet him “Oh, have you had any success?”

      “No, I am afraid not.” He looked away as he answered. “I had hoped to call in a favour from the Home Secretary and obtain a pardon for him, but—”

      “He refused,” she said flatly. She had not realised, until this moment, just how much trust she had placed in him or how much she had hoped she would not have to put her other plan into action.

      “Not exactly.” He shook his head. “The government fell shortly after I reached town. Wellington has resigned and, unfortunately, we have a new Home Secretary.”

      “But couldn’t you ask the new Home Secretary?”

      “Melbourne?” He shook his dark head a second time. “Lord Melbourne does not hold any affection for me. I was a friend of his wife, Caroline Lamb, and of Lord Byron, you see.” Then he gave a wry smile as he saw her blank expression. “You don’t see…you were probably playing with your dolls then.”

      “I was more likely helping my mother deliver a neighbour’s child or my father harness the oxen,” she said shortly, feeling as if a chasm had suddenly opened up between them as she saw shock ripple across his face. She had been a fool to think him different, a fool to think that he might like the real Janey Hilton.

      “I suppose it must be a very different life for young women who live on the frontier,” he said after a moment of silence.

      “Different is something of an understatement.” She was brisk. The use of the word “women” rather than “ladies” had not escaped her after four years in England. “You have to grow up fast on the frontier, Mr Lindsay,” she added sharply, as he opened his mouth to say something. “Just as the sons and daughters of labourers must in this country. Now, if you will excuse me—” she turned abruptly from the pool “—I really must go back, before I am missed.”

      “Wait!” He strode after her. “I did not mean to upset you and I am truly sorry I have not been able to do more for Jem.”

      She stopped and turned to look at him, and to her surprise found that she believed him.

      “It is not your fault.” She sighed. “And I am very grateful that you at least tried to help him. You haven’t upset me…it is not your fault that you are a—” She faltered, struggling for the right words.

      “A patronising, arrogant society dandy who has never had to step outside of his gilded and well-padded cage?” His dark brows lifted quizzically.

      “I should not have put it quite so rudely,” she said a little ashamedly.

      “No, but you thought it.” He grinned at her.

      “True,” she confessed ruefully, “and I apologise for it.”

      “Then will you allow me the honour of escorting you home? It will be absolutely dark in the woods.”

      “Oh, there is no need,” she protested politely. “I shall be perfectly safe. I am not afraid of the dark—it is not as if you have bears or Indians in England.”

      “I