The Reluctant Viscount. Lara Temple

can see you are well used to trying to talk yourself out of trouble. But if this is a sample of your usual efforts, I am surprised you have managed to survive so far.’

      ‘I am usually more skilful. Fearing for one’s life tends to sharpen one’s focus. Here, take your book. I will ask Milsom for another copy so I can find out what happens after that very improbable hero tries to... Sorry, I shouldn’t reveal the plot...’

      Her brows drew together in a puzzled frown and again she looked much more like the resolute but overwhelmed young girl he remembered from years ago.

      ‘It seems strange that you might enjoy a fictional adventure after you have lived through real ones,’ she said wistfully.

      ‘Real adventures are rarely as enjoyable as fictional ones, Miss Drake. My strongest memories of my so-called adventures are of fear, hunger, dirt and a very firm resolve never to find myself in a similar situation again if I were lucky enough to survive. Unfortunately I tended to forget these resolutions all too often when either curiosity or greed came into play. But for now I intend to only pursue adventures in printed form.’

      He held out the book once more, but she shook her head.

      ‘You may finish reading it, then. I am busy anyway. Perhaps it will keep you out of trouble. Were you heading into town?’

      ‘Just wandering.’

      Her eyes met his and they softened.

      ‘Ten years is a long time,’ she said sympathetically.

      ‘True. I think the Hungry Tree has shrunk.’

      Her laughter rolled out, husky and infectious. He moved towards the gate.

      ‘Why on earth are you still here?’

      Her brow contracted in confusion.

      ‘What?’

      ‘Why are you still living here, in Mowbray? You must be, what...twenty-six or twenty-seven? You should have been married and as far away from your parasite of a father as possible.’

      To his surprise she didn’t seem offended. Her eyes shone with amusement and he noticed now that she had only one dimple, conveying an impression of reined-in mischief. Or an internal battle between warring inclinations.

      ‘And how is marriage any better? I believe I have a great deal more freedom than most wives.’

      ‘But hardly the same benefits.’

      Her eyes met his with a disconcerting directness. A slight flush spread across her cheekbones, but there was nothing coy or flirtatious in the look. Still, he was disconcerted by the tightening of his body. Without thinking he took another step towards the gate, but stopped as three figures on horseback appeared over the rise, heading in their direction.

      Alyssa turned towards them, her face losing its animation, warning him what was coming before he even recognised the riders. He sighed in resignation as Rowena, Lord Moresby and Percy approached. He would have happily avoided this particular meeting, but he knew he would have to deal with this moment eventually. It was best to get it over with sooner rather than later. He stood by the gate inspecting the woman who had changed the course of his life and he felt a sudden stab of disappointment and a sensation of being quite old.

      Rowena was undoubtedly beautiful, but he could hardly credit he had ever been young enough to have acted as he had. There had been so many women since her, some even more beautiful than her perfect English porcelain loveliness, but none had ever excited the kind of do-or-die fervour he vaguely remembered she’d inspired in him.

      Though her betrayal had been very effective in wrenching him out of his infatuation, in some corner of his mind he had sometimes wondered what it would be like to see her again. The reality, as he watched her pull up her horse a few yards from him, was both a relief and a disappointment.

      Even her demeanour now, with her lips slightly parted, her eyes cast down in patently false modesty, was as artificial as any actress on stage. He had fallen in love with a beautiful statue and endowed her with all manner of fine qualities which had absolutely nothing to do with the object of his desire. He felt a flicker of both contempt and pity for the boy he had been, that he hadn’t been able to see what even the young Miss Drake had seen so clearly.

      ‘Good morning, Alyssa.’ Rowena nodded in Miss Drake’s general direction, but her gaze was on Adam, her lashes dipping over her lovely eyes. ‘Welcome back to Mowbray, Lord Delacort. Percy tells us you have already met since your return and I believe you know my husband, Lord Moresby?’

      The power of form over inclination carried them through the necessary polite exchange, but as soon as was decently possible Lord Moresby urged his horse onwards, his jaw set and his face flushed. Rowena, holding her playful mare easily, followed, her smile as serenely self-satisfied as a cat with the remains of a mouse between her paws. Surprisingly Percy lingered for a moment, bowing to Miss Drake with a boyish smile.

      ‘I trust I will see you, Mrs Aldridge and Miss Aldridge at the Assembly on Thursday, Miss Drake?’

      ‘I believe so, Mr Somerton.’

      ‘Lovely, I am looking forward to it.’ He smiled, not in the least abashed by her stiffness towards him. He turned to Adam and nodded abruptly in strong contrast to his sunny approach to Miss Drake, then rode off. Adam turned back to see her watching the riders disappear around a bend in the lane, her mouth tight. He felt quite tired suddenly.

      ‘So this is what it is going to be like. The sooner I get out of Mowbray, the better.’

      ‘At least it won’t be boring,’ she offered and he laughed.

      ‘I think that is a Chinese curse—may you live in interesting times.’

      ‘You have been to China?’ Her eyes lit up. But just as quickly, the proper young woman reasserted control and she half-turned towards the cottage. ‘I apologise. I dare say it is tedious to be asked questions about your travels all the time. Good day, Lord Delacort.’

      ‘Was Percy referring to a dance at the Assembly Rooms?’ he asked and she turned back, her brows rising.

      ‘Yes. They have one every Thursday during summer. Why? You don’t actually mean to attend, do you?’

      ‘Why not? It might be amusing.’

      ‘Amusing...’

      ‘Yes, amusing. As in diverting. Entertaining. After all, this is now my home, at least for the next couple of weeks. It is time I became reacquainted with my neighbours.’

      She stood, hands on hips, inspecting him suspiciously, the way she might look at her siblings when they were up to mischief.

      ‘You do expect the worst of me, don’t you?’ he asked sardonically.

      ‘Of course not. I was just wondering... You must do as you please.’

      ‘I usually do.’

      ‘That much is obvious if even half of what one hears is true,’ she replied with disdain and he felt a surge of annoyance. Everywhere he went in this perfect little corner of England he found more proof that propriety equalled sanctimonious dishonesty. For a moment he had actually thought this peculiar young woman might be cut of a different cloth, but it was all in the trimming—underneath she was the same as all the rest. She might have started out differently, but everything about her now was a statement of conformity. Even the well-tended garden that had replaced the wild jungle of ten years ago was testimony of her descent into grace. The familiar urge to undermine, to topple, prodded at him.

      ‘Probably more than half, sweetheart. And you never answered my question.’

      ‘What question?’ she asked suspiciously. ‘And don’t call me sweetheart. You may delight in upsetting people, but I don’t.’

      ‘Did I call you that? A slip of the tongue. And you are still avoiding my question. Why did you never marry and get out of here? Are you too scared to leave the comfort