The Master of Stonegrave Hall. Helen Dickson

      Chapter Two

      It was dark when Laurence arrived home, having ridden with Clara Ellingham to the Grange, where she lived with his brother Nathan and his new wife Diana, Clara’s sister. Six weeks ago they had left for France on their honeymoon. They were expected back at any time.

      He crossed the hall and went into his study. After a few moments Jenkins, the butler at Stonegrave Hall, entered. He carried a salver with some correspondence that had been delivered in the master’s absence and a glass of brandy, which the master always insisted on before dinner.

      ‘Some correspondence and your brandy, sir,’ he murmured diffidently as he placed both beside him on the desk.

      Wordlessly, Laurence picked up the glass and took a drink.

      All this was executed with the precision of a minuet, for Lord Rockford was an exacting master who demanded his estate and other business affairs ran as smoothly as a well-oiled machine. There was an authoritative, brisk, no-nonsense air about him. His sharp, distinguished good looks and bearing always demanded a second look—and, indeed, with his reputation for being an astute businessman with an inbred iron toughness, he was not a man who could be ignored.

      He had always measured his own worth by how hard he worked, how many successful business transactions he could complete from the time the sun came up until it went down. His diligence was his calling card and the foundation of his fine reputation. He had built his sense of worth one step at a time.

      The servants were in awe of him, regarding him as a harsh, sometimes frighteningly unapproachable deity whom they strove desperately to please.

      Jenkins knew he’d been riding with Miss Ellingham, a young lady who had ambitions to be the mistress of Stonegrave Hall. But the master was having none of it. After being jilted at the altar some years earlier by a young woman in favour of a suitor with a loftier title, Lord Rockford had good reason to be cynical where women were concerned. However, he was still regarded as a tremendous matrimonial prize in high social circles.

      ‘How is Mrs Lewis?’ Laurence enquired without lifting his head.

      ‘The same, I believe, sir. Her daughter arrived a short while ago. She is with Mrs Lewis as we speak.’

      ‘I see.’ Laurence’s voice was without expression. ‘Have her brought to me, will you, as soon as I have eaten.’

      * * *

      Victoria sat with her mother until Mrs Hughs popped her head round the door half an hour later.

      ‘The master’s home and asking to see you. He’s down in the hall.’

      Somewhat nervous, not wishing to keep Lord Rockford waiting, Victoria went immediately. On reaching the bottom of the stairs she stopped. A man stood in front of the fire. Within the circle of firelight he looked to her to be tall and dark. There was something else she could not put a name to. It wasn’t frightening, yet it was unsettling. His dark head was slightly bent, his expression brooding as he gazed into the fire, his booted foot on the steel fender. He’d taken off his jacket, and beneath the soft lawn shirt his muscles flexed as he raised his hand and shoved it through the side of his hair.

      Power, danger and bold vitality emanated from every line of his towering physique. Thinking back to her earlier behaviour when they had met on the moor, mortified, she was contemplating fleeing back to her mother’s room, but he must have sensed her presence because he turned his head and looked directly at her. Her eyes collided with his. They were focused, intently, on her, the expression she could not fathom.

      ‘Well, well,’ he said, noting that her eyes held a gravity that matched his own. The devil in him stirred and stretched, then settled to contemplate this latest challenge. ‘So you are Victoria Lewis. I should have known, although you were not expected back just now.’

      ‘I knew my mother was ill, which is why I left the Academy at the end of the Easter term. I was deeply concerned about her. I also hoped to surprise her.’

      ‘Come and join me. I would like to take a closer look at the young woman I met earlier, who played such havoc with my companion’s temper.’

      Victoria complied, albeit hesitantly, and walked towards him, yet there was something in the impatient, yet formal tone which gave her a slight feeling of nervousness. Lord Rockford’s dark face, stern features and gathered eyebrows gave his face a grim look. She could see there was something purposeful and inaccessible about him, and those blue eyes, which penetrated her own, were as cold and hard as newly forged steel. There was no warmth in them, no humour to soften those granite features.

      Yet she felt no fear of him, only a little shyness now. A not unpleasant aroma reached her nose, a mixture of sweat, tobacco fumes and leather mixed with a distinctive smell of horseflesh.

      When she stood before him he took a step towards her and before she knew what he was about to do, he put a strangely gentle finger under her chin, tilting her face so that he could see it better. He looked at it hard, seeming to scrutinise every detail, probing her eyes with his own, searching—for what? she wondered. He nodded slightly, as if he had found what he was looking for. Victoria pulled away from his hand, almost tripping in her eagerness to get free, suddenly aware of the intimacy of the moment, the nearness of his searching eyes, the touch of his hand on her skin, his strong chin, the lovely deep blue of his eyes and the warmth of his breath on her face. She moved further away from him, her cheeks touched with colour.

      ‘Do you always subject people to such close scrutiny when you meet them, Lord Rockford?’ she asked directly. ‘I am not used to being looked at like that and find it extremely unsettling. Is there something wrong with my face that makes you examine it so thoroughly?’

      A faint smile tugged at his lips. ‘I assure you, Miss Lewis, there is nothing wrong with your face.’

      ‘That’s all right, then.’

      Laurence saw no trace of the girl he had met on the moors earlier. This young woman was the personification of elegance, refinement and grace. Her loveliness was at once wild and delicate. As fine as sculptured porcelain, her face expressed a frank, lively mind and a mercurial nature, full of caprice—the sort of girl who would play her way or not at all. But as he gazed at her he was most keenly aware of her innocence. He felt the touch of her eyes, felt the hunter within him rise in response to that artless glance. Though her wide amber eyes hinted at an untapped wantonness, he could sense the youthful freshness of her spirit, a tangible force that simultaneously made him want to cast her away from him or bare his soul.

      He would do neither, but he did nothing to stem the rakish twist of his lips. ‘Don’t disappoint me, Miss Lewis, by acting sensibly now,’ he said, his eyes agleam with a very personal challenge.

      Victoria stiffened at his silken taunting, but could hardly take offence after her unacceptable behaviour earlier.

      ‘Don’t be nervous. You’re not afraid of me, are you? Where is the girl whose pluck to stand up to my companion earlier won my admiration?’

      Victoria mentally took a deep breath to barricade herself against the nervous jitters.

      Laurence gestured to a chair by the hearth, indicating that she be seated. She did so, her every movement graceful and ladylike, even the way she crossed her ankles and tucked her dainty feet under the chair. Looking down at her, he searched the delicate features, yearning to see some evidence of the fire he had seen in the girl earlier.

      ‘That’s quite a temper you have, Miss Lewis. Miss Ellingham was still seething when I left her.’

      Victoria dropped her gaze, feeling her cheeks burn with embarrassment, wishing he’d do her a favour and just forget that excruciating incident, but she seriously doubted he would. When she looked up she found her gaze ensnared by the glittering sheen of his blue eyes.

      ‘I would appreciate not being reminded of the incident, sir. You must think I’m the most ill-behaved female alive,’ she murmured dejectedly.

      ‘No,