The Regency Season Collection: Part Two. Кэрол Мортимер

he’d been about it with a smile. The promise of such a rare love was so breathtaking she could hardly bring herself to believe it was within her reach. To reassure herself it was, if she dared accept the wonder, she re-read the ending of his letter.

      You must take every care of yourself whilst I’m not there, love. I have sent Josiah to stay at Miss Thibett’s school, with that lady’s full knowledge and permission, so your girl can be kept safe whilst I gather the whole tale of your sister’s adventures. Then Peters can give it verbatim to that ambitious alderman and even he won’t be able to dismiss it as a warm story thought up by one of Crowdale’s detractors. Peters seems to have some surprising connections of his own, so one or two vigorous and wary rogues will be joining the staff at Farenze Lodge soon to outfox anyone intent on harming you to keep me quiet, if it should come out I have been asking questions about Daphne and Chloe Thessaly’s disappearance.

      Please say and do nothing reckless in the meantime, since yours and Eve’s welfare are crucial to me and your brothers are clearly desperate for the girl’s dowry and will do anything to make sure this sad tale and their appalling treatment of their very young sisters never comes out, or at least not until the marriage is safely over and cannot be revoked.

      Believe me a blind fool if you like, but I bitterly repent a decade of refusing to look into my own heart and find you there tonight, love. I’d rather live without a limb than endure another ten years without you, so even if you can’t return my feelings, please don’t run away again and disappear as you did from your father’s house all those years ago. I’ll run mad fretting about your safety and happiness if you remove me so completely from your life. I shall stop now, before I sink myself for ever in your eyes by begging pathetically for anything you feel able to offer me. You must give that freely and I must turn into a patient man.

      I think of you with every other thought and for a curmudgeonly old bear like me to say that you must know I mean it,

      I am, now and always, your Luke Winterley, whether you want me to be or not.

      Chloe caught herself staring into thin air and smiling broadly at a mental picture of him as he signed his name at the end of her letter. When she read his words again it all seemed so simple. She could echo her love back at him across the miles between them without a second thought.

      ‘Oh, I want you all right, Luke Winterley,’ she told the place where he’d signed his name as if it might bring him back all the sooner, ‘And I wouldn’t love you half so well if you were more charming and less bearlike,’ she whispered softly. Then went to make sure her maids were setting about the spring cleaning whilst the master of the house was away, to stop herself from sitting and dreaming the whole day away.

      * * *

      Several days later Luke urged his weary horse onwards and fought his frustration that this was as fast as he could get to Farenze Lodge. He’d had the best horses money could buy under him all the way, but he still wasn’t getting there fast enough. It was asking too much of this poor beast and he was weary to the bone, but fear drove him on relentlessly and he’d bid his head groom goodbye when the man had almost fallen from his saddle some time yesterday.

      Nearly there, the words seemed to echo in his head with every step, but he still felt as if the devil was on his tail, his rank breath hot on the back of Luke’s neck and the chaos of hell at his back. He’d racked his brains all the way south to work out when Chloe’s wicked aunt began to watch him with active malice. He hoped he’d outrun the messenger she must have sent south as soon as she realised he was in Scotland to track down a pair of star-crossed young lovers, not to buy one of her husband’s precious racehorses, or marry the last unwed Hamming daughter left on her hands.

      In the end he’d realised Hamming must have told her about Luke’s interest in Lady Daphne Thessaly’s tragically early death and he cursed the woman’s ability to prise information from her amiable but shallow lord. It wasn’t hard to see where Chloe got her brains, but thank heaven she and her sister got their warmth and sweetness from their mother as well as their distant Thessaly ancestress.

      His love could say what she liked about bad blood, but everything about her screamed her difference from her father, brother and icy aunt. If Lady Hamming was ever presented with a tiny baby to cast into the world alone or protect with her last breath, she would place it on that frosty church step, then walk away without a second thought.

      There, at last, the Lodge was in sight and he asked his tired horse for one last effort as the urgency that brought him south as fast as he could get here needled him. At first glance all seemed serene and hope stirred that he was in time. As he rode into the stable yard and nobody came out to welcome him or take his weary horse, it was clear he was wrong and Lady Hamming was as coldly efficient in getting messages to her disreputable nephews as she was at everything else.

      ‘Take him,’ he barked at the stable boy who ran breathlessly into the yard and stood with his mouth open as if he’d forgotten who Luke was. ‘Put him in a box and rub him down, then let him rest.’

      Weariness forgotten, Luke jumped from the saddle and dashed towards the house, wondering what the hell had happened. He went through the back door and into the kitchen to save all the fuss of rousing Oakham and explaining why he had no luggage and looked more bearlike than ever.

      ‘Ah, here’s his lordship at last. Now we can relax and worry about you and your injuries while he sorts everything out, sir,’ he heard Chloe say calmly as if she was welcoming a late guest to a party and he felt his temper snap.

      ‘What the devil is going on?’ he rapped out as he surveyed the crowd cluttering the kitchen with what he felt was excusable irritation.

      ‘Mr Revereux has been shot,’ Eve informed him calmly.

      The man’s name punched through the haze of weariness dragging at him and he blinked to bring the Adonis wilting on the scrubbed kitchen table into sharp focus.

      ‘Has he now? I’ve been searching the length and breadth of Britain for the man and find him lying on my kitchen table? Good day to you, Revereux, do make yourself at home, won’t you? Perhaps you’d enjoy a few covers and the odd side dish when you’re done and the rest of my house and gardens are of course available for your enjoyment when you’re not reclining on the kitchen table.’

      ‘I think Papa is tired and hungry. He certainly looks as if he hasn’t slept for days,’ Eve explained his lack of hospitality with a furious sideways look for him and a sage nod for everyone else. Luke felt as if even her presence might not prevent him swearing long and fluently if someone didn’t explain what was going on very soon.

      ‘Of course he is. I dare say he’s found out something crucial and travelled here far too fast to inform us of it, so do go and sit by the fire and rest for a moment, my lord.’ Chloe finally spared the time to turn from her patient and soothe him, as if he were a dangerous wild dog she was trying to see the best in before he bit someone.

      ‘Yes, I have,’ he thundered, quite unappeased. ‘I found out he was it,’ he said with an accusing gesture at the pale and interesting-looking blond god trying to fight Verity Wheaton off without hurting her. She refused to be diverted with a hardy determination that reminded Luke strongly of her aunt.

      ‘Then you are Verity’s father, sir?’ The question seemed to tumble out of Chloe’s mouth before she could silence it and first she stared at the stranger, then had the gall to glare at him, as if he should learn to guard his tongue. Luke felt another check on his temper snap.

      ‘I am,’ the pale and interesting hero gently pushed his daughter’s hands aside before he sat up to confront Luke with that knowledge, and what a fairer side of his nature told him was excusable pride in his daughter, as well as a challenge in the clear blue eyes Verity had inherited from him.

      ‘My papa is dead,’ Verity insisted with a frown nearly as fierce as the one Luke felt pleating his own brows on her face. At that moment he felt a deeper kinship with the bewildered, belligerent girl than ever, even as another man claimed her as his own.

      ‘So some would