Regency: Innocents & Intrigues: Marrying Miss Monkton / Beauty in Breeches. Helen Dickson

of gentlemen, but there was nothing gentlemanly about Charles’s lazy perusal of her body.

      ‘Are you quite finished?’ she asked tersely.

      His unhurried gaze lifted to her eyes and a wry smile quirked his stern lips when he heard the exasperation in her voice. Perhaps she resented him suggesting she shed her unflattering black gown that had seen better days on her maid. ‘I was merely admiring the transformation, Maria. You look quite radiant.’

      She had been lovely before, but he hadn’t expected her to blossom into a full-fledged beauty simply by changing her gown. When she reached London she would dazzle society’s gentlemen. And therein lay his problem, for she was a complete innocent, an inexperienced innocent in his charge, and for whom he was responsible. The image of himself as guardian of her virtue—not forgetting her fortune—was so ludicrous it was laughable. But that was the role he would be forced to play when Maria had sent Henry Winston packing—which she would, when she laid eyes on his gross bulk, and she was truly alone.

      ‘Now come and eat. I would like to resume our journey as soon as possible if we are to reach London before dark.’

      Feeling slightly mellow and in good spirits after partaking of a delicious meal, happy that Charles’s sombre mood had lightened somewhat with the food and wine, when they had left Highgate and were settled once more in the carriage, not wishing to impose on Charles any longer and impatient to see Henry so she could take stock and do what she thought was necessary, Maria ventured to ask, ‘Will you take me straight to wherever it is that Henry lives when we reach London?’ She smiled, and, without giving him chance to reply, went on, ‘Don’t you find it strange that I have no idea where that is?’ Charles merely gave her a wry smile. ‘Whenever I wrote to him I always sent the letters to his address in India.’ She looked at him sideways. ‘Where does he live now he’s left the company and is back in England, Charles?’

      ‘He has taken a modest house in the Strand,’ he answered brusquely.

      ‘I see, although I really have no idea where that is. I’m not at all familiar with London, never having been there. Whatever the outcome of our meeting, I’m impatient to go to Gravely, to see if it’s just as I remember it when my father was alive.’

      Suddenly Charles shot her a glance of exasperation. He looked angry and agitated. ‘Maria, I would be grateful if you would speak of something else. The last thing I wish to discuss right now is Henry Winston.’

      Maria stiffened and pressed herself back against the cushions, her face blank with hurt, surprised at the coldness in his eyes.

      Charles met the look squarely. ‘You think that’s callous and brutal of me, don’t you?’ he said with deliberate harshness.

      ‘I’m sorry. I seem to have been talking a deal too much. I did not mean to bore you. But you needn’t worry. We’ll soon be in London and then you’ll be free of me. Your obligation to me will be over. That must please you.’

      ‘What pleases me is that I’ve managed to get you out of France unharmed. What doesn’t please me is that you might decide to honour your father’s wish and wed Henry Winston regardless,’ he snapped irately.

      Maria met his gaze with anguish in her eyes. ‘You know how to wound, don’t you, Charles? Do we have to go through this again? You have made your feelings plain where Henry is concerned. Your point is well taken.’

      The lines around Charles’s mouth tightened and a hard gleam shone from his eyes. ‘But is it, Maria? I think I should tell you the truth about the man before you meet so you can prepare yourself.’

      ‘Prepare myself? What on earth for?’ she said, her voice quick with indignation and reproach. ‘Has he sprouted two heads or something?’

      ‘Don’t be ridiculous. Initially I decided your betrothal was none of my business—’

      ‘You were right,’ Maria flared. ‘It isn’t. But why didn’t you tell me if you had something to say?’

      ‘I didn’t tell you because I suppose I meant it for the best,’ he replied, ignoring her jibe.

      ‘And now it’s too late.’ With a stubborn lift of her chin she turned her head away.

      His hand shot out and grasped her wrist. ‘You will listen to what I have to say.’

      Maria pulled furiously at her imprisoned wrist. ‘Let me go.’ When he released her, she rubbed her wrist and glowered at him. ‘Very well, say what you have to say. But in the end I shall make up my own mind about him.’

      Despite her determined words, Charles saw there was doubt in Maria’s face, and something else. A dawning apprehension and fear.

      ‘So, what is wrong with him?’ she asked to prompt him when he delayed answering.

      ‘What is wrong with him,’ Charles said with brutal clarity, ‘is that Henry Winston suffers from overindulgence of all the pleasures in life: drink, drugs, gambling—and women.’

      Maria caught her breath in shock and turned quickly. ‘Oh—I see.’

      ‘You don’t know him. How can you? You have not set eyes on him in six years, don’t forget. He is not a fit person for you to associate yourself with—or any other woman, come to that—never mind becoming his wife. He’s totally unsuitable for a decently reared young woman as yourself.’

      ‘Please stop it. If he is as bad as you say, then I shall soon see for myself.’

      ‘I do not know why, when he left India, and knowing what was happening in France, he did not go himself to bring you back. Nor do I know why he could not meet us at Dover. What I do know is that after attending wild, debauched parties he is frequently incapable of standing upright.’

      Maria could not deny that she was deeply shocked by what he was telling her, and however much she wanted to disbelieve it, she knew Charles would not lie to her. ‘Why are you trying so hard to discredit him to me?’

      ‘Perhaps it’s because I don’t like to see pearls cast before swine.’

      ‘It won’t be like that,’ she whispered, averting her eyes.

      Charles saw she was hurt. The truth always did that. ‘When you were a young girl you no doubt cherished a vision of a fine-looking soldier of the East India Company—a handsome knight in splendorous armour—and dreamt of him returning and carrying you off to a wondrous place. Am I right, Maria?’

      ‘Perhaps … when I was thirteen, but the fantasy dimmed very quickly.’

      ‘Strip away his rank and his uniform and you will see what is left—a blackguard, roué, drunkard, gamester—all in all a complete hedonist. It’s impossible to respect a man like that.’

      Seeing the confusion and bewilderment that filled her eyes, aware that she had no experience of the kind of man he spoke of, once again Charles was conscious of the pain in his heart when he looked at her.

      ‘Now you know, I would advise you to go directly to Gravely when you are rested.’

      Maria didn’t answer him. The moment seemed to stretch interminably. At length she managed to say, ‘If he is all the terrible things you accuse him of being, why would he want to marry me?’

      Charles’s smile was ironic. ‘Come now, Maria. Surely not even you could be that naïve. Your wealth speaks for itself.’

      Maria was profoundly offended and humiliated by his remark, and ire sparked in her eyes. ‘And I don’t suppose you believe that Henry could possibly want to marry me for myself,’ she retorted, deeply hurt and insulted that he should think this.

      ‘You were thirteen years old. That should speak for itself.’

      No, this was too much. She felt that he was laughing at her, and she could feel the red flames of outrage scorch her body. She drew herself up to her full height. ‘How dare you say that? Yes, I was very young, I cannot deny that and