Never Trust a Rebel. Sarah Mallory

a help,’ declared Mrs Matthews frankly. ‘They would most likely fall into hysterics if I suggested they travel more than a mile out of Scarborough.’

      He exhaled sharply. ‘Then I shall have to hire someone. Though who I might find by nine o’clock tomorrow morning—’

      ‘You need not trouble yourself on my account,’ said Elyse, holding herself very stiff.

      ‘You cannot travel alone,’ he retorted.

      ‘You are my guardian, are you not? There can be no impropriety in our travelling together.’

      She glared at him. He was only trying to help, but suddenly the excitement of her forthcoming marriage was gone, replaced by a feeling that she was merely an inconvenience. It was not a pleasant thought. The gentleman regarded her in silence for a moment and when he spoke his tone was decisive.

      ‘Very well. If there is someone from the household that you can persuade to go with you it would be an advantage, but as you say, it is not necessary. We can always arrange for a maid to attend you at the inns.’ He turned to Aunt Matthews. ‘I wish you a speedy recovery, ma’am.’ His gaze flickered to Elyse and the indifference she saw in his eyes only added to her dismay. ‘I shall call for you at nine o’clock sharp, Miss Salforde. Be sure you do not keep me waiting.’

      * * *

      Once more Drew walked away from Mrs Matthews’ house with his mind in turmoil. He had been in England for less than a week and already what should have been a simple task of escorting a young lady to London was turning into a nightmare. First of all there was Lord Whittlewood’s ultimatum, making it necessary to reach London with all speed; and now her aunt, the most proper person to act as a chaperon, could no longer travel with them. Such a trifle would not have worried him unduly, if it was not for the fact that his ward was no schoolroom miss but a very desirable young woman.

      He recalled that immediate tug of attraction he had experienced the first time he had seen Elyse in her aunt’s drawing room. In their subsequent meetings, even when she was at her most tiresome, it had only grown more powerful. Whenever their eyes locked he could feel the energy crackling between them, a pleasurable anticipation of what it would be like to pull her into his arms and kiss her, to unlock the passion he felt sure she possessed.

      Impossible, of course. Not only was she a gently reared young lady and the future wife of another man, she was also his ward, the daughter of his friend, and he was sworn to protect her. And if she was not his responsibility, and not another man’s fiancée, what then? Would he seduce her? Of course not. Elyse Salforde was a gently reared young lady; he could not take her for his mistress. Yet what else had he to offer her? He was a rogue, a traitor. He had decided years ago that he could not ask any woman to share that burden.

      He let his breath go with a hiss. This was not about his misfortunes. He must concentrate upon Elyse. She might be damned attractive but he would cope with that. He was her guardian, he would employ a maid at each inn to share her room at night and preserve her reputation. If she was happy to make the journey to London without a chaperon of any sort then so be it. He was damned if he would worry about it.

      Yet worry he did. He had agreed to Harry’s dying wish to take care of his daughter, and that would not include ravishing her before she could be delivered to her fiancé.

      * * *

      The next day dawned clear and bright, only a slight mist on the sea indicating that it was no longer high summer. Elyse donned her travelling dress, a riding habit of olive-green twill with a collar of buff velvet and small gilt buttons. She had added black ruffles at her neck and cuffs and a black lace veil was suspended from the rim of her bonnet. The veil was folded back at present but when it was pulled down it completely obscured her features. It was all very sober and no one, not even the infuriating Mr Andrew Bastion, could doubt she was in mourning.

      Aston came to tell her that the carriage was at the door and once she had directed him to have her baggage taken out she went off to take leave of her aunt.

      ‘I wish we could wait until you could come with us,’ she said as she gave Mrs Matthews a final hug, taking good care to avoid her injured arm. ‘I do not know how I shall go on without you.’

      ‘You will do very well, my love, if you remember your manners.’

      Elyse pulled a face. ‘I am sure that will not be difficult when I am with Lord Whittlewood, but I am not looking forward to the journey with that man.’

      ‘You mean Mr Bastion?’ Aunt Matthews patted her cheek. ‘Your father wrote in his final letter that he would trust Drew Bastion with his life. I have no doubt he will look after you, for Harry’s sake. But ...’

      She paused, the restless fingers of her free hand pleating and re-pleating the edge of the sheet until Elyse felt compelled to prompt her.

      ‘Yes, Aunt?’

      ‘I beg you will be careful when you are with Mr Bastion, Elyse. He is not a man to be crossed. There is steel behind his charm.’

      Elyse’s solemn mood was routed by her aunt’s last words. Her eyes twinkled and she gave a merry laugh.

      ‘Charm? I have not seen any charm, Aunt. He is rude and overbearing.’

      ‘Well, tread warily my love.’

      ‘I will, I promise.’ She leaned over the bed to give her aunt another kiss on the cheek. ‘But what can he do, after all? He is only a man.’

      With a cheery wave she sailed out of the room and her aunt listened to her dainty boots tapping down the stone stairs. She shook her head.

      ‘Yes, he is a man, Elyse,’ she murmured. ‘And that is what worries me.’

      * * *

      Elyse was impressed with the elegant equipage at the door. It may only have been a hired post-chaise but it was freshly painted and had four spirited horses harnessed to it, under the care of two smart postilions. Mr Bastion was waiting to hand her in, his hat tucked under one arm. She noted his appearance with approval, the exquisitely tailored riding coat in dark-blue wool, the pale buckskins and shiny top-boots that covered his legs. They all fitted to perfection. The first time she had seen him he had appeared the perfect society gentleman, at home in any drawing room. Now he was dressed for travel, ready for action and adventure.

      It flashed through her mind that a young lady might easily lose her heart to such a man and Elyse was relieved to think that her own heart was already engaged. It belonged to William and she was therefore in no danger. Yet she was troubled by a niggling thought that perhaps she was not being completely honest with herself.

      Those disturbingly blue eyes glinted down at her and she wondered again if he was able to read her thoughts. She looked away and moved to the carriage, silently putting her hand into his as she prepared to climb in. Immediately she was aware of the strength in his lean fingers. Her mouth went dry. Neither of them had yet put on their gloves and Elyse realised that this was a mistake, because a bolt of excitement shot through her when skin touched skin. Her heart leapt into her mouth and then settled high in her chest, where it beat a rapid and irregular tattoo that disrupted her breathing. It reminded her of the thrill of receiving admiring glances, or allowing a gentleman to kiss her fingers. Only ten times more exciting.

      And far more dangerous. Elyse realised that this was beyond anything she had experienced before. She was no fool, all her life she had been pampered and cossetted. She knew she had been protected from the harsher realities of life. Mr Scorton’s attempts to kiss her should have warned her that the power she had so far enjoyed over the gentlemen of her acquaintance might not always be under her control. It was also daunting to know that she was just as vulnerable; she could not rely upon her own body to behave itself, as proven by the fact that she had to make a conscious effort before her hand would release those long, lean, masculine fingers.

      Elyse sat down quickly, aware that Andrew Bastion was watching her but determined not to meet his eyes, lest he should see the consternation in her own. He jumped in after her, casting his hat upon the seat between them. Almost before