Dishonour and Desire. Juliet Landon

said.

      ‘Then I shall leave you to tell Miss Chester that I have made an offer for her. There can be no harm in that.’

      ‘No harm at—oh…wait a moment.’ Mr Chester’s hand went to his forehead. ‘Might it…?’ he said, whispering his thoughts.

      ‘Might it what, sir?’

      ‘Well, this weekend she’ll be away at Lord and Lady Ensdale’s house party. She won’t be back till Tuesday. Might it be better if I were to delay speaking of this until after her return? She’ll be singing, you see, and apparently her voice doesn’t work too well when she’s angry…upset…you know?’

      A lesser mortal would have quaked against such a prophecy, but Sir Chase had begun to expect any kind of tactlessness from this man. At least he’d had the grace to consider the timing. ‘I understand perfectly,’ Sir Chase replied, wondering if she needed to be told at all, in view of the most unusual circumstances. Perhaps they could judge the situation better after this coming weekend, though he was inclined to disagree with Chester that the lady’s voice would not work well once the idea was put to her. He believed it would work very well indeed, with himself in the firing-line. ‘One more detail,’ he said, bracing himself. ‘You mentioned Miss Chester’s dowry. I believe, sir, now that my suit is being considered, that I have the right to know what to expect in dowry, settlements and jointures.’ He did not intend the man to escape without feeling the sting.

      Holding his long jaw in a tight fist as though it might otherwise dislocate, Stephen Chester sighed through his nose, preparing himself for the next few uncomfortable minutes. He did not enjoy giving money away any more than he liked borrowing it. ‘Shall we sit, Sir Chase?’ he said.

      Inevitably, the question of a time limit was raised, though Mr Chester was in favour of a delayed deadline that would assist Sir Chase’s success. The suitor preferred more of a challenge. With what he had in mind, six weeks might be unrealistic, but it sounded better than six months. In the end, it was agreed that Sir Chase would need all summer, the situation to be reviewed at the autumnal equinox.

      Soon afterwards, the two men walked to the stable yard to look at the phaeton from where Mr Chester was called to attend his wife rather urgently. Returning to the house, he had just enough time to gulp down the remainder of his guest’s brandy before picking up the gold-edged calling-card, putting it in his waistcoat pocket, smoothing his hair and, adopting an expression of false cheer, going upstairs to Hannah.

      Waiting until her father had disappeared into the noisy baby-scented nursery, Caterina tripped quietly downstairs to the back of the house from where a path led to the door in the high brick wall between the garden and the stable yard. Here, she hoped to take another look at the cleaned phaeton and to examine Aunt Amelie’s dapple-greys. If Harry had damaged them, there would indeed be trouble.

      To her surprise and irritation, the grey hunter and its green-liveried groom were still there. Worse still, Joseph and Sir Chase Boston were sauntering through the double door of the carriage house from where they could see her easily, standing in the full glare of the sun. The temptation was to return to the house, but the snub to her father’s guest would have been unforgivable when he was already walking to meet her. ‘I came to see my aunt’s horses,’ she said, wondering why she needed to explain herself. ‘They’re my responsibility,’ she added unnecessarily, hearing the sharp tone of her voice.

      Sir Chase’s soft laugh reached his eyes. ‘So they are, Miss Chester,’ he said as he reached the bottom of the steps. ‘Your groom and I have been saying the very same thing.’

      ‘They’ll need to be hosed down,’ she said, avoiding his eyes, ‘if you brought them back in the same state as the phaeton.’

      ‘I didn’t,’ he said, holding out his hand as she reached the bottom step.

      Obliged to accept his courtesy, she felt the instant warm grip of his fingers and the unresisting strength of his arm that reminded her of what she’d heard of his legendary fencing skills, his boxing and horsemanship. She was also reminded of the enormous debt he had lured her brother into. If the tales that circulated about him were to be believed, this man was dangerous to both men and women.

      She reached the cobbles, removing her hand from his without thanks. ‘You had them washed down?’ she said.

      He appeared to find her question and manner amusing. ‘It’s one thing to return a carriage in a filthy state, Miss Chester, to show how it’s been misused, but quite another to leave horses like that. It took my grooms hours to get the muck off them last night. If I were you, I’d lock them up next time your brother comes to stay, or you may have a broken leg or two.’

      ‘Thank you for your advice,’ she replied, icily. ‘Next time my brother comes to stay, we shall probably lock him up, away from men who accept his childish wagers.’

      ‘Then you might also teach him how to be more accurate with the truth while you’re about it. It doesn’t help matters to spin yarns about one’s circumstances.’ He kept pace with her as she walked quickly towards the stable, his strides worth two of hers.

      ‘So you’ve never spun yarns about yours, Sir Chase?’

      ‘Never had any need to. Others might have, but not me. Shall we go and take a look?’ He stopped by the door, holding out an arm to usher her in.

      This was not at all what she had intended, nor could she contain the feeling that Sir Chase had the knack of manoeuvring people into situations they would not have chosen for themselves. He had obviously done the same to her foolish brother.

      Well lit by tall windows, the stable’s oak stalls were topped by black-painted grilles, each black post topped by a golden ball. Layers of straw muffled the stamps from a forest of legs, and glossy rumps shone like satin, swished by silken tails. The aroma of hay and leather warmed Caterina’s nostrils, and the occasional whicker of greeting combined with the scrunch of hay held in racks on the walls.

      The two dapple-greys belonging to Lady Elyot were draped with pale grey rugs monogrammed in one corner, spotlessly clean, their charcoal manes rippling, hooves shining with oil. No effort had been spared to remedy the effects of their bruising drive last evening, yet Caterina withheld the thanks that were overdue.

      Without comment, she went alongside the nearest horse, ducking under the cord that roped it off, peeping under the rug and stooping beneath its neck to return along the other side, patting the smooth back as she passed. ‘Good,’ she said, fanning the long tail.

      ‘It was the least I could do,’ he replied.

      ‘No, Sir Chase. The least you could do would be to spare my father the distress of having to find the money to pay my brother’s debt. Twenty thousand may be a trifling sum to you, but I can assure you that my father’s circumstances do not accord with the way it looks. He will not have told you how difficult his finances are at the moment. He’s too proud for that. But I’m not, sir. Believe me, he cannot afford it.’

      ‘By no means is it a trifling sum, Miss Chester. If it had been, I would not be taking the trouble to claim it. Apart from that, your feckless brother should be made to learn that a man does not walk away from a debt of honour without serious consequences. I would have preferred it if he had been hurt a little more. As it is, only his pride will suffer.’

      ‘As it is, sir, my father is the one to suffer. And me, too, I expect.’ Immediately, she wished she had not allowed him to push her into a snappy retort, for now she would be asked to explain what she meant by that.

      ‘You, Miss Chester? How does the debt affect you?’

      ‘Oh, indirectly,’ she waffled. ‘Nothing that need be spoken of. Indeed, I should not have said as much. Please, forget it.’ She began to move away, but Sir Chase’s long stride took him ahead of her and she was stopped by his arm resting on the next golden ball. Frowning, she scowled at the perfect white folds of his neckcloth, aware that this time she had backed herself into a corner.

      ‘I am intrigued,’ he said, looking