Dangerous Lord, Seductive Miss. Mary Brendan

remove the weapons from their repository, so coolly and smoothly had he handled them.

      ‘Be sensible and be on your way.’ Randolph’s suggestion held an amount of tedium.

      Seth rubbed a nervous hand over his bristly jaw. ‘There’s three of us and you’ve only got two shots.’

      ‘And both of them are levelled on you,’ Randolph told him with a smile. He could tell that Seth was the ringleader and the others deferred to his authority. He seemed a common enough bully and Randolph suspected Luck-hurst would crumble when his own life was in serious peril.

      ‘Shoot me and they’ll get you,’ Seth blustered, but he’d backed away a pace.

      ‘Sensible move,’ Randolph drawled his praise.

      Seth stopped on seeing his cronies peering at him askance. Turning tail so quickly would do nothing for the reputation of the Luckhursts. He and his brother, Zack, were feared as the area’s most brazen villains. If Zack found out what had gone on, he’d beat the living daylights out of him. Seth adjusted his hat and, beneath its lowered brim, ruminated whether his accomplices would blab that he’d retreated from a stranger who spoke and dressed like a town fop.

      Sensing he was wavering, Randolph helped the fellow make a decision. A shot rang out, making Deborah start and suppress a scream and Seth bellow in rage as his hat flew backwards off his head. It landed, tattered and smoking, on a grassy mound.

      ‘Missed.’ Randolph tutted and gave a sardonic smile. ‘I’ll need to practise.’

      ‘You’ll pay for this,’ Seth snarled. His usually rubicund cheeks had turned ashen in alarm. He knew very well that the fellow could have put a bullet between his eyes had he chosen to. He was obviously a proficient marksman and therefore a fellow to be wary of. From town he might be, but he was certainly no novice gunman. Seth turned and, furiously swiping the ragged hat from the ground, stomped back towards the shrubbery. His cronies fell into step behind him, looking uneasy. Before he disappeared into the thicket Seth turned and glowered at Randolph. ‘Stupid thing you just done. I’m going to come looking for you and when I find you …’

      ‘I’ll make it simple for you. I’m staying at the Woolpack in Rye. Ask for Randolph Chadwicke from Suffolk.’

      Immediately on hearing that three tousled heads almost collided as the men immediately conferred. Seth straightened, arrowed another suspicious stare at Randolph. A moment later they’d disappeared and soon after came the sound of hooves hitting hard ground.

      Randolph paced away from Deborah, the loaded pistol still raised as though he suspected they might arc about to return on horseback in a surprise attack.

      As the sound of the gang’s retreat died away Deborah’s shoulders slumped in a release of tension and a sigh shuddered out of her. A moment later the enormity of what had happened—and how much worse it could have been—hit her like a thump in the stomach. A sob burst in her chest and she crossed her arms over her middle, inclining forwards as though she felt sick.

      As soon as he noticed her stifled anguish Randolph returned swiftly to her side. An arm remained raised, levelling the loaded gun in readiness whilst the other enclosed her in a comforting embrace and pointed the spent weapon skywards. A moment later he had deposited both weapons whence they came and swung into the saddle. Reaching down, he circled an arm around her narrow waist and scooped her up easily in front of him as though she were weightless.

      Simultaneously Deborah smeared the wet from her eyes and sucked in a startled breath. She could never in her life remember being handled so roughly. Spontaneously she squirmed as though she might slide down the animal’s sleek flank to the turf. A brawny arm girdled her midriff, preventing her moving, then jerked her back against his solid torso.

      ‘Be still,’ Randolph growled against her ear. ‘Trust me, if they decide to come back mob-handed and overpower me, you won’t like what it is they have in mind for you.’

      Deborah could feel her cheeks starting to prickle and burn, and not simply from the warm breath that had just bathed it. She knew as well as did Randolph it wasn’t conversation those villains had had in mind for her this afternoon. The terrifying thought made her shudder and her hands pressed at her stomach as though to suppress the nausea rolling there. Seth and his cronies might not have happened upon them by unlucky chance as they walked towards Woodville Place. It was not unusual for her to stroll home using this route. Had Seth been watching her since Fred drove off in the trap? Had he plotted to ambush her with the intention of physically punishing her for reporting him to the magistrate? If so, he must have put his plan into action before he saw her set off home with an escort. He certainly had not been ready for the challenge Randolph presented.

      ‘They won’t cow me,’ Deborah announced with a shaky attempt at bravado. ‘I’m not frightened of them.’

      ‘Well, you should be.’ A large hand caught her sharp little chin and tilted her head so he could scan her profile beneath a shadowing bonnet brim. He tightened his hold as she tried to twitch her face free. ‘Has he tried to intimidate you like this before?’

      Deborah shook her head, her golden tresses swaying against his abrasive cheek as he inclined towards her to catch her quiet response. ‘It’s just been nasty looks and comments and so on, although on one occasion he did try to grab me when I passed him in a lane near Hastings. Our maid Lottie was with me that day. But that didn’t stop him.’

      ‘And?’

      ‘I knocked away his hand. It was about six months after Edmund was murdered by one of those brutes. Luckhurst was probably just showing off to his friends. He said he’d marry me so I wasn’t left on the shelf. They all started laughing.’

      ‘You don’t go out alone in future.’

      Deborah swivelled about to frown at him. No man had spoken to her with such curt authority since she was a teenager. And of course her father had had a right to dictate to her. She was a viscount’s daughter, an only child who had been reared to be confident and independent. Since her stepfather had died, and her mother had grown increasingly nervous and prone to her migraines, Deborah had taken over the reins at Woodville Place. She made decisions that affected the lives of her and her mother and their few servants. She was her own mistress. Who did Randolph Chadwicke think he was, ordering her about? But for a quirk of fate the hiatus in their acquaintance might not have been breached today … or any other day in the near future. They were now strangers to one another. She raised sparking sapphire eyes and drew a breath in readiness to forcefully remind him of all of it, but a grim smile told her he had no need to hear her lecture—he could guess the gist of it.

      The stallion was prodded into action and the sudden motion threw her back against him. She felt his arm tighten, anticipating her rejection, but after a moment resting rigidly against him, she felt her body involuntarily relaxing. Soon she’d curved into him for warmth and lowered her bonnet against the wind whipping at her complexion.

      By the time their ride was at an end Deborah was feeling very subdued and not a little guilty.

      The horse ambled in a circle, once, twice, in front of rusting iron gates that stood ajar at the head of a leafy avenue that wound to Woodville Place. She realised Randolph was giving her an opportunity to invite him to take her right up to her door before he had to insist he do so.

      ‘Would you like to have a cup of tea and a bite to eat, sir, before you set on your way again?’ she asked in a small voice.

      ‘Why … thank you, Miss Cleveland, I should very much like that.’ Randolph’s answer was ironically formal and suited to a light dialogue conducted in a drawing room rather than one addressed to the back of her head as she perched, rather windswept, atop his trusty steed. Overhead, branches of a stout oak tree formed a canopy of drily rustling leaves. The breeze strengthened, causing a few scraps of curled russet foliage to drift down and settle on her skirt. In front of her Randolph’s hand brushed them idly off, then refastened on the reins. She stared, as one fascinated, at long brown fingers intertwined with leather, feeling suddenly shyly conscious of her hips snugly settled between