The Reluctant Viscount. Lara Temple

thought she must have made a mistake, that this was surely not Adam. Even accounting for the years that had passed, there seemed nothing but a vague resemblance to connect this tall, hard-looking individual with the young man she had known. She remembered most clearly his expression of devastated hurt when he had realised the extent of Rowena’s betrayal that day at the White Hart. And his intent look when he had been explaining Homer in the small garden of their cottage. And the warmth of his quick, amused smile.

      He was still handsome, but it was almost as if all those elements had been stripped away, exposing a hewn granite core. And he certainly did not look like he was capable of smiling. He was dressed for riding like any country gentleman in pale buckskins, top boots and a dark blue coat tailored perfectly for his broad shoulders, but he looked much larger than she had remembered and there was a foreign air about him. Perhaps it was because he was tanned and his dark hair, which had once been carelessly long, was cut short in an almost military style. But the greatest difference was in his eyes. She had remembered they were grey, but not that they were so dark and watchful. They expressed no emotion. No recognition. Not even curiosity.

      ‘Miss Drake?’ he said after a moment. ‘You wished to see me?’

      She drew a deep breath. She had no idea how or even whether to proceed. It had seemed natural to bring this problem to him when she heard he had arrived at Delacort Hall. She was honest enough with herself to admit that as much as she truly did need help, she had been happy for an excuse to see him again. But neither consideration seemed to apply to this stranger. She had an urge to protest—you can’t be Adam!

      ‘Yes,’ she said hurriedly, before she lost what was left of her nerve. ‘I need...I was hoping you could... This is about Percy.’

      He frowned and moved further into the room, indicating one of the threadbare old chairs. She sat down and he took a chair opposite her.

      ‘Percy Somerton? My cousin?’

      ‘Yes. You see, he is courting my cousin Mary Aldridge. She is an heiress and just turned seventeen. She is living with my aunt in Mowbray.’

      ‘And why is it important that she be saved from Percy’s clutches? He might be a dandy and a wastrel, but he is hardly a dissolute rake like yours truly.’ He said it so blandly it took her a moment to register the self-mockery in his words. She debated telling him the truth and decided to take the plunge.

      ‘Frankly I think being a dandy and a wastrel are sufficient reasons to discourage the match, but there is more than that at stake. The truth is that Charlie asked me to watch over her. He likes her, you see, and until he went away to Cambridge I had thought she liked him, too, very much. But he knows he can’t offer for her until he can support himself. Especially since she is an heiress. He is too proud. And she is very young. And impressionable. She was miserable when he went away and Percy was very attentive. So...’

      ‘So you have taken it on yourself to beat back the ravenous hordes until your brother can stake his claim?’

      She ignored the mocking tone and continued.

      ‘You make it sound like I am interfering. My father is her guardian, after all.’

      ‘Good God, who in their right mind would appoint your father guardian over a gatepost, let alone a wealthy young woman?’ he asked in genuine surprise and she pressed down hard on a smile. So he did remember something about them at least.

      ‘Well, she is his niece. And my uncle, Mr Aldridge, was an avid admirer of my father’s work. I often think that was why he married my aunt in the first place. You might not remember, but society considers my father to be a great poet.’

      ‘Which might explain why society is in the state it is,’ he replied laconically and she couldn’t hold back a gurgle of laughter.

      ‘So,’ he continued. ‘This is all very edifying, but what does it have to do with me?’

      Alyssa’s amusement faded at the coolness in his voice.

      ‘He is your heir—’ she began, but he cut her off.

      ‘He is heir to Delacort when the world decides it has had enough of me. Just as I was Ivor’s heir when the man was foolish enough to try to jump a hedge on a horse better suited to a farmer’s cart before he managed to sire an heir of his own. Nothing more than that. Percy is neither my responsibility nor my concern and so I made clear to the tradesmen who seemed to share your opinion that I am responsible for him and should persist in Ivor’s bad habit of bankrolling his extravagances.’

      Something in the brutal dismissiveness of his words pushed hard at the knot of confused emotions that was roiling inside her and she felt a welcome surge of anger.

      ‘He may not be your responsibility, but he is your concern. You may turn your back on it, but you are turning your back on something that exists whether it suits you or not!’

      His eyes narrowed and to her surprise a slight smile lifted the corner of his mouth.

      ‘So you haven’t changed that much after all. I was wondering what all this diffident propriety had to do with the girl who spent most of her time in breeches and dispensing lectures from the branches of the Hungry Tree.’

      She flushed. She had read somewhere that it was better to be remembered for something outrageous than not remembered at all, but she wasn’t sure she would agree. She took a deep breath and changed tack.

      ‘I do not presume to know what you have had to contend with all these years, but I do know that at one point you would not have calmly disregarded a blatant injustice. When Percy was bullying Charlie you—’

      He interrupted her again. ‘I had forgotten that! What a memory you have. It seems impossible that that little scamp is up at Cambridge. Is he doing well?’

      His expression relaxed into a warm smile that was so at odds with what went before that she once again had a peculiar sense of disorientation. She felt herself smile in an almost involuntary response to this sudden glimpse of the Adam she remembered.

      ‘Very well,’ she answered. ‘And at almost six feet he is definitely no longer a little scamp. Father wanted him to go to Balliol at Oxford like Terry and he did, but I can completely understand why Charlie preferred to get away from us all, for a while at least.’

      The warmth in Adam’s smile receded once again. It was as if he kept stepping in and out of the shadows.

      ‘Very understandable. I seem to remember your household raised chaos to an art form.’

      Alyssa felt the sting of insult. She had done all she could to instil some order into the muddle she had been raised in and she was well aware she had failed most of the time.

      ‘You have no compunction about saying whatever you please, do you?’ she blurted out.

      He smiled lazily.

      ‘I don’t know why you are so sensitive about some plain speaking. You used to speak your mind freely enough once. It is much easier that way. Principles are a damn nuisance, aren’t they?’

      ‘They may be, but not having any isn’t much better!’

      ‘How would you know?’ He laughed.

      ‘How would you know either?’ she shot back. ‘You may talk all you want about not having any, but it is obvious you do, or at least you did have. Otherwise you would not have helped Charlie.’

      ‘That is different. I liked the boy. I didn’t have to go against any inclinations to help him. And besides, that was a very, very long time ago.’

      ‘Well, that’s all principles are, in the end. Rules that make sure we don’t hurt people we care about. Not having any principles means you don’t care about anyone other than yourself.’

      His smile twisted, turning cynical.

      ‘You do go for the jugular, don’t you? It won’t do to try to box me in. I have no intention of getting involved in Percy’s affairs. He is his own master. And frankly