Never Trust a Rebel. Sarah Mallory

until Mr Bastion had been shown out and the door had barely closed behind him before her exclamation was uttered, resonant with suppressed violence.

      ‘Hush my dear, he may still hear you.’

      ‘I am sure I do not care. I declare I quite abhor him.’

      ‘Why should you do that, my love, when he is doing his best to carry out your father’s wishes?’

      ‘But in such a high-handed manner.’

      Aunt Matthews chuckled.

      ‘He does appear to be in a hurry to get you to the viscount, does he not? But there, your father’s plans were never straightforward, so doubtless there is a good reason for it,’ she added shrewdly.

      Elyse tossed her head. ‘He is the most arrogant, overbearing man I have ever met.’

      ‘Is he? I think it more likely that he is the first man you have met who has not succumbed to your charms.’

      Elyse flushed, not at all pleased at her aunt displaying such unwonted perspicacity. She said no more on the subject and presently took herself off to bed, where her rest was disturbed by dreams of an autocratic gentleman with searching blue eyes.

      * * *

      Despite a long journey and the bracing sea air, it was a long time before Drew slept. He had very reluctantly agreed to become guardian to Harry’s daughter and now he realised that his qualms had been justified. Harry had described his daughter as intelligent, spirited and beautiful, but he had not told Drew just how spirited she was. Nor had Drew believed she would be so beautiful. A veritable diamond. Oh, Harry had described her as such but Drew had dismissed that as a father’s natural partiality. And after all, Harry had not seen his daughter for three years, he could not have known with any certainty that the pretty seventeen-year-old would become a nonpareil.

      As soon as Drew had arrived in Scarborough he had heard bucks in the taproom toasting the incomparable Miss Salforde and the way they had been clustering around her in her own drawing room convinced him that all the menfolk of the town were in thrall to her. It was not difficult to understand why. She was witty and beautiful and she had a smile that could light up a room. And those large pansy-brown eyes—he had no doubt that her local swains had written odes to them. He had seen for himself how they could be velvet soft or sparkling with anger. He imagined they would be heart-stoppingly glorious when they were shining with happiness. Or love.

      The thought had him turning restlessly in his bed. He might not have his old friend’s weakness for a pretty face, but he could not deny the attraction he felt towards Elyse Salforde. What was it that Harry had said?

      ‘Who better than a rake to look after a beautiful woman? Poacher turned gamekeeper, my friend.’

      Well, perhaps there is still a little too much of the poacher about me, thought Drew.

      There was no doubt that he found Elyse Salforde too damned tempting for comfort. It wasn’t just her beauty, but something within her, some force of nature that shone out. When their eyes met it seemed to call to him, like a kindred spirit.

      By God he was turning into an old fool. He pushed himself up and thumped his pillow before settling down again and pulling the blankets more securely around him. He was honour-bound to carry out Harry’s dying wishes and he would do so. He would deliver Harry’s daughter safe and sound to her bridegroom if it was the last thing he did.