A Lady for Lord Randall. Sarah Mallory

of that is going to make me put you down so you can hobble back to the Bentincks and risk doing more damage to your foot.’

      She ground her teeth.

      ‘I think it fortunate that you are a bachelor, sir. Your manners would not endear you to any woman.’

      ‘Then we are in accord, Miss Endacott. That is the very reason I remain single.’

      Mary was so surprised by his answer she could think of nothing to say. Thankfully they were almost at the door, where her cousin was waiting for them.

      ‘I saw you from the drawing-room window,’ Mrs Bentinck declared. ‘What on earth has happened?’

      ‘Miss Endacott has injured her foot.’ The earl dismounted and lifted Mary into his arms, depositing her neatly on the doorstep. ‘Since she could not fit her boot over the bandage I brought her home. It is nothing to be anxious about, ma’am. Once the foot is bathed in salt water and a sticking plaster applied she will be able to walk on it again.’

      ‘Yes, yes, of course.’ Mrs Bentinck put her arm about Mary, saying in a distracted way, ‘But Mrs Graveney invited us all to take tea with her this afternoon at Somervil House.’

      ‘There is no reason why you and Mr Bentinck cannot come,’ he replied. ‘Although I am sure my sister will understand if Miss Endacott feels the need to lie upon her bed for the rest of the day.’

      The earl gave them a brief nod and nimbly remounted his horse, riding off without a backward glance. Mary’s hands clenched around the hapless boot and she longed to hurl it after his retreating form. As if she was such a weakling that she must needs take to her bed over such a trifle.

      * * *

      Randall resisted the urge to look back. He felt sure that Mary would be looking daggers at him. He felt a smile tugging at his mouth: what was it about the woman that made him want to tease her? He rarely teased anyone. It was childish, but Mary Endacott made him feel like a callow youth again. Perhaps it was her independence, her determination not to seek his good opinion. That was unusual—he was far more used to females using every trick they could to attract him. She was the only woman he had met who considered he was right to remain a bachelor, although she could not know the true reason he would never marry.

      After watching his mother lose her bloom while the old earl amused himself with a succession of mistresses, as well as the women at Chalfont Magna, Randall was determined never to inflict such a life on any woman. He had grown up with the conviction that one should marry for love, though heaven knew where that sentiment originated. But how could he insist that his wife should love him when he could not guarantee to be faithful to her? Like father, like son. Had he not proved, years ago, how alike they were? No. he would remain a soldier. That was a life he understood, a life he could control.

      * * *

      Mary pulled a clean silk stocking carefully over the sticking plaster on her foot. It barely hurt at all now, but she had decided she would not go to Somervil that afternoon. She had preparations to make before her departure, she did not have time for such a frivolous occupation as tea drinking. Harriett would understand.

      And you will not have to see Lord Randall again.

      ‘All the better,’ she said aloud.

      It will demonstrate to the world that you are the weaker sex.

      ‘It will demonstrate that I have the intelligence not to place myself in a position of danger.’

       Danger? What danger can there be from a man who barely notices you?

      She fluttered her hand, as if to bat away the unwelcome arguments that revolved in her head.

       Lord Randall is no threat, and you will be leaving soon. There is no reason at all to avoid him. Unless you are afraid.

      ‘Of course I am not afraid,’ she told herself crossly.

      But the thought rankled. Papa had brought her up to fear nothing and question everything. There was a logical explanation for all things, he had said. Face your demons and you will understand them. And Lord Randall could hardly be called a demon. Proud, yes. Autocratic, definitely, and used to being obeyed, but no demon.

      She rose and shook out her skirts. She would go with the Bentincks this afternoon and prove to herself that there was nothing remotely dangerous in taking tea at Somervil House.

      * * *

      Harriett came forward as they were shown into the drawing room, saying cheerfully, ‘I almost suggested we should put a table on the terrace, it is so warm. But, Mary, what is this Randall tells me, you have hurt your foot?’

      ‘It is the veriest scratch,’ she replied, ‘As you see I am perfectly able to walk upon it.’

      Mr Graveney and Lord Randall were standing together by the window and Mary dipped a curtsy to them both before choosing to sit down in a chair on the far side of the room. She had hoped that in his sister’s house the earl might look a little less imposing, but no. His upright bearing and long-limbed figure were even more noticeable next to portly Mr Graveney. Just looking at the earl made her mouth go dry. He looked so solid and dependable, and Mary thought suddenly how comfortable it would be to have someone she could lean upon.

      ‘That would be lovely, would it not, Mary?’

      Mrs Bentinck was handing her a cup of tea.

      ‘I beg your pardon,’ she stammered. ‘My thoughts were miles away.’

      ‘Mrs Graveney was suggesting we should take a walk later, to see how they have landscaped the gardens.’

      ‘Yes, an excellent idea,’ Mary concurred. She really must concentrate.

      ‘Unless you would rather sit here and rest your foot,’ suggested Harriett. ‘Randall could keep you company.’

      ‘No, no, I am perfectly well, thank you,’ Mary replied hastily. ‘And I would very much like to see your gardens before I leave.’

      ‘Yes, they have turned out very well, I think,’ said Mr Graveney. ‘Although they are nothing to the grounds of Chalfont Abbey, Lord Randall’s country seat.’

      ‘I can take no credit for that. My military duties do not allow me much time at the Abbey, but my mother keeps everything in excellent order.’

      Mr Bentinck turned to the earl.

      ‘I trust, my lord, that you did not suffer overmuch from being thrust into the lion’s den the other night?’

      ‘Not at all, sir.’

      Harriett laughed.

      ‘My brother is being polite, Mr Bentinck. He thinks many of your guests would be improved by a spell in the military.’

      ‘And so they would,’ agreed Mrs Bentinck, chuckling. ‘Or even if they had to work for their living, as poor Mary is obliged to do, and to suffer the indignity of being shunned in polite society by those who are only too willing to use her services. Is that not so, my dear?’

      ‘Oh, it is not so bad, really.’

      Randall saw the telltale blush stealing into Mary’s cheek as she murmured her reply and was glad for her sake when Bentinck took the discussion in a different direction.

      It was no wonder she should look embarrassed. He glanced at his sister; she was continuing to pour tea as if nothing was amiss at all. He felt his jaw set hard in disapproval. Graveney had led his sister too far down the path of radicalism for his liking, but he was a guest in the fellow’s house, he could hardly voice his disapproval now.

      * * *

      When they had finished drinking their tea and the idea of a walk was again mooted he decided to make his excuses and withdraw. Unfortunately Hattie had other ideas.

      ‘Oh, but you cannot disappear now, Randall. Theo wants to show Mr Bentinck the new book he has purchased,