The Regency Season: Blackmailed Brides. Sarah Mallory

      ‘I have no time for superstition, Miss Halbrook.’

      ‘But what about romance?’ Those dark brows rose and she blushed. ‘Some would think it romantic to watch the dawn together.’

      ‘That would be as nonsensical as my wife’s druidical beliefs.’ His hard look challenged Lucy to contradict him, and when she said nothing he continued. ‘She was not missed until just before breakfast time, when her maid realised she had not gone to bed. I organised search parties, but it did not take long to find her. Druids Rock was the first place we looked.’

      ‘How dreadful for you.’

      ‘Not only for me, but for everyone who was staying at Adversane.’

      ‘And yet, you have invited the same people to join you here again?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘And you have invited the players to come in, just as they did the night she—the night Helene died.’

      ‘The Midsummer’s Eve play is a tradition, Miss Halbrook. It goes back generations, far beyond the tragedy of my wife’s death. It is not logical that it should cease because of one tragic event.’

      ‘But surely—’

      He stopped her, saying impatiently, ‘Enough of this. We will talk of something else, if you please, or continue in silence.’

      * * *

      She chose silence, and Ralph found himself regretting it. She might infuriate him with her incessant questions but she was only voicing what others would think. It was as well that he had the answers ready. He acknowledged to himself that he had been misled by her appearance. In Mrs Killinghurst’s office, she had looked positively drab in the enveloping grey gown and quite demure. If he had known she would show such spirit he would never have employed her. A faint smile began inside him. He should be honest with himself. He did know, from that very first encounter in the alley.

      He had deliberately positioned himself at the door of Mrs Killinghurst’s office so that he could observe the candidate for this post and he had seen Miss Lucy Halbrook walking towards him. He had noted the slight hesitation as she found her way blocked, then the way her head had come up as she approached him, determined not to be intimidated.

      Yes, he knew from that first moment that she was not one to accept his demands without question. He should have told Mrs Killinghurst to send her away, to find someone more biddable. Even as the thought formed he realised that after Lucy Halbrook, anyone else would seem very dull indeed.

      * * *

      Lucy hardly noticed the continuing silence. Her mind was too full of what she had heard to make idle conversation. Lord Adversane was lost in his own thoughts and did not appear to object so she occupied herself with studying her surroundings, the rough grass and darker patches of heather, the view of the distant hills. Everything was new and interesting. Suddenly a swathe of white caught her eye, a shifting, snowy carpet nestling in a wide, flat depression a short distance from their path.

      ‘Oh, how pretty. What is it?’

      ‘Cotton grass.’ He strode across to the dip and picked a handful of the fluffy, nodding heads. ‘It grows on boggy ground. It can be used to stuff pillows, though it is not as good as goosedown.’

      ‘It looks very fine,’ she observed.

      ‘It is. Feel it.’

      The breath caught in her throat as he brushed the white heads against her cheek. The touch was gentle, as light as thistledown, but it sent a thrill running through her body. She became shockingly aware of the man standing beside her. She wanted to reach out and touch him, to connect herself to his rugged strength. It was an immense struggle to compose herself and respond calmly.

      ‘It, um, it is as soft as silk.’

      He held her eyes for a moment, a look she could not interpret in his own, then he turned away.

      ‘Unfortunately the strands are too short to be spun into thread.’

      A faint disappointment flickered through her as he cast aside the grasses and began to walk on.

      Did you expect him to present them to you like some lovesick swain?

      With a mental shrug, she fell into step beside him again, walking on in silence until they had crossed Hobart’s Bridge and were approaching the belt of trees that separated the moors from Adversane Hall.

      ‘Does that way lead to the Hall, too?’ she asked, pointing to the old track where it disappeared around the trees.

      ‘Yes. It leads to the main gates, but it will be quicker if we go through the old ride.’

      ‘Is that what it is called? I came out that way,’ said Lucy. ‘I suppose Lady Adversane rode through it when she went to Druids Rock.’

      ‘No, my wife was a nervous rider and preferred to walk. I never come this way.’

      She looked up at the overhanging branches.

      ‘And you have not had many guests since the accident, so consequently it is much overgrown.’

      ‘You are right. The only people to use it now are the servants, if they are walking to Ingleston.’

      ‘But it is such a delightful route, my lord. It seems such a shame that one cannot ride this way any more.’

      ‘It is a loss I can bear.’

      They had reached the gate leading into the grounds of the house. Ralph was about to open it, but Lucy was before him, lifting the latch and walking through, as if declaring her independence. He found himself smiling as he watched her. She was a strange mix, quiet and a little shy, yet not afraid to challenge him, and not at all cowed by his sharp retorts. He had not spoken to anyone of Helene’s death for so long that it had been a relief to talk of it, so much so that he had had to stop himself from confiding his suspicions. But he could not do that, he was playing far too dangerous a game to involve anyone else. If he was wrong then innocent names would be mired by suspicion. It was his plan and he would share it with no one. He alone would take the credit for it. Or the blame.

      Ralph guided Jupiter through the gate and closed it firmly behind him. Lucy was waiting for him. The wind had sprung up and she was busy trying to untangle her shawl.

      ‘Here, let me.’ He dropped Jupiter’s reins so that he could use both hands to take the shawl and drape it around her shoulders.

      ‘Thank you. There are rainclouds on the horizon. I am glad we are back in time to avoid a soaking.’

      She was laughing, completely unaware of how pretty she looked, her windswept curls rioting around her bare head and her skin glowing from the fresh air.

      Kiss her.

      She was knotting the ends of her shawl, oblivious of his hands hovering over her shoulders. He snatched his hands away as she turned her head to address him.

      ‘What say you, my lord, will it last? Shall we be confined indoors by the inclement weather?’

      She was peeping up at him through her lashes and he felt his blood stirring. It was unconsciously done, he would swear to it, but by God that look was damned inviting! With a silent oath he tore his eyes away from her. She was here for a purpose and he would not allow himself to be distracted.

      ‘There is rain on the way, certainly.’ He picked up Jupiter’s reins. ‘You can see the house from here, so there is no reason for me to come farther with you.’

      Without another word, he threw himself into the saddle and dug his heels into the horse’s flanks. Soon they were flying across the park, and he had to concentrate to keep the big hunter steady. As Jupiter settled into his stride Ralph found the unwelcome feelings were receding. It was the novelty of having a young woman in the house, that was all.

      Since Helene’s death he had thrown himself into his work on the estate and shunned