Love Affairs. Louise Allen

going to lose everything else in my life to your scheming.’

      Laura turned on her heel and walked away before he saw the defeat in her eyes, while anger still gave her the strength to preserve the last shreds of her dignity.

      * * *

      ‘That could have gone better, Nero.’ The gelding twitched an ear, but otherwise did not contribute anything to the one-sided conversation. ‘She made me lose my temper. No...’ Avery twitched his riding crop out of his boot and took a vicious swipe at some long grass ‘...she did nothing. I took one look, lost my temper and carried her off on my saddle bow like one of Scott’s blasted heroes. And then what did I think I was going to do with her?’ Nero cocked up one hind hoof and settled into the equine equivalent of a slouch. ‘Kiss her senseless?’

      Avery’s body stirred, interested in this line of thought. The lack of control did nothing to improve his temper. ‘How can I find her so damnably arousing when all I want to do is throttle the woman?’ He gathered up the reins and remounted. As he moved, the scent of her rose from the front of his coat where Laura had been pressed against broadcloth and linen. Warm, angry woman blended with orange water.

      Warm, frightened woman, he hoped. He had never threatened a woman in his life and it did not sit well with him now, but he’d carry out his threats without hesitation if he thought she was any danger to Alice’s future. He would live with his conscience afterwards.

      Laura Campion had courage, he’d say that for her. Avery dug his heels in and sent Nero back the way he’d come at the canter. Any other woman would have had hysterics, carried off like that. He recalled the look in her eyes as she’d faced him down. She had not flinched—yet how had she known he would not hurt her, one way or another?

      But then she was a good actress with strong nerves—‘Caroline Jordan’ had been proof of that. It was a miracle he had not become even more wrapped up in the young widow than he had, attracted by her air of mystery, her sensual allure, her cool distance and haunting air of sadness.

      It was humiliating for a man who prided himself on being a good judge of character that he had found himself intrigued by a woman whose morals were loose, who had written that scathing letter to a man who was risking his life for his country and who had given away her child and had forgotten her for six long years.

      Avery reined in as the reservoir came in sight. He needed a few moments to restore a calm, cheerful face for Alice. Just why was Laura interested in her daughter now? The question kept nagging at him. Perhaps she was coming to realise that she had lost the chance of a decent marriage with her fast behaviour and her smirched reputation. Perhaps, with maturity, she was coming to yearn for a child.

      Well, it was too late to claim this one, he thought, catching sight of Alice playing ball with three other small girls, their bright dresses like so many large butterflies as they ran and laughed over the grass. Laura Campion was never going to get close to Alice again.

      * * *

      Pritchett, her butler, was too well trained to remark on his mistress’s flushed face, crumpled skirts or scowl. He took Laura’s bonnet and pelisse and remarked, ‘You have a visitor, my lady. The Dowager Lady Birtwell arrived fifteen minutes ago. I informed her you were out, but she said she was fatigued and would wait.’ He lowered his voice to a confidential murmur. ‘I believe she is resting her eyes. Naturally, I sent in a tea tray.’

      ‘Lady Birtwell? I wonder what...?’ Laura looked down at her drab gown and shuddered. ‘Please send my woman to me, Pritchett, and have fresh tea prepared. I will be ten minutes.’

      She hastened upstairs, untying her bonnet as she went. What on earth did the old dragon want with her? ‘Mab, I need to change quickly. The Pomona-green afternoon dress.’

      * * *

      Laura came down within the time she had allowed herself, neatly gowned, her hair brushed into a simple style, a Norwich shawl draped negligently over her elbows. She could only hope that the dowager did not notice that her hands were still trembling and she was fighting for composure with iron determination.

      ‘Lady Birtwell, I am so sorry to have kept you waiting. I do hope Pritchett has been looking after you. Fresh tea is on its way.’

      ‘No need to be sorry, child. You weren’t expecting me. Glad of the chance for a rest, if truth be told. I’ve been running about like a scalded cat all day.’ She accepted a fresh cup of tea and a macaroon.

      ‘Nothing is wrong, I hope, ma’am?’ Laura sipped her own tea and wished for a large glass of Madeira instead.

      ‘I have the whim to hold a house party next week. Short notice, I know, but the weather is sultry and is doing my breathing no good, the Season is slacking off and I thought a few days in the country would put me back in prime fettle. Just a select company, a dozen or so. Get some of those girls out of the hothouse at Almack’s for some fresh air and invite some of my old friends for a comfortable few days, you know the sort of thing. Hmm? What do you think?’

      ‘I am sure you will find it restores you in no time, Lady Birtwell.’ The dowager was famous for her relaxed, cheerful house parties with a range of guests, excellent food and informal entertainments from shooting at the archery butts to impromptu dancing.

      ‘Excellent. You’ll come, of course.’ The rings encrusting her plump fingers sparkled in the sunlight as the older woman put down her teacup.

      ‘Me? I, er...I would be delighted, of course, but I don’t...’

      ‘There’s nothing on in town of any importance, or I would know about it.’ She narrowed her eyes and studied Laura, head cocked to one side. ‘You look flushed, my girl. You courting on the sly?’

      ‘What? I mean, certainly not, Lady Birtwell!’

      ‘I’m pleased to hear it. Do your reputation no good to be carrying on some clandestine flirtation—what you get up to in public is bad enough.’

      ‘Yes, ma’am.’ And what would you say if you’d seen me an hour ago?

      Her instinct was to refuse, upset as she was, but Laura bit back the polite words as she made herself reconsider. She is offering me a week in the country, a week away from any risk of seeing Avery. Was it cowardly to run away? Laura found she did not care whether it was or not. She was tired of being brave and bold. ‘Thank you, I would very much like to come to Old Birtwell House.’

      ‘Excellent. Do you need me to arrange transport?’ The dowager reached for her reticule.

      ‘Thank you, no. I will use my own carriage and bring my maid with me, if that is convenient.’ Laura pulled the bell cord for Pritchett.

      ‘Oh, yes, plenty of room in the staff wing and the stables. I will see you on Monday afternoon—bring the recipe for those macaroons with you.’

      When the front door closed behind her guest Laura sank back on the sofa and closed her eyes. Lord Wykeham had defeated her, frightened her and humiliated her. He would keep her daughter from her and ensure she never got so much of a glimpse of Alice. Her only consolation was her conviction that he loved the child and would care for her.

      Now all she had to do was to decide how she was going to spend the rest of her existence, because now her former life, the pursuit of pleasure, the frisson of being Scandal’s Virgin, held no attraction whatsoever. Dry-eyed, Laura gazed at the row of stiff, engraved and gilded invitation cards that lined the mantel shelf. Her old life was dust, her heart felt as though Avery Falconer had kicked it and she had no idea what she was going to do next.

      Except escape to the country and ride and gossip and eat too much and try, somehow, to imagine a future.

      * * *

      She had been to Lady Birtwell’s house parties before and the sight of the house, its warm red brick glowing in the afternoon sunlight, was pleasantly familiar. The journey from London into the Surrey countryside had been smooth and uneventful, despite Laura’s wish for something to take her mind off her emotional bruises. A minor riot, an escaped bull,