Love Affairs. Louise Allen

her breath. So close that a waft of lemon verbena teased his nostrils.

      ‘Ma’am? Are you all right? I apologise for my daughter’s abrupt manners.’

      It seemed the widow had been holding her breath, for it came out now in a little gasp. ‘It is...nothing. I turned my ankle a trifle when I twisted around just now.’

      ‘Is the lady coming for tea, Papa?’

      ‘No...I...’

      Damn it, she’s a stranger here, she’s in mourning, she knows no one, what’s the harm? ‘Would you care to join us, Mrs Jordan? Perhaps you should rest that ankle a little.’ When she still stood there, unspeaking, he added, ‘And we are eating outside.’ Just in case she thought he was a dangerous rake who employed children as a cover for his nefarious seductions. He was even more out of touch with country manners than he was with London ones.

      ‘Thank you, Lord Wykeham, I would enjoy that.’ She tipped up her head so she could look directly at the child above them. ‘Good afternoon,’ she said, as serious as if she was addressing a duchess.

      ‘Good afternoon, ma’am.’ The girl—my daughter, Laura thought—bobbed a neat little curtsy. ‘I am Alice.’ She was bare-headed and dressed in a green cotton frock with a white apron that showed evidence of a busy day’s play.

      ‘Allow me,’ Lord Wykeham said before Laura could respond. ‘These steps are more secure than they look. If you take my hand as you climb, you will be quite safe.’

      ‘Thank you.’ She put her ungloved hand in his, her fingers closing around the slight roughness of the leather shooting gloves he wore. Her fictitious twisted ankle and the awkwardness a lady might be expected to show in climbing such an obstacle would account for her unsteadiness, she supposed, as she set foot on the first step.

      * * *

      As she reached the top Alice held out her hand, her warm little fingers gripping Laura’s. ‘Let me help.’

      The shock went through her like a lightning strike. Laura tripped, fell to her knees and found her fingers were laced with Alice’s. ‘Oh!’ Tears welled in her eyes and she blinked them back as she fought the instinct to drag her daughter into her arms and run.

      ‘Your ankle must be more than just turned.’ That man was bending over her. She hunched her shoulder to exclude him from the moment. ‘Let go, Alice, and run and tell Peters to bring out a chair and a footstool for Mrs Jordan.’

      Laura could have snarled at him as Alice loosed her grip and ran up the slope of the lawn. Somehow she turned the sound into a sob of pain.

      ‘Allow me.’ Before she could protest he swept her up into his arms and began to follow the child. ‘I will send for Dr Pearce.’

      ‘There is no need.’ The words emerged sounding quite normal. Laura tried to make herself relax as much as any lady held in the arms of a complete stranger might. She could not follow her instinct and hit out at him, slap his face, call him all the words that buzzed like furious hornets in her brain. ‘I am certain it will be better for a short rest.’

      ‘Even so, I will send for him.’

      Not a man who accepted disagreement with his opinions, but then she already knew he was arrogant and ruthless.

      ‘Thank you, but, no.’

      ‘As you wish.’

      I do. Does no one ever say no to you?

      Laura dredged up some composure from somewhere and tried a tiny barb. ‘Lady Alice is a delightful child.’

      There was a pause, so slight that if she had not been attuned to his every reaction she would never have noticed, then, without breaking stride, Lord Wykeham said, ‘She is not Lady Alice, simply Miss Falconer.’

      ‘Oh, I beg your pardon. I thought in the village they said you were an earl. I must have misunderstood.’

      ‘I am an earl. However, I have never been married and certainly not to Alice’s mother.’ He must have interpreted her small gasp of surprise at his easy admission as one of either shock or embarrassment. ‘I see no reason why the child should suffer for the sins of her father. I will not have her pushed into the background as though she is something I am ashamed of.’

      ‘Indeed not.’ Laura fixed her eyes on the sharp edges of waistcoat and coat lapels and added, with malice, ‘And she looks so very like her father.’

      That went home. She felt the muscles in his arms contract for a moment, but his breathing did not change. ‘Very like,’ Lord Wykeham agreed, not appearing to notice the strange way she phrased the comment.

      It was so strange, fighting this polite battle while in the arms of her opponent. With a less-controlled man, and probably with a less-fit one, she might have expected his body to betray his feelings even though he commanded his expression and his voice. He could have no suspicions of her, so this composure must be habitual. And she need not fear betraying anything by being so close against his body, for he would expect any lady to be flustered by such an intimacy.

      He was warm and smelled not unpleasantly of clean linen, leather and man. She had missed that, the intimate scent of male skin, the feel of muscle against her softness, the strength that was so deceptive, so seductive. It turned a woman’s head, made her believe the man would keep faith with as much steadfastness.

      They had reached the top of the slope. Laura risked a glance forward and found any danger of tears had gone, banished by anticipation of the secret, one-sided duel she had just begun to fight.

      The lawn levelled off beneath the spreading boughs of a great cedar. Windows stretching to the ground had been opened to the spring breeze and a table and chairs brought out to stand beneath the tree. A maid set out dishes on the table and Alice was speaking to a footman who stooped to listen, his face turned to see where she was pointing.

      ‘What a charming house.’ It should have been her home. Her home, Alice’s home. She had never been there, but Piers had described it to her in those brief, breathless days of their courtship. It would be their love nest, away from the smoke and noise and social bustle of London, just the two of them. She had spun fantasies of making a home in this place so that when her hero returned from war he would find love and peace here. She could almost see him now, long legs stretched out as he sat beneath the cedar, so handsome in his scarlet regimentals.

      ‘Yes, it is pleasant and well laid out. A little on the small side compared to Wykeham Hall and the estate is not large, but it is good land.’

      ‘This is not your principal seat, then?’ Laura asked as they reached the table.

      ‘No. I inherited it from a cousin. Here is the chair for you.’ He waited while the footman put down a sturdy one with arms and Alice, staggering a little under the weight, dragged a footstool in front of it. ‘There.’

      Lord Wykeham settled her into place with a brisk efficiency that, unflatteringly, showed no reluctance to yield up possession of her. Laura watched him from beneath her lashes as he went to take his own seat. And why should he wish to keep hold of her? She had exerted none of her powers to attract him, all she had done was to suppress her instincts to storm at him with accusations and reproaches.

      And if I find it necessary to charm him? Can I do that, feeling about him as I do? Why not? I am a good enough actress to attract many men when all I want to do is play with their hearts a little. It would be no hardship to look at him, that was certain. He was as handsome as Piers had been and more. This was not a young man, still growing into his body and his powers. The earl was mature and powerful...and dangerous.

      Laura smiled at Alice and felt the frost that grew around her thoughts when she spoke to Wykeham thaw into warmth. She had every excuse to look at her daughter now and to talk to her. If only I could hold her.

      ‘Thank you very much for fetching me the footstool.’ She lifted her foot onto it and caught a flickering glance from the earl before she twitched her skirts to cover