Regency Scandal. Кэрол Мортимер

Possibly awaiting collection before the contents are distributed to the poor?’

      Pandora drew in a sharp breath at the directness of the Duke’s conversation; obviously they were to continue this morning in the same forthright manner as the previous evening—that is, with none of the social niceties!

      Nevertheless, she would attempt to bring things back on track. ‘May I offer you refreshment, your Grace?’ Pandora looked across at him enquiringly.

      He scowled darkly at her formal manner. ‘No.’

      ‘In that case, perhaps you would care to sit down, your Grace?’ she invited smoothly as she indicated the armchair furthest away from where she had now resumed her own seat on the edge of the cream sofa beside the window.

      An invitation he blatantly ignored as he instead strode forcefully across the room to lower his impressive height down on to that sofa beside her. Pandora immediately found his proximity overpowering as she tried—and failed—to ignore his barely leashed vitality. ‘Perhaps you would care to explain what is going on, Pandora?’ he pressed.

      ‘Going on, your Grace?’

      A humourless smile twisted his firm but sensual lips. ‘The presence of both the trunks in your hallway, and the overfamiliar lawyer in your salon.’

      ‘Is it not a lovely sunny morning, your Grace?’ Pandora turned to look out into the carefully tended and sunlit garden at the back of the house. ‘Did you choose to ride over this morning or come in your carriage?’

      ‘Does it matter?’ he dismissed impatiently.

      ‘I was merely—’

      ‘I know what you were “merely”, Pandora—and I have no intention of sitting here exchanging polite inanities with you.’ He eyed her grimly. ‘I will ask again—why was your lawyer here at this early hour and what are those trunks doing outside in your hallway?’

      She frowned her irritation at his single-mindedness. ‘Could you not try to … to at least pretend to possess the art of polite conversation?’

      ‘No.’

      Pandora rose restlessly to her feet. ‘As I assured you would be the case, I am perfectly recovered from last night’s—unpleasantness. Thank you for enquiring.’ She raised pointed brows.

      Rupert ignored her obvious rebuke, could clearly see that—outwardly, at least—Pandora was indeed completely recovered from Sugdon’s less-than-subtle attentions, the gold of her hair once again swept up and arranged in those becoming curls, with several loose tendrils at her temples and nape, the pale lilac of her fashionable gown a perfect backdrop for the deep-violet colour of her eyes, a gentle blush in those ivory cheeks.

      Yes, outwardly, Pandora Maybury gave every indication of being the polite and gracious hostess she was obviously trying so hard to appear.

      And no doubt she would normally have succeeded, if one failed to notice the slight shadows beneath those beautiful violet-coloured eyes—eyes which, despite Rupert’s effort to convince himself otherwise, were now every bit as beautiful as they had appeared yesterday evening.

      Or had no idea that the blush to her cheeks had been carefully applied rather than being natural. Or missed those lines of strain beside her politely smiling mouth. And the rapidly beating pulse in the long, graceful column of her throat and the shallow rise and fall of the fullness of her breasts above the low neckline of that lilac gown.

      Or the presence of her lawyer—a man who, in Rupert’s estimation, had been far too familiar in addressing her as Pandora—and those damned packing boxes in the hallway!

      Yes, if one failed to notice all of those things, then certainly she could be said to be completely recovered from the previous evening’s ordeal!

      ‘You will no doubt be pleased to know that I made enquiries earlier this morning and was informed that Lord Sugdon has refused all further social engagements and is at this very moment making arrangements to return to the family estate in Yorkshire by the end of the week.’

      ‘I am gratified to hear it.’ She nodded with obvious relief.

      Rupert rose impatiently to his feet before barking, ‘Enough that you will answer my earlier questions?’

      ‘I would prefer that you did not raise your voice to me, sir!’

      Better, Rupert acknowledged with inner satisfaction, as he now saw a spark of rebellion appear in those fine violet-coloured eyes. Much, much better. ‘Very well, Pandora,’ he drawled drily before deliberately making his tone more reasonable. ‘Explain, if you please, why certain of your belongings are packed into trunks, and you have been visited by your lawyer this morning. At least, I am assuming he arrived this morning?’

      She shot him an irritated frown. ‘There are trunks in the hallway and I have been visited by my lawyer—this morning,’ she added primly, ‘because I am to leave London.’

      Rupert scowled his displeasure at having his suspicions confirmed. ‘Is it wise for you to leave London at the same time as Sugdon?’

      An angry flush darkened her cheeks. ‘A mere coincidence.’

      ‘I am aware of that, but the rest of the ton is not.’

      ‘I thought we had agreed that the ton will say what they wish, whatever I choose to do?’

      Rupert frowned darkly. ‘I don’t enjoy having my own words used against me.’

      Pandora shrugged slender shoulders. ‘Even when they are the truth?’

      ‘When are you leaving? To go where? And for how long?’

      She gave a dismissive wave of her lace-gloved hand. ‘As soon as everything is packed and ready to be moved. As to where or for how long … I shall decide that in the next few days.’

      Rupert gazed upon her with narrow-eyed criticism. Had he been mistaken in regard to this woman’s courage the previous evening? The manner in which she had refused to break down completely after Sugdon’s physical and verbal attack? The steadfast way in which she had met Rupert’s every insult on the carriage ride to her home? ‘In other words, you are allowing society to win and have decided to run away.’

      ‘That is unfair!’ The colour in the cheeks was now entirely genuine.

      He shrugged. ‘Life is unfair, Pandora, not I.’

      Her chin rose. ‘I am not running anywhere, your Grace. I have merely decided that society is not yet ready to … to forgive, or forget, the events of a year ago.’

      Rupert’s mouth twisted derisively. ‘And it never will be if you tuck your tail between your legs and simply run away and hide.’ To say that he was disappointed in her would be placing too much importance upon their brief acquaintance. An importance his years of cynicism did not, and would not, allow for.

      Devil take it, he only had to think of the unpleasantness that had taken place after his return to Stratton House the previous evening to be reminded of the fickleness that was women. An unpleasantness which now made it impossible for him to allow this situation with Patricia Stirling to continue another day—no, not even another hour.

      ‘That is easy for you to say.’ Unshed tears now moistened the deep-violet beauty of her eyes. ‘I had hoped—’ She gave a shake of her head as she determinedly blinked away those tears. ‘I have realised, after the events of yesterday evening, that there is nothing here for me in London at present.’

      ‘There are your two friends, the Duchesses of Clayborne and Woollerton.’

      She sighed. ‘Yes. And I am more grateful than I can say for their friendship. But even there I believe it would be better for both my friends if I were to leave London, at least for a while.’

      Rupert snorted his disgust. ‘As I said, you are running away.’

      ‘Will you stop saying that