Regency Scandal. Кэрол Мортимер

assistance, now had every hope he might soon bring to a satisfactory end. ‘Things are not always as they appear, Pandora,’ he said evasively.

      Pandora knew that, better than most! Although she failed to see how Rupert Stirling could possibly explain—even should he care to do so—his present living arrangements in such a way as to give them the appearance of being anything other than what they were: he and his widowed stepmother, a woman he was known to have been intimately involved with prior to his father’s marrying her, had been openly living together since that gentleman’s death.

      Her gaze flicked over the Duke in dismissal. ‘I believe this evening has taken care of any obligation I may have felt towards you, and as I neither expect, nor desire, to see you again after this evening, the subject of your present unorthodox living arrangements is of little interest to me.’

      ‘Ah.’

      Pandora’s gaze sharpened warily on the aristocratically handsome face opposite, not at all reassured by the humour she saw glinting in those pale grey eyes and the cynical twist to that sensual mouth. ‘What do you mean by “ah”?’

      ‘Yet another subject I feel it would be best we wait until we are alone to discuss,’ the Duke said with an expressive glance up to where his groom was perched upon the back of the coach.

      Pandora couldn’t help but approve of the way Rupert had taken account of the presence of his groom. So many of the aristocracy paid little heed to the presence of their servants when in conversation, seeming to regard them as they might a piece of furniture: of use, but without emotions or opinions of their own. A mistaken belief that all too often led to the servants knowing more of the personal business of their employers than was either prudent or safe. As Pandora knew to her cost …

      She shook her head. ‘I see no other opportunity in which we might ever converse alone.’

      ‘The opportunity will occur, Pandora, when you invite me into your home for a nightcap, as a way of saying thank you for taking you to the opera this evening,’ Rupert drawled.

      ‘An outing I had no wish to attend in the first place!’

      ‘Well … no,’ he conceded drily. ‘But it’s still polite to say thank you.’

      Had Pandora ever met such an infuriating gentleman in her life before as this one? If she had then she did not recall it. And she would most certainly have remembered if she had ever met anyone who annoyed and irritated her as much as this particular gentleman did!

      And what annoyed and irritated her most was that she knew quite well it wasn’t just those two emotions he made her feel …

      Beneath the exasperation, there was a feeling of … of excitement, of awareness, that Pandora had never experienced before. A frisson, something, that made her aware of Rupert Stirling’s every move and mood, even when she couldn’t see him, as she hadn’t been able to in the theatre earlier. She had certainly felt his presence behind her, been aware of his warmth, the insidious smell of him, of sandalwood and lemons and that something else that was unique to Rupert, that warmth and smell stirring her senses until she was aware of every breath he took as well as every shift in posture he made.

      Pandora had no previous experience of those sensations to know how best to describe them, she only knew that she had felt them, deep inside her. That, in the close confines of the ducal coach, she felt them still, stirring her, arousing her, so that the tips of her breasts seemed to tingle inside her gown and between her thighs felt uncomfortably warm.

      So much so that she now feared the very idea of being alone with him in the privacy of her home …

      She straightened her spine against the upholstered bench seat. ‘Then I will thank you now and save us both the trouble of any further attempt at politeness between us.’

      ‘Oh, no, Pandora, that will not do at all.’ Rupert chuckled huskily. ‘The offer of a decent glass of brandy is the very least you owe me for having suffered through the opera this evening.’

      ‘Our choice of entertainment was your own suggestion!’

      ‘Only because I thought it would please you.’

      Her eyes widened. ‘You thought no such thing!’

      ‘Do you presume, Pandora, after being acquainted with me for a scant twenty-four hours, to now know my character so well that you also know my thoughts?’ Rupert raised sceptical brows.

      ‘Well. No. Of course I don’t know you well.’ A blush once again warmed her cheeks. ‘At all, really,’ she amended with a frown. ‘If I may say so, you’re a decidedly enigmatic man at the best of times—’

      ‘And these are certainly not the best of times,’ Rupert cut in drily.

      ‘They most certainly are not!’ Those violet eyes glittered her displeasure.

      He chuckled wryly. ‘Do not fear, Pandora, all will be revealed once we are safely ensconced in the privacy of your home.’

      A statement she did not find in the least reassuring!

      ‘—talk to your household staff regarding the amount of candles they have left burning in your absence.’

      Pandora, having fallen into a stony silence for the rest of the carriage ride to her home, a silence the Duke had happily emulated, as he, too, seemed lost in his own thoughts, now looked enquiringly across the carriage at him.

      ‘Your home is lit up like Carlton House,’ he explained in answer to her silent enquiry.

      Pandora could see that for herself when she sat forwards to glance out of the carriage. As the groom opened the door, every room at the front of the house seemed to be alight with burning candles. ‘I don’t understand …’ she murmured faintly as she stepped down from the carriage.

      ‘Perhaps your household staff have taken advantage of your absence to indulge in a leaving-London party?’ Rupert suggested sarcastically as he stepped down beside her and placed his hat upon his head.

      ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ Pandora shot him an irritated glance when he took a proprietary hold of her elbow as they walked up the steps to the front door of the house.

      He frowned darkly. ‘That’s the second time you have called me such today.’

      ‘You deserved it,’ Pandora snapped.

      No doubt, Rupert acknowledged ruefully, and yet, apart from Dante and Benedict, he knew no one else of his acquaintance who would have dared to speak to the Duke of Stratton in such familiar and dismissive terms.

      It seemed that his respect and admiration for Pandora Maybury grew exponentially. ‘You are—’ Rupert broke off his comment as the front door of the house was opened by the butler, and in doing so allowing the sounds to be heard from within the house—primarily a wailing Rupert found almost as painful to his ears as he had the singing at the opera earlier! ‘What on earth …?’

      All was pandemonium as Rupert put Pandora aside in safety before stepping into the small entrance hall of her home, the servants—dozens of them, it seemed, although Rupert doubted that Pandora actually needed to employ dozens of servants in this small mansion—milling about in what appeared to be unproductive disarray. The loud wailing was coming from a thin woman of middle years as she sat upon the bottom step of the staircase.

      Rupert glared his disapproval. ‘Cease that infernal racket, woman!’ He nodded with grim satisfaction as the wailing, all noise, instantly ceased as everyone in the crowded hallway turned to look at him wide-eyed.

      Rupert could now see that there were actually only six other people in the hallway besides himself: the elderly gentleman he knew to be the butler, two flighty-looking girls who were no doubts the upstairs and downstairs maids, a lady of middle years whom he presumed was the cook by her plumpness and the pinafore she wore over her beige gown and a bedraggled child of twelve or thirteen years, who might or might not be her kitchen maid. A motley crew, to be sure, none of whom Rupert would have seen