Regency Collection 2013 Part 1. Louise Allen

his heir, isn’t he?’ Miss Collins turned large green eyes towards Nevill, who was sprawled inelegantly under the shade of a lime tree in earnest discussion with Piers. ‘I did think he was rather young, but if he’s going to be an earl one day, perhaps he’s more interesting than I thought.’

      ‘I am sure Lord Penrith will marry sooner or later,’ Bree said, squashing the subject. ‘Look, they have finished setting out the picnic. What a wonderful spread.’

      The young ladies got up and strolled over to admire the combined contents of all the hampers. Footmen were setting out piles of cushions and rugs under trees and a trestle table had been set up for the drinks.

      ‘Allow me to find you a comfortable cushion and fetch you a plate, Miss Mallory.’ It was Max, with his disconcerting habit of appearing at her elbow when she least expected him.

      ‘Thank you, my lord. I must confess to being very sharp-set. Do you always feast so lavishly?’ She sank down on to the cushion Max found for her and looked up at him, narrowing her eyes against the sunlight that filtered through the branches.

      ‘The picnics are generally excellent,’ he admitted. ‘Although it can vary—they are best when we have several ladies with us. When we eat at inns it is usually good. Now, what would you like?’

      For you to sit down next to me and tell me how you feel about me, and not sit and flirt with Lady Harrison, that is what I would like. ‘Oh, anything—a nice mixture of what is there. Surprise me if you can,’ she said lightly as other ladies were escorted to the surrounding seats and they were no longer alone.

      Bree was completely inexperienced with the rituals of courtship, and half the time she was convinced that Max felt nothing for her than friendship. Then he would say something, or she would catch his eyes on her, and a strange shiver of awareness would pass through her as though they had exchanged a thought, or an emotion. Did he feel it too? Or was she just fooling herself that there could be anything between an earl and the daughter of a yeoman?

      Or was he working up to making an improper proposal? She did hope not. Strangely, despite the fact that in her heart of hearts she knew they had no future as man and wife, and despite feeling certain that she was in love with him, Bree felt not the slightest fear that she would succumb to such temptation if it were offered.

      The memory of Max’s kisses were like some tale she had read over and over—utterly familiar, imprinted on her memory, but unreal all the same. Her body still stirred when she thought of them, but she was confident that this physical temptation could be resisted, if it ever came again. It could lead nowhere and she was not such a fool as to throw her hat over the windmill for a few moments of passion. She knew that, for her, a loving marriage was the only relationship she would accept.

      ‘Miss Mallory?’ He was back, a plate in each hand and one of the footmen behind him holding glasses. Bree smiled her thanks and accepted her plate, expecting Max to sit beside her. But he handed the second plate to the person at her side. ‘Lady Harrison. I hope you both have a pleasant meal.’

      Bree stared after his broad back as it retreated down the slope to the next group of diners. ‘Oh.’

      She had not realised she had spoken aloud until Lady Harrison remarked, ‘Did you expect Lord Penrith to join us?’

      ‘No. No, of course not.’ Protesting too much … ‘Why should he?’ That was not much better, implying there would be no reason why he would wish to take luncheon with Lady Harrison.

      ‘Penrith is not much given to the company of young ladies,’ the older woman observed, with a sideways smile at Bree’s carefully blank face. ‘He takes great care not to entangle himself.’

      ‘Very wise, I am sure,’ Bree responded sweetly. ‘After all, I am certain he can find plenty of married ladies to entertain him. Shocking, of course, but such is society, I gather.’

      Lady Harrison’s expression acquired a touch of acid. ‘That is a bold observation for a young lady in the marriage mart to be making about her elders.’

      ‘But I am not on the catch for a husband,’ Bree corrected politely. ‘I have no expectation of making a match, so I find myself freer to call a spade a b—’ she caught herself just in time ‘—a shovel.’ She forked up a little kedgeree with composure. ‘This is truly excellent.’ But her eyes rested on the familiar head below her.

      Bree passed the rest of the meal in silence. Lady Harrison, affronted, turned her shoulder, and Rosa had become absorbed into a group a little farther along. She had scanned the area before she sat down, had seen Bree in apparently harmonious conversation with Lady Harrison, waved and left her to it.

      This gave Bree ample opportunity to review her own sharp tongue and lack of discretion, the unreliability of certain gentlemen and the folly of love. It could not be said to improve her digestion.

      ‘Miss Mallory, might I suggest a short stroll before dessert?’ It was Mr Latymer. She was so glad to see him that she scrambled to her feet with unladylike speed.

      ‘Yes, I should like that, thank you.’

      ‘There is a most excellent vantage point, just around here.’ Brice Latymer waved a languid hand towards a stand of trees. ‘The views to the river are delightful.’

      Bree cast a look down the slope to where Rosa sat, deep in conversation. She should not really go wandering off alone with a man, but this was Mr Latymer, for goodness’ sake, and surely it was not much different from driving alone with a gentleman in the park, an unexceptional activity.

      The clump of trees was thicker, and larger, than she had imagined. And there was no view, merely a glade opening up. She turned, puzzled, and suddenly apprehensive.

      ‘Miss Mallory.’ Mr Latymer took her hand, making her jump. ‘Bree. You cannot be unaware of my feelings for you.’

      ‘Mr Latymer!’ Bree tried to tug her hand free and found it held tight. In fact, the movement brought her closer to him. How had she ever thought his gaze friendly and bland? It was hot, fierce and, she groped wildly for a word, greedy. ‘Mr Latymer, please let me go. I have no idea what you are referring to.’

      ‘Do not be so coy. Marry me.’

      ‘No! I mean, I am conscious of the honour you do me, sir, but I do not feel that we should suit.’ There, that was what one said, was it not? Now he will let go, bow and remove himself.

      But Brice Latymer had not read the same stories that Bree had, or if he had, he showed no inclination to follow the script. He pulled her hard against him, bent his head and took her mouth. Instinctively Bree tried to scream and found that all she had done was to open her lips to him and to his tongue. It was every bit as horrible as she had imagined, before her experience with Max had shown her how pleasurable kissing could be. It obviously depended totally on the man doing the kissing.

      ‘Stop it!’ She managed to wrench her mouth free, only to be jerked back and held against his body, which was hard, hot and very obviously aroused. ‘I do not wish to marry you, sir! Let me go!’

      ‘Tease,’ he said breathlessly. ‘You know you want it, want me. You’ve given me enough encouragement, damn it.’ She tried to push him away, but for all her strong wrists she found she was helpless. ‘Marry me. I know about horses, I’ll help the business, I’m not too proud to marry trade.’

      ‘No!’ This time there were no polite words to soften her refusal. ‘Let me go!’

      ‘Not until you’re ruined.’ He was panting with the effort to hold her, but for all her struggles he was still too much for her. ‘Another ten minutes in here and you’ll have to marry me, Bree Mallory, whether you want to or not.’

      Chapter Fifteen

      ‘Where is Miss Mallory?’ Nevill asked. All through the meal Max had been aware of her presence behind him, of her gaze on his back. Instinct told him she was not pleased to be deserted. This conclusion produced