The Rake's Defiant Mistress. Mary Brendan

with her husband, or even been kissed, but she could recognise the signs that a man wanted her. She had seen the same smouldering intensity at the back of Ian Bryant’s eyes just a couple of days ago when he proposed to her. She had known for a year or more that Ian wanted to bed her. But the doctor didn’t possess skill enough to neutralise a tense situation, or his passion, as it seemed this man could.

      Sir Clayton didn’t look in the least disconcerted at being caught out. He raised a long finger, stroked the baby’s soft cheek and lightly remarked, ‘There’s a young maid hovering at the end of the corridor.’ He gave Ruth a nonchalant smile. ‘Perhaps she has come to see to James.’

      Ruth slowly expelled her pent-up breath. She pivoted about, grateful for the distraction, and gave young Rosie a beseeching look. At the signal the nursemaid immediately hastened to them and dipped a curtsy.

      ‘Beggin’your pardon, ma’am…sir…’ she began in her lilting Irish way, ‘but the mistress did tell me to come to settle the little lad down sooner. When I said to her that I’d found you was asleep and so was little James, she said to leave it for a while and not to disturb you at all.’

      Ruth gave the nervous girl a smile. She could tell that Rosie was in awe of the handsome gentleman by the way she kept sliding glances at Sir Clayton, then blushing and shuffling on the spot.

      Ruth handed over her precious burden. ‘I think he might need some urgent attention,’ she told the girl and gently patted at the baby’s bottom.

      Rosie took the baby carefully and with natural fondness immediately smoothed the fair down on his head. ‘Come on then, me little lad,’ she crooned against his warm cheek. ‘Let’s get you seen to.’

      Once the maid had disappeared with her charge, and Ruth and Clayton were left alone at the top of the stairs, they both attempted to immediately breach the quiet with conversation.

      ‘I thought we had left this behind us…’

      ‘Are you staying long in Willowdene…?’

      They had spoken simultaneously and fell silent at the same time too.

      ‘Please do finish what you were saying, sir,’ Ruth blurted.

      ‘It was nothing important, just a remark about the unseasonal weather. I thought we had left the snow behind us in the winter months. Only last week we were enjoying fine spring sunshine in town.’

      ‘Indeed, it was glorious in the countryside too,’ Ruth responded quickly. The weather was always an easy topic to discuss and she eagerly picked up the thread he’d dangled. ‘But it is not so unusual to have snow at this time of the year,’ Ruth spun out the dialogue. ‘I recall my mother telling me that it was snowing in March in the year of my birth. The doctor had quite a journey through the blizzard and was almost late for my arrival.’

      ‘So…you’ve had a birthday recently, Mrs Hayden,’ Clayton observed with a smile.

      ‘No…not yet…it is my birthday next week,’ Ruth admitted, suddenly wishing she had kept that particular anecdote private. Into the expectant pause she said with a hint of defensiveness, ‘I shall be nine and twenty on the twenty-fifth of March.’

      ‘Will you indeed?’ Clayton said, gently amused, but genuinely surprised. She certainly did not appear to be so close to thirty. ‘You’re still a youngster, then,’ he added charmingly. ‘In November of this year I shall turn thirty-five.’

      A small smile from Ruth rewarded him for his gallantry. ‘Then you must be either born under the sign of Scorpio or Sagittarius,’ she remarked, gladly turning the focus on to him.

      ‘Very possibly,’ he admitted on a chuckle, ‘but I have little interest in stargazing or what it all means.’

      ‘I find the study of the heavens quite pleasing,’ Ruth said.

      ‘Whereas I prefer to concentrate on earthly pleasures.’

      Ruth felt herself blush, but shot back rather acidly, ‘Sagittarians are often hedonistic. I would hazard a guess that your birthday falls at the end of the month of November.’

      He gave her a smile, but no further information. Instead he said easily, ‘I interrupted you earlier. I believe you were enquiring how long I intended to stay in Willowdene.’

      ‘I…yes…I did…’ Ruth admitted, while hoping he did not think she cared if he was soon to leave.

      ‘You asked from courtesy rather than curiosity, I take it,’ Clayton remarked.

      The note of mockery in his voice made Ruth bristle and tilt her chin. ‘Indeed, and I expect we might need to find some more polite topics of conversation while we wait for our hosts.’

      Clayton’s slow smile turned to a chuckle. ‘I expect we shall; and probably quite a few of them. I wouldn’t be surprised if the fond couple are occupied…catching up on news…for some while yet.’

      This time Ruth refused to turn away in embarrassment despite sensing heat fizzing beneath her cheeks. Her earthy dark eyes clashed with his in a way that deepened his smile.

      ‘Shall we go to the library?’ Clayton extended an elegant arm. ‘When I arrived there was a good fire in there and plenty of weighty tomes to peruse, in the event that we run out of polite chitchat while we wait for our supper to be served.’

      After a barely discernible pause Ruth extended a hand to hover on his arm. As they descended the stairs together she was again impressed by the way he could dissolve tension between them. He looked down at her with engaging grin. ‘I’m feeling ravenous, actually. I hope a good dinner is waiting for us. And plenty of it.’

      ‘Sarah is a very competent hostess,’ Ruth championed pioned her friend. ‘And the last time I dined here—just before they left for Surrey—there were fourteen courses.’

      ‘Ah! That should just about fill me up,’ he said contentedly. ‘It is a shame you missed their marriage,’ Clayton remarked as they gained the hallway and turned towards the library.

      Ruth nodded her shiny dark head and sent him a glancing smile. ‘Yes, it was,’ she softly agreed, recalling her sadness at having turned down Sarah’s invitation to be her matron of honour. ‘But at that time my papa had only recently been buried and, much as I would have loved to be part of the celebrations, it would not have been appropriate. Etiquette must be observed,’ she said ruefully.

      ‘Etiquette can be a damnable nuisance,’ Clayton returned and slid her a look. ‘I had hoped to see you that day.’

      That blunt admission surprised Ruth to such a degree that for a moment she was unable to tear her gaze from his. ‘Well…I think our dinner will be worth waiting for,’ she blurted and swung her face towards the green baize door that led to the kitchens. ‘Something smells exceedingly good.’

      Clayton sniffed at air that was thick with a tantalising savoury aroma. ‘Beef and horseradish,’ he guessed.

      ‘I would say chicken…or perhaps goose.’ Ruth was sure she could discern the tang of sage-and-onion stuffing wafting in the atmosphere.

      ‘A wager?’ Clayton carelessly challenged.

      ‘Of course,’ she accepted with a gay laugh. ‘And I know exactly what I claim as my prize. If I am right, I must insist you demand we play cards later when Sarah suggests I entertain the company by playing the pianoforte. She will have it that I can sing in key. I assure you that I cannot and you won’t want to listen to me prove it.’

      Clayton chuckled. ‘Agreed. But what if I win…?’

      Ruth tossed him a smile. ‘Oh, if you win, I shall allow you to beat me just the once at piquet. I’m very good, you know.’

      ‘Are you, indeed?’ Clayton murmured. ‘Most of the ladies I know are very bad…’

      Ruth turned her head, the knot of excitement within tightening. He was a practised flirt, she told herself—a