Lord Hawkridge's Secret. Anne Ashley

executing a graceful bow, chose not to linger.

      Although far more successful in concealing the fact, Sebastian had been equally disturbed by this their first meeting in a very long time. The years he had spent in London perfecting the role of a wealthy, pleasure-seeking care-for-nobody had certainly stood him in good stead for just such an occasion as this. But it had not been easy to maintain the impersonation where Emily was concerned, even for those few short minutes.

      When last he had seen her she had been scarcely more than a girl, coltish and slightly awkward, but the intervening years had wrought many changes. ‘Blossomed’ was the word which best described it, he decided, relieving a footman of a glass of champagne, and positioning himself beside the wall, where a huge vase of flowers partially concealed him from those taking part in the dance. Yes, Mother Nature had certainly performed her task well where Miss Emily Stapleton was concerned, bestowing upon her delightful feminine curves, and finely honing the delicate features into perfect symmetry.

      But had all the changes been purely superficial? he could not help wondering, as he keenly followed her graceful progress down the set. Or had she matured mentally too? First impressions would suggest strongly that she had. Was the time now right for him to honour the pledge that he had made to the late Laura Stapleton? Should he attempt to woo her daughter in earnest? More importantly, could he afford to wait any longer? It would be madness to assume that, just because Emily had betrayed no interest in any gentleman during their years apart, she would continue to remain content with her single state. Another Season in Brighton with her late mother’s sister was looming large on the horizon. Then afterwards perhaps London might beckon, where numerous gentlemen bent on making the leap into matrimony would look very favourably upon such a sweetly packaged piece of merchandise. Time, clearly, was no longer on his side. She was the only female to whom he had ever proposed marriage, and against all the odds she had rescinded. Was he really prepared to risk the possibility of experiencing the humiliation and pain of rejection a second time? His mind might advocate the use of caution, and yet…

      Smiling to himself, Sebastian carried his wine across to the room set out for cards. For tonight his head would continue to rule his heart. But for how much longer acumen could persist in winning the battle over desires if he remained in this locale was anybody’s guess!

      Chapter Four

      Understandably enough, Sarah’s conversation at the breakfast table the following morning was all of the party, and how enjoyable it had been. Even John Stapleton surprisingly expressed his pleasure in the evening, before he sought the quiet confines of his library. Only Emily, it seemed, had been less than favourably impressed. She had arrived at Deverel Hall experiencing the gravest misgivings at the prospect of coming face to face with Lord Hawkridge. Yet a few hours later, when she had left in the carriage, she had felt nothing so much as acute resentment over his behaviour towards her.

      Not once, throughout the entire evening, had he taken the trouble to ask her to dance. What was worse, he hadn’t attempted to seek her company a second time. Yet on several occasions throughout the evening she had seen him moving gracefully about the dance floor, while entertaining his various partners with his light-hearted banter. Moreover, he had been among those besotted fops who had languished at Drusilla Deverel’s pretty feet.

      But why should she care? Emily wondered, desperately striving to convince herself that she was not suffering from that most unpleasant emotion—jealousy. It stood to reason that, now he had come into the title, Sebastian would one day be obliged to take the matrimonial plunge if only to beget an heir. When he had proposed to her he had been just plain Mr Hawkridge, and she had much preferred that man. The person she remembered, sincere and reliable, bore little resemblance to the male mannequin whose concerns undoubtedly didn’t rise above the set of his neck-cloth or the arrangement of his locks. Yet just once, when they had spoken together, she had believed she had glimpsed the Sebastian Hawkridge of old.

      Perhaps she had imagined it, though, she decided, automatically rising from the table to help Sarah and Mrs Budd clear away the breakfast dishes. The man of whom she had thought so highly had been far too discerning, far too astute to be beguiled by a lovely face. He would have had little difficulty in recognising the selfish conceit lurking beneath Drusilla Deverel’s beautiful façade. She shook her head, at a complete loss to understand what had happened to him. Was it possible for someone’s nature to change so much in the space of a few short years? Yes, perhaps it was, she decided, after a moment’s consideration. All the same, she could not rid herself of the niggling suspicion that the manner he had adopted at the party had been something of an act.

      ‘Are you going out this morning, Miss Emily?’

      Startled out of her reverie by the housekeeper’s enquiry, Emily recalled the foolish promise she had made and was now obliged to keep.

      ‘Unfortunately, yes, Budd,’ she responded testily, which induced Sarah and the housekeeper to exchange startled glances, for they both knew how much she enjoyed being out in the fresh air. ‘Would you be kind enough to ask Amy to go across to the stables and inform Finn that I require the curricle in half an hour.’

      Silently cursing herself for taking the trouble to entertain someone who appeared to have had little difficulty in ignoring her very existence, not just last night, but for the past five years, while conveniently forgetting that his lordship had never once failed to send her a present on her birthday, Emily begrudgingly took herself back upstairs to change her attire, and was in the process of tying the strings of her bonnet, when Amy entered the bedchamber to inform her that both Lord Hawkridge and Sir Charles Deverel had arrived at the house.

      Although still consumed by biting resentment, Emily did not delay in making her way down to the parlour to discover Sarah there too, dressed in her outdoor clothes. The faint hope that Lord Hawkridge might have called to cancel the planned outing was quickly dashed, but her spirits revived when Sir Charles announced his intention of joining the outing and taking Sarah up beside him.

      ‘You look remarkably well pleased about something,’ his lordship commented, attaching himself to Emily the instant they stepped out of doors.

      She was, but she had no intention of admitting to it, especially not to the man whose conduct she found increasingly puzzling, for today he had dropped that annoyingly affected drawl, and was more casually attired, seeming far more like the Sebastian Hawkridge of old.

      ‘I feel that there’s more than just a touch of spring in the air today,’ she responded lightly. ‘Why shouldn’t I be pleased?’

      ‘Yes, I must agree. Spring, it appears, is nipping at a few people this year.’

      Emily looked up at him sharply, noting the glint in his eyes before he turned to watch Charles assisting Sarah into the phaeton, and wondered for a moment what he had meant, before deciding that he, like herself, must have observed the attention Charles had paid his cousin at the party. It was without doubt the only satisfying aspect of the entire evening, especially when Charles had made a point of dancing with Sarah. Which was more than the man beside her had requested her to do! Resentment reared its ugly head again, and it was as much as Emily could do to stop herself from slapping his hand away when he politely assisted her into the carriage.

      ‘There’s no need for you to come along, Finn,’ Lord Hawkridge announced, clambering up into the seat beside her. ‘I’m capable of taking care of your young mistress.’

      Emily could hardly believe her ears, and almost found herself gaping in astonishment. What a crass nerve to be giving instructions to her servants! she inwardly fumed, and was not reluctant to give voice to her annoyance.

      Sebastian regarded her for a moment in silence, noting the angry set of the determined little chin, as she gave the bays the office to start. ‘I’m sorry, Em,’ he apologised softly. ‘I took it for granted that you wouldn’t require your groom’s presence. I didn’t take into account that you might have become nervous in my company.’

      ‘Of course I’m not nervous!’ she snapped, before something struck her as odd. ‘And how came you to know my groom’s name, may I ask?’

      A