Deborah was watching the fashionable crowd milling on the street outside the teashop’s bow windows.
‘This is the place to come if you wish to witness the Woodbridge scandals,’ she said cheerfully. ‘Only look at that Captain of Dragoons parading in front of the ladies! That is George Brandon Smith, who is allegedly the most handsome man in the 21st Foot! He fought a duel with another officer over a lady recently and was almost cashiered as a result. Only his connection with the Devonshires saved him and caused the matter to be hushed up.’
‘Do you know him?’ Rachel enquired. ‘He looks a rather haughty man.’
‘Oh, he has a very inflated opinion of himself,’ Deborah said, smiling. ‘I know him a little, for he condescended to dance with me at the last Assembly. He told me that I was most fortunate, for he usually only deigns to dance with titled ladies!’
Rachel made a noise of disgust. ‘Of all the pretentious nonsense! I am glad, then, that my father is a mere baronet.’ She looked out of the teashop window. ‘How busy it is! I confess that I had forgotten what it was like to live near a town. It is a long time since we were settled anywhere like this. I am more accustomed to the depths of Wiltshire, or the Shetland Islands or even Italy.’
‘Your childhood must have been quite the opposite of mine,’ Deborah said. ‘What did you do with yourself whilst your parents excavated their antiquities?’
‘I learned to distil whisky illegally in Scotland, to poach pheasants in Wiltshire and to read Etruscan in Italy,’ Rachel said with a smile. ‘None of them are the accomplishments of a young lady.’
‘Poaching and illegal whisky!’ Deborah said, with the greatest admiration. ‘How marvellous, Rachel. But what were your parents thinking?’
‘I believe they were thinking about their artefacts,’ Rachel said composedly. She gripped her hands together about the little blue-and-white china teacup. What she really wanted to say was that she had always believed that her arrival had been unexpected, a disruption to her parents’ plans, and that her subsequent existence had been a severe trial to them. But it felt a little disloyal and she did not know Deborah well enough yet to confide.
Mrs Stratton’s animated face had softened slightly. She put an impulsive hand out to Rachel. ‘You poor girl! I do believe that you would have given anything for a childhood as ordinary as mine, whilst I would have given anything for the excitement of yours!’
They laughed together.
‘What was Lord Newlyn doing whilst you were learning to poach?’ Deb asked.
Rachel smiled a little. ‘Oh, Cory would follow my parents around like a faithful dog! He spent many of his holidays with us, you know. At first I do not believe that his parents approved, but his very determination won them over. He was very kind to me,’ she added, helping herself to a second marshmallow. ‘I did not appreciate it at the time, but I do not suppose many boys would have been so tolerant of a small girl. Most would probably have found me irritating.’
‘Goodness!’ Deborah said suddenly, sitting forward. ‘I do believe that it is Lord Richard Kestrel outside. And Lord Newlyn! Are we to see a riot in Woodbridge, as all those ladies try to attract their attention?’
Rachel looked. Cory Newlyn and Richard Kestrel were strolling down Angel Hill in the sunshine with a casual aplomb that was reminiscent of Bond Street rather than the decidedly more provincial surroundings of a country town. They were being followed at a somewhat indiscreet distance by a positive tidal wave of ladies fluttering and flouncing in their summer dresses.
Deb sighed. ‘I wish that I could claim your acquaintance with Lord Newlyn, Rachel. He has taken me driving, you know, but although we talked on all manner of topics, I have the strangest feeling that he is not an easy man to get to know.’ She wrinkled up her face. ‘Oh, he is charm personified, but under the surface…’ she gave a little shiver ‘…I suspect he is ruthless and rather dangerous-in a thoroughly fascinating way!’
Rachel fidgeted with her empty cup. She had not known that Cory had taken Deborah driving and was disconcerted to find that she did not like the idea. Seeing him now felt a little odd, as though she was looking at him from an entirely different perspective. They had not met for several days, for, in order to counteract the peculiar effect that Cory had had on her at Saltires that afternoon, Rachel had kept out of his way. She had assumed that he had been working on the excavation with her parents and she had been busy with…Well, busy with all sorts of matters that had kept her from his presence. It had been her choice to avoid him and yet she felt oddly dissatisfied with the results, which was in itself annoying and contrary.
‘Under the surface, my dear Deb,’ she said, as lightly as she could, ‘Cory is as arrogant and self-opinionated as all other gentlemen of his type!’
Nevertheless, she could see why Cory was creating such a stir. With his long, lean frame and his careless grace, he compelled female attention wherever he went.
‘I suppose that he is quite good looking,’ she added, in a casual tone that sounded slightly false even to her own ears, ‘but his looks are nothing compared to Lord Richard Kestrel. Glory, what a handsome man he is!’
Deb looked unimpressed. ‘I’ll allow that Lord Richard is nice enough to look at, but if you are speaking of arrogance, Rachel, there is a cast to his countenance that quite spoils his appearance in my opinion, and gives fair warning of his nature.’
Rachel bent over the teapot to hide her smile. Deborah had sounded quite indignant and Rachel suspected that her opinion was not entirely unbiased.
‘Oh, no,’ Deb whispered, ‘they are looking this way! Pray make as though you have not noticed them, Rachel, for although I should be glad to give the time of day to Lord Newlyn, I do not wish to speak with Lord Richard at all.’
‘It is a little difficult to ignore them when we are sitting in the window,’ Rachel pointed out, as Deb shrank back against the wall in a vain attempt to disguise herself. ‘I should not concern yourself. There is no danger of them joining us, for Lord Newlyn has never been known to drink tea. He considers it boring.’
She was foresworn almost immediately as Cory and Richard Kestrel entered the teashop and made directly for their corner. Suddenly the room seemed rather small and it became smaller still as an indiscreet rush of ladies poured through the door in hot pursuit and squabbled over who should take the remaining tables.
‘Good afternoon, Rachel,’ Cory said, smiling down at her. ‘May we join you?’
Out of the corner of her eye, Rachel saw Deb’s lips form a horrified ‘no.’ Deb was studiously avoiding looking at Lord Richard Kestrel who, rather to Rachel’s amusement, had not taken his eyes off her since he came into the shop.
‘Of course you may join us if you wish,’ Rachel said, ignoring Deborah’s scowl, ‘but I fear that we were about to leave. It is very crowded in here.’
‘We shall not keep you above a minute,’ Cory said. ‘Richard and I were both agreeing that there is nothing like a cup of tea for refreshment on a hot day.’
‘Were you?’ Rachel said disbelievingly, looking from Cory’s innocent face to Richard Kestrel’s saturnine one. ‘How singular of you when you detest so insipid a beverage.’
Richard bowed to Rachel, a twinkle in his very dark eyes. ‘How do you do, Miss Odell? I am delighted to see you again.’
‘How do you do, Lord Richard,’ Rachel said, smiling. ‘I am well.’
‘And Mrs Stratton,’ Richard said, his smile deepening as he took in Deb’s angry profile. ‘How are you, ma’am?’
‘I am very well, thank you.’ Deb snapped. She did not meet his eyes, but turned ostentatiously to Cory and gestured him to the empty chair at her side. ‘How do you do, Lord Newlyn? Please take a seat.’
Rachel saw Richard and Cory exchange one laughing, rueful glance, and then Cory did as he was bid and Richard shrugged lightly and took the seat beside Rachel.
Richard Kestrel was, as Rachel had noticed on several previous occasions, an exceptionally good-looking ma
n. Tall, dark and with a commanding presence, he had the wicked, piratical looks that were characteristic of the Kestrel family. If there was any arrogance in his appearance, it was tempered by the humour Rachel could see in his eyes. She could not help but warm to him, although curiously, his riveting good looks did not attract her in the least.
They spent some time chatting and the gentlemen managed a cup of tea each and several Bath Oliver biscuits. Rachel found herself enjoying Richard Kestrel’s company. He did not make the mistake of trying to flirt with her, but they engaged in an easy conversation about the town and the threat of invasion and the wider political situation. Even so, Rachel was conscious that she was watching Cory out of the corner of her eye for almost the entire time. She could not ignore his presence. She observed him talking to Deb and felt a distinct stirring of jealousy as she saw his head bent close to hers and watched the ready smile with which he responded to Deb’s conversation. She had wanted to regain her comfortable friendship with Cory after the confusion she had felt over their previous encounters. This morning had seemed like a good opportunity. Yet now it was disconcerting to realise that friendship was not exactly what she felt towards him. Over the years she had taken both Cory’s friendship and her own feelings for granted and it was profoundly disturbing to sense those feelings changing without any conscious reason. Several times Cory caught her looking at him and gave her a look of speculation. Rachel blushed and looked away. She did not wish him to think that it mattered to her, but it did.
Having been preoccupied with thoughts of Rachel all day, Cory Newlyn opened the door of the billiard room at Midwinter Royal later that evening and was greeted by a sight to deprive most red-blooded men of breath. It made him forget the message that he was supposed to be delivering, it made him forget the excavation he was supposed to be working on and for a second it practically made him forget his own name. For one long moment he simply stood and stared.
Rachel was leaning over the billiard table, her breasts straining against the thin cotton of her gown, her eyes narrowed in concentration as she sighted along her cue. A breath of wind from the open doorway must have distracted her attention, for she turned her head slightly a second before she played the shot-and missed. She straightened up and Cory’s breathing returned slowly to normal. He closed the door and came forward into the room.
‘You put me off my shot,’ Rachel said. She seemed slightly put out, but Cory felt she did not have a great deal to complain about. That, he thought a little grimly, was nothing to the effect that she was having on him these days. He watched the sway of her gown as she moved around the table, sizing up the position of the balls. She paused, lining up a shot. Cory, realising that she was about to bend over the table right in front of him, pulled his thoughts away from what that would look like and tried to remember why he had come to see her in the first place.
‘Ah…Rachel…’
‘Yes, Cory?’ Rachel straightened up again, her eyes wide and innocent as she turned to look at him.
‘Your parents asked me to tell you that they have not quite finished work on the long barrow and will be in to supper in a short while-’
Rachel gave an exaggerated sigh. She checked the clock on the wall. ‘It is past nine! Soon they will not be able to see their spades in front of their noses.’
‘Have you taken supper yourself?’ Cory asked.
‘Yes, of course.’ Rachel frowned. ‘It is bad for the digestion to eat late at night.’
‘And you had no engagements for this evening?’
‘No.’ Rachel turned back to the table and potted a ball with complete accuracy. ‘Mama had indicated that she wished to attend the musicale at Lady Benedict’s. I will send a message over that we shall not be present after all.’
‘I will let them know on my way back to Kestrel Court, if you wish,’ Cory offered.
Rachel smiled at him gratefully. ‘Oh, would you?’ She rested her cue on the wooden floor. ‘That will save me trying to find Tom Gough when he is probably still out in the field with Papa.’
Cory nodded. ‘You do not wish to go to the Benedicts on your own?’
‘No, thank you.’ Rachel turned away. ‘I am no musician, as well you know, Cory. I fear that listening to music bores me. I shall go to the library and study Maskelyne’s maps.’
‘Have you had any success so far?’ Cory asked.
‘Not really.’ Rachel sighed. ‘I took the opportunity this morning of calling at the Priory and borrowing some of the parish records. There are some directions and measurements that I wish to check. It is all very slow.’
‘Parish records,’ Cory said, shaking his head. ‘How your long evenings must fly past, Rachel!’
‘I cannot see that it is any more tedious than unearthing long-dead bones,’ Rachel said, with spirit. ‘We each have our interests.’
‘Very true.’
‘And if it becomes too dry then I shall read The Enchantress instead.’
Cory leaned against the edge of the billiard table. If he could keep her talking on innocuous topics, then so much the better. It would distract his mind from other, far less innocent occupations-occupations such as kissing, which he had promised himself that he would not indulge in with Rachel-not yet.
‘How does the story progress?’ he asked.
‘Oh, it is quite lively.’ Rachel retrieved the balls from the pockets and placed them neatly in the triangle before lining up to break. ‘Sir Philip is currently exhibiting the usual contrary male behaviour-he has met a charming girl, but refuses to fall in love with her. It is Lady Sally’s contention that he will fall in love with quite the most unsuitable choice.’
Cory laughed. ‘Lady Sally does not appear to have a high opinion of our sex.’
‘No.’ Rachel put her head on one side thoughtfully. ‘She likes male company, but I do not believe she has a high regard for male intelligence!’
‘And you, Rae,’ Cory said, smiling, ‘how do you rate the male of the species?’
He observed with interest the colour that this brought into Rachel’s face.
‘I have the highest regard for the intelligence of individuals,’ she said sedately, ‘but I fear that it is a masculine trait to have a rather inflated opinion of one’s own worth.’
Cory gave a crack of laughter. ‘You never did care for pomposity, did you, Rae?’
‘No, I detest it.’ Her gaze brushed his face and to Cory it felt like a physical touch. ‘But I could never accuse you of it, Cory.’
Cory felt ridiculously as though she had given him some valuable prize. ‘Thank you, Rae.’
‘You have many other faults, of course,’ Rachel said, deliberately spoiling the effect, ‘but self-importance is not one of them.’
She put out a hand and touched the sleeve of his Volunteer uniform. ‘This is very fine. Have you been at drill with the Suffolk rifles again?’
‘I have.’
‘Then you can give me a game,’ Rachel said, gesturing towards the table. ‘Your aim should be in.’
Cory picked one of the cues from the rack on the wall. Rachel potted two balls in quick succession and he watched her as she moved around the table. She sized up the state of play quickly and made swift decisions about which ball to pot. Cory, on the other hand, found it difficult to focus on the state of play, preferring to watch Rachel herself. He knew that his concentration was shot to pieces before he even started.
Rachel took on a risky pot and just missed the pocket.
Cory approached the table to take his shot. Rachel came and leaned on the edge of the table beside him. Cory gritted his teeth. He tried to block out her presence and ignore the scent of her perfume, a scent that seemed insidiously to wrap itself around his senses. She smelled clean and fresh and innocent. It was the scent of lavender and lily of the valley. When the hell had he started to find the smell of lavender attractive?
He missed his shot.
‘Hmm.’ Rachel’s quizzical hazel gaze was on his face. ‘It is to b
e hoped that the security of the nation does not rest entirely with you, Cory.’ She potted two more balls with quick efficiency, brushing against him as she tried to get the optimum angle.
Cory watched the sway of her hips and tried to remember that his life depended on breathing at regular intervals. To distract himself as much as her, he said, ‘So, did you enjoy your conversation with Richard Kestrel today, Rae? I seem to recall that you were quite taken with him.’
An unexpected dimple dented Rachel’s cheek as she smiled. ‘I think Lord Richard is absolutely charming.’
‘Hmm,’ Cory said, feeling a certain ironic amusement that the answer to his question was the opposite of the one he wanted. ‘Do you think that he might be the sort of husband you are seeking?’
Rachel gave a peal of laughter. ‘Certainly not! Lord Richard is almost the last person that I would wish to marry, even were he to be in the market for a wife. He is far too…’ she paused, wrinkling her brow ‘…far too costly for me.’
‘Costly?’ Cory raised his brows.
‘Yes.’ Rachel straightened up and paused in her decimation of the billiard table. ‘You remember the bit in Shakespeare-Much Ado About Nothing, I believe-when the Prince asks Beatrice if she would consider marrying him and she says that she would need two of him, one for best and one for everyday use? I feel like that about Lord Richard Kestrel. He is far too dangerous for me to tangle with in any romantic sense.’
Cory hesitated. ‘Do you feel like that about me, Rae?’
The Notorious Lord Page 13