Stephanie Laurens
The Perfect Lover
Book 11 in the Cynster series, 2003
LIST OF CHARACTERS
Simon Cynster friend of James Glossup
Portia Ashford in Lady Osbaldestone’s train
Charlie Hastings friend of James Glossup
Lady Osbaldestone (Therese) distant cousin to Lord Netherfield
Viscount Netherfield (Granville) father of Harold, Lord Glossup
Harold, Lord Glossup present owner of Glossup Hall
Catherine, Lady Glossup Harold’s wife
Henry Glossup their oldest son
Kitty Glossup, nee Archer his wife
James Glossup second son of Harold and Catherine
Oswald Glossup third son of Harold and Catherine
Moreton Archer Kitty’s father
Alfreda Archer Kitty’s mother
Swanston Archer Kitty’s younger brother
Winifred Archer Kitty’s older sister
Desmond Winfield pursuing Winifred Archer
George Buckstead close friend of Harold Glossup
Helen Buckstead George’s wife
Lucy Buckstead their daughter
Lady Cynthia Calvin connection of the Glossups’, widow
Ambrose Calvin her son
Drusilla Calvin her daughter
Lady Hammond society matron, distantly related to the Glossups
Annabelle Hammond her elder daughter
Cecily Hammond her younger daughter
Arturo the handsome leader of a band of gypsies encamped nearby
Dennis a younger male gypsy hired as a temporary summer gardener
Blenkinsop the butler
Mr. Basil Stokes the police inspector sent by Bow Street to investigate
1
Hell and the devil!” Simon Cynster reined in his bays, his eyes narrowing on the ridge high above Ashmore village. The village proper lay just behind him; he was headed for Glossup Hall, a mile farther along the leafy country lane.
At the rear of the village cottages, the land rose steeply; a woman was following the path winding up the berm of what Simon knew to be ancient earthworks. The views from the top reached as far as the Solent, and on clear days even to the Isle of Wight.
It was hardly a surprise to see someone heading up there.
“No surprise she hasn’t anyone with her, either.” Irritation mounting, he watched the dark-haired, willowy, ineffably graceful figure steadily ascend the rise, a long-legged figure that inevitably drew the eye of any man with blood in his veins. He’d recognized her instantly-Portia Ashford, his sister Amelia’s sister-in-law.
Portia must be attending the Glossup Hall house party; the Hall was the only major house near enough from which to walk.
A sense of being imposed upon burgeoned and grew.
She reached the crest of the earthworks and paused, one slender hand rising to hold back the fall of her jet- black hair; lifting her face to the breeze, she stared into the distance, then, letting her hand fall, gracefully walked on, following the path to the lookout, gradually descending until she disappeared from sight.
The words echoed in his head; God knew she’d stated the sentiment often enough, in various phrasings, most far more emphatic. Portia was not his sister, not his cousin; indeed, she shared no blood at all.
Jaw firming, he looked to his horses, took up the slack in the reins-
And inwardly cursed.
“Wilks-wake up, man!” Simon tossed the reins at his groom, until then dozing behind him. Pulling on the brake, he stepped down to the road. “Just hold them-I’ll be back.”
Thrusting his hands into his greatcoat pockets, he strode for the narrow path that led upward, ultimately joining the path from the Hall that Portia had followed up the rise.
He was only buying himself trouble-a sniping match at the very least-yet leaving her alone, unprotected from any wastrel who might happen along, was simply not possible, not for him. If he’d driven on, he wouldn’t have had a moment’s peace, not until she returned safe and sound to the Hall.
Given her propensity for rambling walks, that might not happen for hours.
