‘Infinitely,’ Deb said sweetly.
Richard’s smile deepened. ‘And now that you know I read the stoic philosophers, have I gone up at all in your estimation?’
‘Oh,’ Deb said, ‘naturally I am most impressed. However, I do not think that I shall be reading The Meditations now that you have told me their style. There is enough to be miserable about in real life.’
Richard conceded the point. ‘Perhaps poetry is more to your taste?’ he enquired.
‘I enjoy that, certainly,’ Deb agreed. ‘And you, my lord?’
Richard shifted slightly in his chair. ‘Yes, I enjoy poetry too.’ His gaze met hers very directly. ‘I know that you think me an intellectual lightweight, ma’am, and a man with no propensity towards hard work, but I must correct your perception by saying that the only reason I had the chance to study poetry in the first place was because I was at sea. I read scraps of it in between naval actions.’
Deb smiled. She found that she rather liked the idea of Lord Richard Kestrel standing on the bridge of his ship with a book of poetry tucked in his pocket. She fancied that he would have looked rather good in the austere Navy uniform and found herself wishing that she had had the chance to see it.
‘I had forgotten that you were in the Navy,’ she said, feeling a little ashamed of herself for dismissing him as an idle gentleman of leisure. ‘Why did you give it up?’
There was a hair’s breadth of a pause in which she had the feeling that she had asked a question of great import.
‘I took an injury at the Battle of the Nile and they did not want me on active service any more,’ Richard said, after a moment.
‘I am sorry,’ Deb said. She repressed an impulse to touch his hand. Just for a second she had seen a bleakness, beyond anything she had expected, reflected in his dark eyes. She felt as though the bottom had dropped out of her heart. He had looked so lonely and remote in that moment, a far cry from the society rake of her imaginings.
Then he smiled at her and the image was gone. ‘Thank you for your sympathy, Mrs Stratton,’ he said. ‘It was difficult at the time to abandon something that had given purpose to my life, but…’ he shrugged ‘…there are always other things to do.’
Deb wondered. It could not be easy for a man accustomed to so active and adventurous a life to accept the restrictions of a circumscribed existence. She was unsure how much of what he said was true-and how much a defence.
Richard looked at her and the lines about his eyes crinkled. ‘Do not look so stricken, ma’am. I am very well these days and am happy to show you my collection of naval memorabilia any time you wish!’
Deb recovered herself. ‘No, thank you, my lord,’ she said. ‘I suspect that that is an invitation on a par with inspecting your art collection-or your set of etchings!’ She glanced at the clock. ‘I must go back to the musicale. With good fortune there may only be a few minutes of the concert left.’
‘I will escort you back,’ Richard said easily. He swallowed the remains of his brandy and got to his feet, holding the door open for her.
The hall was deserted and in shadow. A line of light showed beneath the music-room door and from behind its panels rose the squeaky arpeggios of Miss La Salle torturing a Bach cantata. Both Deb and Richard winced.
Richard put his hand on her arm. ‘A moment,’ he said. ‘I do not think that we wish to go back in there.’
‘Well, we cannot continue our conversation out here,’ Deb pointed out.
‘It was not conversation that I intended to pursue,’ Richard said. He turned her gently, inexorably to face him. Deb’s breath caught in her throat.
‘You said-’ Her voice failed her.
‘That you were safe from seduction? So you are-for the time being.’ Richard’s hand came up to brush the line of her jaw with a gentle touch. His face was dark and severe in the shadowed dimness of the hall and she could not read his expression. Her nerves skittered in anticipation, but she did not draw away.
She did not know why she could not resist him. Perhaps it was because of that moment when he had been speaking of his lost naval career and she had looked into his eyes and seen a depth of feeling far more intense than she would ever have expected-and a loneliness that had undermined her defences. It was not that she felt sorry for him, but more that she had been taken off guard. She had glimpsed the private demons of isolation and lack of purpose that tormented Richard Kestrel, and it had given her an entirely new perspective. Oddly, it made her feel vulnerable to him.
She felt his arms go about her, felt his lips on hers. The kiss was brief and fierce and spellbinding. The candlelight seemed to swoop dizzily about her. She felt dazed and star struck, as though she had taken too much wine. A cool shiver ran along her nerves as his tongue touched hers, a featherlight touch. The kiss deepened then and became hungry and demanding, stripping her of her ability to think. This was not like the embrace in the beech wood. That had been sweet and had made her quite light-headed, but it had felt strangely unfinished. This time he held her close and his lips claimed hers with a mastery and a need that she felt powerless to resist. It shook her to the core. It threatened to steal her soul.
With a gasp she pulled herself out of his embrace and put several hasty steps between them. Richard made no move to pull her back into his arms and his face was expressionless, though she saw a muscle move in his cheek. He did not apologise and merely gave her back look for very straight look. In the faint light she saw the blaze in his eyes, hot and hard, and drew her breath in with a short, nervous gasp.
Deb fought for self-control. Her heart was beating wildly but it was not a fear of Richard Kestrel that terrified her, but the need to confront her own feelings. She had never, ever felt the depth of emotion that Richard’s touch had stirred in her. She was not sure she liked it. She certainly could not answer the questions that the kiss had posed.
The door of the music room opened and a pool of light spilled out into the hall. Olivia, Ross and a number of their visitors came streaming through the doors.
‘I must find some brandy for our guests,’ Deb heard Ross murmur to his wife. ‘After such torment they require sustenance as quickly as possible.’
Olivia caught sight of her sister and hurried across the floor.
‘There you are!’ she said, coming over to Deb’s side. ‘Whatever happened to you? I thought that you had gone to find Ross and then you disappear for a full half-hour.’
Deb dragged her gaze away from Richard’s face and swallowed quickly. ‘I beg your pardon, Olivia. Lord Richard and I were discussing literature. I had no notion that so much time had passed.’
Olivia’s brows shot up into her hair. She looked from one to the other. ‘Literature? How very erudite! Do you care for some refreshment after such intellectual discussion?’
The servants were lighting more candles now and in the sudden, bright glow, Deb felt a little more secure. It was as though the light had banished her danger, at least for the time being. She risked another glance at Richard. He was watching her face and had been doing so for the entire conversation. She repressed a shiver.
‘Thank you, ma’am,’ Richard said now, wrenching his gaze from Deb and smiling at Olivia. ‘I should be glad to take a glass of brandy with Lord Marney.’
‘Splendid,’ Olivia said. ‘Deborah?’
‘I shall go home,’ Deb said. ‘I have the headache. Goodnight, my lord.’
‘Mrs Stratton.’ Richard bowed. Deb saw a flicker of a smile touch his lips at her formality when only minutes before she had been locked in his arms in a scandalous embrace. She felt a surge of temper. Damn him! He was far too sure of himself-and of her.
‘Thank you for the…discussion, ma’am,’ Richard continued. ‘I found it most stimulating.’
‘Thank you, my lord,’ Deb said. ‘I feel so privileged to have been the object of your interest not merely once but twice in the same day.’
Richard bowed again, with immaculate politeness, though Deb could see from his expression that he was not going to ignore her challenge.
‘It was a pleasure,’ he murmured. ‘Any time you wish to continue our debate…’
Deb smiled brilliantly. ‘I do not think that would be at all wise, my lord,’ she said. ‘I have a great desire to discuss Moore next time.’ She looked at him and quoted sweetly, “‘He was a rake amongst scholars and a scholar amongst rakes…”’
Richard laughed, took her hand and pressed a kiss on it. ‘And when his father suggested that he should give up his rakish pursuits and take a wife, he said-’
