snatching at her hair, that she trod in something soft and squelchy that the ducks had evidently left behind.
‘Ugh!’ Her foot slipped from beneath her and then she was tumbling over in the soft grass of the bank, her skirts ripping on one of the broken duck traps as she fell through the undergrowth and into the shallow pond below.
It was only about a foot deep, as Deb herself had told Mrs Aintree earlier. Unfortunately, that foot was comprised of slimy green water choked with duck weed and dead plants. Worse, when Deb tried to wrench her skirts free of the broken trap, she found the material stuck fast. She wallowed in the water, tugging on the fabric until something ripped.
‘Hell and damnation!’
‘You do indeed look like something conjured from the deepest halls of Hades,’ an amused male voice confirmed from the bank.
Deb was so taken aback that she lost her footing in the muddy depths of the pond and sat down with a splash.
Lord Richard Kestrel-unforgivably-laughed. ‘Is this the latest fashion?’ he continued. ‘A gown with duck-weed trimmings?’
Deb gave an infuriated snort. Of all the undignified situations in which to be found! It would have to be Lord Richard Kestrel, of all people, who was the last man on earth she wanted to see her at a disadvantage.
‘You are trespassing,’ she said haughtily.
‘I am.’ Richard eyed her with deep amusement. ‘Would you like me to assist you, Mrs Stratton?’
‘No, thank you,’ Deb said, struggling to find her feet on the slippery mud of the pool. ‘I would like you to go away.’
Lord Richard ignored the request and came forward and offered a hand to her anyway. Deb ignored it.
‘Do accept my help,’ he encouraged. ‘It will save you much trouble in the long run.’
Deb gritted her teeth. ‘I would not dream of inconveniencing you.’
‘Please have no scruples about that. As I am here already, you may as well take advantage of me.’ He grasped her flailing hand and pulled hard, dragging her from the grip of the mud. Deb’s ankles came free with a squelching sound and she cannoned into him. They both ended up amongst the bushes, Richard’s body breaking Deb’s fall. She lay still for a moment, completely winded.
‘There was no need to take me quite so literally.’
Deb opened her eyes to look down into Richard’s laughing face. With horror she realised that she was lying on top of him, her breasts squashed against his chest and one of his hands curved around her buttocks. Just as she realised this, she felt Richard’s hand slide with leisurely intimacy over her body and she gave a horrified gasp and rolled off him. Richard sat up.
‘Please do not worry,’ he said, scrupulously polite. ‘Whilst you have a figure that looks most alluring in a dampened gown, the sight-and the smell-of that mud is enough to kill any ardour stone dead.’
‘I am glad that there is something that puts a rein on your rakish habits,’ Deb snapped. She pushed a piece of weed out of her eyes and examined her torn skirts. There was a jagged rip down the left-hand side that was quite irreparable and showed far too much petticoat.
‘What were you doing in there?’ Richard enquired. He seemed genuinely interested. Deb glared. ‘I was trying to free the sluice gate,’ she said. ‘If it comes to that, what are you doing here? As I have pointed out already, you are trespassing.’
Richard lay back in the grass, his hands behind his head. ‘I was riding past when I heard a splash and a shout. I was afraid that someone might have had an accident.’
He turned his head and looked at her. ‘You are not very grateful, Mrs Stratton. I begin to wish that I had left you to your watery fate.’
Deb looked at him and, most unexpectedly, felt an urge to laugh. ‘I am sorry about your clothes,’ she said, her lips twitching as she took in the mud that was beginning to dry on his pristine hunting jacket. ‘I dare say you looked quite nice when you started out. And I am sorry that I interrupted your ride.’
Richard stood up and helped her to her feet.
‘Would you care to make up for it by riding out with me later?’ he asked abruptly. ‘When you have had the opportunity to change into dry clothing, of course.’
Deb hesitated, surprised by a strong urge to accept. She knew that it was madness to consider it, but when had common sense had anything to do with inclination? Yet today she had promised herself would be the beginning of a new, more sensible approach to life in general and Richard Kestrel in particular. She had to extricate herself from this growing attraction before it was too late. She fought a short, sharp battle with herself and shook her head.
‘Thank you, but I do not think so, my lord.’
Richard’s hand was still on her arm. ‘But you would like to,’ he said acutely.
Deb flushed, feeling her skin heat from the inside outward. She could lie, at which she was unconscionably bad, or she could tell the truth, or she could yield…
‘The last time that I went riding with you proved to be a far from comfortable experience,’ she said truthfully. ‘I do not think it would be sensible to repeat it.’
Richard smiled, and her heart jolted.
‘I see,’ he said softly. ‘You are afraid of me.’
‘No, I am not!’ Deb retorted. ‘At least, not in the way you imply.’
‘Then you are afraid of yourself,’ Richard countered perceptively, ‘and the way in which your impulses might lead.’
Deb swallowed hard. She knew, and evidently so did Richard Kestrel, that her unruly impulses might lead her into all manner of disastrous situations as far as he was concerned. She tilted her chin to look at him.
‘I am merely concerned to be prudent.’
‘Do not be,’ Richard advised. ‘It is far more interesting to indulge your inclinations.’
Deb smiled reluctantly. ‘My inclination, Lord Richard, is to return directly to the house and take a hot bath. Good day to you.’
And she grasped her muddy skirts in one hand and escaped with what dignity she could muster, before she changed her mind.
Richard Kestrel put aside the letter that had just reached him from his brother Justin in London and stared unseeing out of the window of Kestrel Court. On his return from his ride he had partaken of a second breakfast and was on his third cup of coffee. It was a glorious September morning with the early sunlight still pink and hazy as it lingered on the mist rising from the river, the Winter Race. It was a shame that he had not been able to persuade Deborah Stratton to accompany him on a ride. It was the most perfect morning for a brisk gallop across country and there was no one he would have enjoyed sharing it with more. Richard briefly considered taking a sail on the Deben, or even swimming in the sea. It looked calm enough today, albeit the water would hold the first icy chill of coming winter. Then his eye fell on the letter once more. Duty called. He could not abandon business for pleasure today.
He settled down to read. In the case of the apprehension of the Midwinter spy, matters did not seem to proceed at all. Justin wrote that there was concern at the Admiralty that the Midwinter spy was still active in the Woodbridge area, passing on information to the French over such matters as the garrison numbers stationed in the town, the defences along that stretch of coast, the tidal waters of the Deben and other rivers, the state of the Volunteers and the preparations against invasion. Enquiries in London had yielded no information on the possible identity of the spy and her network, and Justin was talking of returning to Midwinter soon.
Richard sighed, sitting back and resting his booted feet on the desk. For three months they had been stalking the Midwinter spy, watching and waiting, hoping for a mistake that would give the game away. He and Justin and their younger brother Lucas had whiled away the long hot days of high summer in paying court to the local ladies, chatting to the gentlemen, observing, sifting information, waiting patiently for some clue. None had been forthcoming. The Midwinter spy did not make mistakes.
And now they were at the start of autumn, with the political situation at a critical point and invasion fever spreading panic, and still the spy was working right under their noses.
Richard ran his hand through his hair. It was generally agreed that the spy was one of the ladies of the
