Richard looked pleased. ‘I was anxious to demonstrate, Mrs Stratton, that my interest in seventeenth-century poetry was not merely assumed. There is a bookmark in the poem that is my favourite.’
Deb opened the book. The wind off the river riffled the pages a little and then the book fell open at the point where Richard had inserted the bookmark. Deb read the title of the poem, then looked up, caught between amusement and exasperation. ‘I might have guessed!’
The poem was ‘To His Coy Mistress’ by Andrew Marvell.
Lord Richard spoke softly. “‘Had we but world enough and time,”’ he quoted, “‘this coyness, lady, were no crime.” How very appropriate, Mrs Stratton.’
Deb shut the book with a decided snap, knowing that she had to depress his pretensions here and now. ‘There is nothing appropriate about it at all, Lord Richard.’
‘How so? Do I not admire you, and you in turn spurn my advances?’
Deb frowned. ‘I do not wish to debate literature with you.’
‘No? Must I then join Lady Sally’s reading group if I wish to have a literary discussion?’
Deborah’s steps quickened. He kept pace with her easily as she headed down the road towards the quay. ‘I am sure that the ladies of the reading group would be happy to benefit from your literary insight,’ she said. ‘Alas that I am not so eager for your company.’
Lord Richard did not seem cast down. In fact, Deb could not help but notice that he seemed amused and encouraged by their apparent discord.
‘Is that so? The other night you were persuaded to stay and talk to me, yet now it seems that you do not wish to discuss anything with me, Mrs Stratton, never mind literature. I wonder why that might be?’
Deb shot him an irritated look. ‘It must be painfully obvious to all but the most limited intellect,’ she said, ‘that I do not wish to speak with you, Lord Richard, because I do not trust you. I do not trust you, I do not like you and I do not enjoy your company!’
Richard took her hand in his, perforce requiring her to stop walking. Deb was vaguely surprised to see that they had come as far as the waterfront and were now in the flower gardens that bordered the edge of the river. The air was keen here. The breeze tugged at the brown wrapping paper, making it crackle. Deb held on to the book a little more tightly to prevent it blowing away.
‘Mrs Stratton,’ Lord Richard said, ‘at least two of those three statements you have just made are false.’
Deb looked at him. She raised her chin a little haughtily. ‘Indeed, my lord?’
‘Yes. If you must have me spell it out, you neither dislike me nor my company.’ Richard paused, thoughtful. ‘Probably it is true that you do not trust me.’
‘And with good reason!’
‘Ah, you are thinking about our kisses last week.’
‘I am not!’
‘Yes, you are. I saw it in your face when I came through the inn door and was hard put to it not to kiss you again there and then.’
Deb bit her lip, trying to repress the jumble of words that were clamouring to escape.
‘And I feel rather inclined to do it now,’ Richard added, his gaze going to her mouth.
Deb took a hasty step away from him, pulling her hand from his grasp. ‘Lord Richard-’ She cleared her throat. Her voice did not sound convincing enough. ‘Lord Richard,’ she said again, more strongly, ‘it seems to me that I have tried to be civil to you-’
‘Have you?’ Richard enquired. ‘I confess that I had not observed it.’
‘I have tried to be civil to you,’ Deb soldiered on, ‘but now I shall have to be more blunt. You are a scoundrel-an untrustworthy scoundrel-and I do not seek your company. What woman of sense would do? If you approach me again in future, I shall be obliged to cut you dead.’
‘Will you?’ Richard said with the greatest admiration. ‘I shall look forward to that immensely.’
Deb wrinkled up her face with frustration. Why could the wretched man not take her point?
‘You are not a stupid man,’ she said wrathfully, ‘although I am still unsure whether or not you are a shallow one. On this occasion, however, I am aware that you are merely being deliberately awkward! I do not wish to associate with you.’
Lord Richard did not look cast down. ‘You associated with me last week and it was delightful.’
A tinge of colour crept into Deborah’s cheek. It was monstrous difficult to summon up the resolution required to dismiss him. A part of her-a large and perfidious part-enjoyed his company immensely, and the more time that she spent with him the more attractive he seemed to become to her. It was like an inverse equation. Whilst she was telling him how little she cared for him, she found that she was making a liar of herself.
‘You are a rake, my lord,’ she said, rallying.
‘My dear Mrs Stratton, I do not think that anyone disputes that. What is your point?’
Deborah glared at him. ‘That is the point, my lord! I do not seek the company of rakes.’ She took a deep breath. ‘You have made no secret of the fact that you wished me to be your mistress last year. Your intentions were entirely dishonourable!’
Lord Richard smiled ruefully. ‘I cannot dispute that either,’ he said.
Deb felt a confusing mixture of emotions. Uppermost was the need to tell him to withdraw his attentions to her, but beneath that was a guilty sense of enjoyment. She knew that a respectable widow should not be having such feelings when speaking to a rakish gentleman. She pushed the feelings away.
‘Let me construe for your further, my lord,’ she said. ‘I am a respectable lady and females of good reputation do not consort with rakes-not if they wish their reputation to remain intact, that is.’
‘And you feel that neither your reputation nor your virtue could remain…intact…were you to spend some time in my company?’ Lord Richard queried softly.
‘Precisely!’ Deb had agreed before she thought that one through properly. ‘That is…’
‘You do not think that you could withstand the onslaught of my charm?’ Lord Richard asked whimsically and Deb blushed.
‘I did not say that,’ she said hastily. ‘I did not mean to imply that I thought you could seduce me-’
‘Would you care to wager on that?’ Lord Richard asked.
Deb felt a surge of anticipation. Yes, she would like to wager on it. Very much. And she would like to lose…
She bit her lip. ‘Certainly not!’
‘Then you do have doubts over your ability to withstand my seduction. Otherwise why refuse the bet?’
‘Because I do not gamble!’ Deb said. ‘You are the most provoking man!’
‘And you prefer the companionship of more sober gentlemen, I assume?’
‘No,’ Deborah said. ‘I do not seek male companionship at all.’
Now Lord Richard looked even more interested. Deb could have kicked herself for the unwary comment.
‘Tell me why that is,’ he said.
‘No,’ Deb said again. She was gripping the book so hard that her fingers cracked. ‘You ask too many questions. In fact, you are impertinent, my lord.’
Lord Richard laughed. He thrust his hands into the pockets of the green jacket.
‘And you enjoy crossing swords with me, Mrs Stratton. Admit it!’
‘I…’ Deborah hesitated on the very point of denying it. This was the perfect moment to dismiss him, to tell Lord Richard Kestrel that she did not wish to see him ever again. But the only problem was that it was not true and she had always had terrible trouble with lying. Even simple social untruths were a problem for her, such as telling her hostess that she had enjoyed an evening when in fact it had been a dead bore.
It was impossible to lie now, for Richard had drawn closer to her so that his body shielded her from the attention of those who passed by. His very proximity demanded the truth from her. Looking up, Deborah saw the expression in his eyes, dark and intense. It frightened her, but it also struck an answering chord deep within her and that she could not deny.
‘There are some things,’ she said, with difficulty, ‘like…like riding too fast across country, or eating too many truffles, that are enjoyable but vastly dangerous. One should always try to avoid them. I would place you in the same category, my lord.’
She saw the hard light in Lord Richard’s eyes soften into something more tender at her words and she felt as though her insides were trembling. He took her gloved hand in his and pressed a kiss on the back of it.
