Never Trust a Rebel(12)

Drew had to admit that Elyse looked particularly enchanting. The light from the candles gave a golden sheen to her skin, rivalling the glow of the simple string of pearls she wore around her neck. Her dark hair was piled artlessly about her head with one glossy ringlet hanging down on to her shoulder, where it seemed to direct the eye to the soft mounds of her breasts rising from the neckline of her gown.

They were alone now, the covers had been removed and only the decanter and glasses were left on the table. Drew sipped thoughtfully at his wine. Elyse had obviously taken some care over her dress this evening, leaving off the travelling habit with its high-necked shirt in favour of an open robe of dove-grey silk over a white quilted petticoat. The sleeves of her gown ended in a flurry of silver lace ruffles that fell back to display her shapely arms. Her behaviour throughout dinner had been exemplary and she had treated him with a pretty deference—very much as one would treat an aged uncle, he thought, with an inward grin—but for all that he was on his guard, not quite believing the demure image she was presenting to him.

‘And shall we be in time to call upon Lord Whittlewood tomorrow?’ she asked him.

‘I hope so, and I expect him to take you into his establishment immediately. I am happy to find lodgings for myself until everything is signed and sealed, but I am sure he would prefer to have you under his roof.’

She pouted prettily.

‘You are mighty eager to be rid of me, sir.’

‘Not at all, but I feel sure you will find a room in Lord Whittlewood’s mansion far more comfortable than anything I can procure for you.’

‘If it is a question of funds—’

‘It is not. The viscount’s letter indicated that he wishes to take you into his household at once.’

‘‘But I have money, should I need it?

‘Your father placed your not inconsiderable fortune under my control until Michaelmas,’ said Drew. ‘So yes, you have money.’

Elyse nodded and he wondered if it was a comfort to her to know she was not penniless, that she did not need to marry Reverson if she did not want to do so. And why should she not wish to marry him? he thought bitterly. It would give her status and entrée to the highest society. The very things he could not offer. He pushed aside such thoughts to concentrate upon her next remark.

‘You and my father must have been great friends, for him to place so much trust in you.’

‘We were.’

‘Where did you meet?’ When he hesitated she put up her hands. ‘Please do not think you need to invent a history for me, Mr Bastion. I am well aware that my father was an adventurer and I promise you will not shock me if you tell me the truth.’

The naïvety of her statement made him smile, yet he decided to tell her as much as he dared.

‘We met three years ago, in Vienna. Harry had just returned from England. We had much in common, a love of freedom and adventure, a penchant for gaming. We struck up a close friendship. I owe your father a great deal, Miss Salforde. When we met I didn’t have two groats to rub together. He took me under his wing and we travelled Europe together.’

‘Gambling?’

‘Yes, amongst other things.’ He hoped she would not ask him about the other things.

‘You must have been very successful,’ she remarked. ‘My father regularly sent money back to England.’

‘We were extremely successful, but always by fair play, and to the best of my knowledge it was always from those who could afford to lose. Harry was very conscious of his responsibilities, too, witness the sizeable sum you have inherited.’

‘And did you, too, manage to put aside a fortune?’

Drew smiled. ‘I am not a pauper, Miss Salforde.’

‘I am relieved to hear it. And how did it end?’

‘In Paris. At the gaming table of a rich nobleman.’

‘So it was not footpads.’

He glanced up, an enquiry in his eyes. Too late did he remember the story he had told her in Scarborough. Elyse gave him a rueful smile.

‘I suspect the French nobleman took exception to your winning.’

‘Something of the sort.’ He would not tell her that he and Harry had been manhandled out of Paris by the nobleman’s lackeys, thrown out on to the filthy cobbles and kicked like curs.

‘And was my father killed in a duel?’

‘Nothing so honourable. Harry was a crack shot and an excellent swordsman. If he had been challenged to a duel there is little doubt he would have won.’

He saw the consternation in her face, her eyes dark with anger.

‘And did you exact revenge from the man who had done this?’

He shook his head. ‘I had to return to England to carry out Harry’s last wishes.’

Her dainty fingers curled like claws around the stem of her wineglass.

‘I would have done so,’ she declared. ‘I would have found out this wicked Frenchman and made him pay.’

Drew shrugged. ‘He was not so wicked. And in the duc’s defence the provocation was great. No, revenge was not your father’s way. He took adversity in his stride, laughed at it, learned from it and bore no man ill will.’

‘But this was more than mere gambling losses, this was my father’s life! You should have revenged him.’

‘Harry would not agree with you. He always maintained that revenge was a sword that cut both ways. He was more concerned for your welfare and insisted I should concentrate on looking after you.’



Elyse felt the sudden fizz of anger dying away. She should be grateful that Papa’s last thoughts had been for her. She shook her head to dispel her melancholy thoughts and fixed her eyes upon the man sitting opposite.

‘And what are your plans, sir, once you are free of your obligation to my father?’

‘I shall go abroad again.’

‘Would you not like to make your home in England?’

He did not move, but she was aware of a change, as if a shadow had fallen across his countenance. The blue eyes darkened and his mouth tightened to a thin line.

‘England can never be my home.’

She wanted to ask him why, but some instinct warned her against it and when, a moment later, he began talking of something else she followed his lead. She had no intention of undoing the good work she had achieved so far this evening.

Elyse had set out to charm her escort into a good mood and she felt that she had succeeded reasonably well. When she had first put on the gown she had hesitated to leave off the lace neckerchief, but she knew from experience that gentlemen favoured a low neckline and enjoyed gazing upon a lady’s bare neck and shoulders—witness her escort’s wicked grin at Rose the serving maid! Elyse had to admit to a little twinge of displeasure at his reaction there and it had roused some hitherto dormant competitive spirit in her. She had been told by one of her beaux that her shoulders were particularly fine and she had therefore decided to leave them uncovered tonight.

She had noticed Mr Bastion’s blue eyes resting upon her from time to time, and hoped he thought she made a pleasing picture. She sipped at her wine, aware that a pleasant lassitude had crept up on her. She felt distinctly light-headed and more than a little pleased with the success of her plan. Mr Bastion—Drew—was certainly more relaxed this evening, and she had even made him laugh on more than one occasion.

A distant clock chimed the hour and Drew took out his watch.

‘Midnight.’ He frowned. ‘Your serving maid should have called by now.’

‘I told her to go on to my room and wait for me there.’ She added innocently, ‘I thought you might escort me.’

‘I suppose I shall have to do so.’

His tone was less grudging than the words, but they still piqued her. In Scarborough her admirers would have been falling over themselves to escort her anywhere. He got up to pull out her chair and as they moved towards the door she put her hand on his arm.

‘Would you like to kiss me goodnight?’ She knew she was taking a great risk but he did not look outraged, nor did he admonish her for her forwardness. When he maintained his silence she added softly, ‘You are a rake, are you not? And rakes always want to kiss a pretty girl.’

He stopped, frowning down at her fingers resting on his sleeve.

‘You would not be wise to pursue this, Miss Salforde.’

A tiny frisson of excitement ran along her spine as she heard the warning note in his voice. She moved a little nearer.

‘Surely it would not be improper for my guardian to call me Elyse?’

Her excitement intensified as his gaze moved to her face, so piercing that for a moment it took her breath away. She read danger in his look but the wine she had imbibed had given her courage and she felt emboldened by the challenge. She schooled her face into a picture of innocence, at the same time leaning closer so that the lace at her breast was almost touching his waistcoat. She saw his eyes darken and felt a flicker of satisfaction.

Usually by this point the object of her attentions would be panting slavishly, ready to promise anything if only she would grant him a kiss. However, so far she had only employed such methods with the young gentlemen of her acquaintance, and even then very rarely. Her guardian was some years older and clearly made of sterner stuff. She ran the tip of her tongue over her lips, wondering what to do next, but that slight, innocent gesture brought a flare of interest to his intense gaze. Triumph soared within her.