Society's Most Disreputable Gentleman (5 page)

As good manners, it was an impeccable move. Even more surprising, Mr Anders appeared to genuinely be interested in the opinions of this shabbily behaved schoolgirl.

‘I'd ride astride again. Learn to fence and shoot and hunt. Fish in my old clothes like I used to with Amanda, before she put off such “childish” things. Study politics and philosophy and…and
Greek
instead of china painting and deportment. Play
billiards—and drink port and smoke cigars!' Althea finished defiantly.

If she'd tried to shock him, she'd failed. Their guest merely shook his head and laughed. ‘I fear your relations would give you trouble, indeed, were you to embark on such an agenda. Though I should hardly wish for such a lovely girl to be miraculously transformed into a young man, it is a shame, for if you were on your way to university, you might indulge all those desires.'

‘How I wish I might attend university,' Althea said wistfully—and Amanda suppressed a sigh of her own at virtually the only remark her cousin had made with which she agreed. How much more useful might a wife be to a husband with great responsibilities in government were she tutored as he had been in the intricacies of diplomacy and politics.

‘How does one go about making a career of the sea?' Althea asked. ‘When we walk along the beach, watching the ships, I always wonder what it would be like to be out there, sailing on one of the vessels skimming by the coast.'

‘I am not making a career of the Navy, Miss Holton, although my short time in the service gave me a great admiration for those who do. Individuals who desire to rise to command must begin at a much earlier age. My captain, himself son of a commodore, went aboard his first ship as a “young gentleman” at the age of eleven.'

‘Does it take so long, then?' Amanda asked, her interest piqued in spite of herself.

‘It does—and the training is rigorous. A “young gentleman” must serve three years before he can become a midshipman, then at least another six as midshipman before he can take the exam for lieutenant. There are never enough commands to go around, and with the war finally over, even fewer will be available, although much important work remains for the Navy. The French no longer hamper British commerce, but
despite the recent agreement signed with the Bey of Algiers to prevent dealing in, ah…the abduction of European citizens, piracy remains a serious threat.'

His momentary pause, and the slight tinge of colour in his face when he pronounced the last phrase, sparked Amanda to wonder if he were referring to the agreement to end the white slavery trade about which she'd read in the London papers last year. If so, no wonder he'd been embarrassed, almost mentioning such a shocking subject to young ladies of sensibility. The titillating notion of slave girls and seraglios sent a thrill of the forbidden through her.

Fortunately, the mention of pirates had apparently distracted Althea from noticing his hesitation. ‘Was your ship engaged against the pirates?' she asked eagerly. ‘Is that how you were injured?'

Suddenly, Anders's genial smile faded and his eyes took on a hard look. ‘Yes, but it's probably best I not relate too much of that bloody encounter.'

‘Oh, but I should love to hear about it!' Althea cried. ‘Every cannon volley and thrust. It must have been so thrilling.'

While Anders's expression grew even more forbidding, her cousin opened her lips, looking as if she were about to entreat him again. ‘Althea!' Amanda warned in a sharp undertone.

Finally sensing Mr Anders's reluctance, her cousin flushed. ‘Excuse me,' she mumbled. ‘Of course, I don't wish to tease you to talk about something you prefer not to discuss.'

‘Should you like more coffee, Mr Anders?' Amanda intervened to cover the awkward moment.

Mr Anders's stern expression softened. ‘No, I've had sufficient, Miss Neville. Perhaps a knife to pick my teeth?'

The room went suddenly silent. Shock and dismay must have blanched her face, but before she could form some reply, Anders chuckled.

‘Belay that last,' he said with a grin. ‘I believe I shall try
a walk now. From what I observed from the French doors overlooking the terrace, a stroll through the gardens should be quite pleasant.'

Why, the…the wretch! Amanda fumed, feeling her face flame again. Not only had Anders obviously sensed her initial disdain for the man who'd stumbled across her threshold looking like the lowest of common sailors, he now had the audacity to tease her about it! Though as shabbily as she'd treated him as his hostess, she probably ought to tender him an apology…at some moment when her cousin wasn't looking on.

‘Shall I show you?' Althea offered quickly. ‘My Aunt Lydia's knot gardens are most ingenious—like a maze in miniature made of clipped herbs. Just give me long enough to fetch my pelisse.'

‘That would be most pleasant, Miss Holton,' Anders said.

Damn and blast, Amanda thought, Althea's offer pulling her from her agitation to a more serious concern. It appeared her cousin did intend to dog the steps of their guest.

Except for that one remark about teeth-picking, Mr Anders had conducted himself like a gentleman. Polished behaviour, however, would be easy to affect by one who had grown up among the
ton
, as his lineage, if not his most recent associations, suggested. If he were a rogue, she was in for a difficult time, for judging by the adoring gaze Althea now had fixed upon the man, she would be deaf to any caution Amanda might utter about spending time alone in his company.

An even more dire possibility occurred to her. Despite her avowed interest in ‘manly' pursuits, Althea was a girl hovering on the brink between child and young woman. If her adulation should turn in a flirtatious direction, the girl might throw herself at Anders's head. Possessed of a sizeable dowry herself, Althea would be a plump prize for a man who apparently possessed neither wealth nor property of his own.

One further glance at Althea's expression told Amanda that
any attempt to prevent her from escorting Mr Anders about was doomed to failure. The girl would simply disobey a direct order to refrain from his company; if Amanda tried to assign her some task that would prevent their meeting, Althea would likely find a way around it.

Desperately Amanda wished that Papa were present, removing from her shoulders the burden of protecting her cousin. But though she didn't wish to further offend their guest, she knew it simply was not safe for Althea to go waltzing about the estate with Mr Anders unchaperoned. And since her wily cousin was quite capable of fobbing off any maid or groom she tried to saddle with the task, the only person likely to successfully prevent that—was herself.

Reluctantly she forced the words through stiff lips. ‘I believe I'd like to take the air as well. May I join you in your walk, Mr Anders?'

Though he might immediately guess her purpose, in his guise as a gentleman, Mr Anders could hardly refuse to accept her company if he'd already agreed to Althea's. Though the girl sent her a furious look for inserting herself where she was not wanted, Mr Anders replied with the only answer courtesy permitted.

‘Of course, Miss Neville. If having the escort of one lovely lady is a delight, having two would be doubly so. Shall I meet you both at the entry in, say, ten minutes?'

After her polite and Althea's enthusiastic murmur of assent, the three rose from the table.

Amanda lingered in the breakfast room as the other two departed, fuming. With quarterly supplies to order, the household account books to review with Mrs Pepys, several ill tenants to visit and half-a-dozen other urgent tasks awaiting, the last thing she needed was to have to play unwilling chaperon to her equally unwilling cousin.

Amanda resisted a strong urge to hurl her unoffending coffee cup into the fireplace, merely to hear the satisfying crash.

There was no hope for it, though. Until she could transfer the responsibility for Althea's protection to Papa or work out a better way to separate the girl from the object of her fascination, Amanda would have to intervene.

The regrettable fact that a little stir of anticipation coursed through her at the idea of spending more time in Mr Anders's company only made her angrier.

S
ome ten minutes later, Greville met the ladies in the downstairs hallway before proceeding through the French doors on to the terrace. The pale February sun gave an illusion of warmth and cast a mellow light over the lichen-coated stone ornaments, balustrades, steps and the soft salmon brick of the Georgian wings. Ghostly trees rose out of the mist that still lingered over the lawns, while in the distance a dark wood climbed the hazy outlines of a slope.

Though the house and grounds had obviously been occupied for centuries, the alterations and additions had been made with care, the medieval tower and Elizabethan galleries flowing seamlessly into the Georgian wings.

‘The prospect is delightful,' Greville said admiringly. ‘The handsome buildings, the broad sweep of terrace, the lawn marching into the hills—all combine to give the impression of timeless serenity.'

Miss Neville glanced at him sharply, her cerulean-blue eyes narrowed. Apparently deciding he was sincere, for the first
time, the carefully neutral expression she'd been maintaining brightened.

‘Thank you, Mr Anders,' she said softly. ‘It was the project of my mother's life to complete the wings and construct the terrace and gardens to unite the styles of many generations into one elegant whole.'

‘She succeeded brilliantly,' Greville replied, pleased to see her face brighten further at the compliment.

‘I find the medieval tower more interesting than the new additions,' Miss Holton broke in. ‘Almost as fascinating as the remains of the original castle, which was built on a bluff overlooking the river. You must let me show you Neville Tour later, when you're feeling up to a drive. But now you must see Aunt Lydia's knot gardens, over there below the end of the terrace. These flagstones can be slippery in the damp. Here, let me assist you,' she said, reaching out to him. ‘We wouldn't want you to fall and aggravate your injury!'

Dutifully offering the girl his arm, Greville suppressed a smile at Miss Holton's persistence in treating him like an invalid. But when he turned to share that amusement with Miss Neville, he saw the pleasant expression fade from her face as her cousin latched on to his sleeve. Her gaze fixed with obvious displeasure on the spot where Miss Holton's hand rested, Miss Neville fell into step behind them.

From whence did that disapproval arise? he wondered. Perhaps, as the reigning beauty of the area, she didn't take kindly to having her young cousin usurp the escort of the only gentleman present. Surely she couldn't imagine he had any designs upon Miss Holton, who looked as if she were barely old enough to have escaped the schoolroom.

‘Have you visited Holkham, Mr Anders?' Miss Neville was asking.

‘No, Miss Neville.' Though, having been given charge of an agricultural property, a task about which he'd known next to
nothing, he probably should have. ‘Regrettably, I haven't much knowledge of agriculture. I've heard of the yearly Clippings held at Coke of Norfolk's home, of course. I understand your father is also a skilful manager, which makes me even more eager to tour his estate.'

Progressing at the dawdling pace Miss Holton seemed to think necessary for a recovering invalid, they were nearing the garden end of the terrace when a groom sprinted towards them. Doffing his hat to the ladies, the man said, ‘Miss Althea, will you be needing your horse? Harry has him saddled and ready.'

Miss Holton bit her lip, a frown creasing her brow. ‘Oh, bother it, I completely forgot! I usually ride out after nuncheon when the weather allows,' she informed Greville.

‘Should I tell Harry to walk him for you, miss, or…?' The groom's voice trailed off.

When Miss Holton hesitated, obviously torn between the pleasures of riding and her desire to show him around, Greville said, ‘Please, Miss Holton, don't let me alter your plans. With the day promising clear, a ride should be most refreshing. I can view the gardens another day.'

‘Are you sure you won't mind waiting? Amanda could show you, but I'm sure she needs to return to her many duties. If you prefer to continue now, I can always ride later.'

The girl obviously didn't want Miss Neville to take over her place as his escort. Not wishing to be responsible for any increase in the tension he sensed between the two girls, Greville replied, ‘I believe I would prefer to wait. I'm a bit fatigued after walking this far and would just as soon return to the house. I shall count on you, Miss Holton, to show me around another time. You have such p— Ah, enthusiasm,' he substituted rapidly for ‘passion', ‘for Ashton Grove, it's a pleasure to have you as my guide.'

He'd only intended to deliver a pretty compliment to the
girl who seemed to resent her beautiful cousin—but even his milder phrase earned him a sharp look from Miss Neville.

Could she object to his using the word ‘passion' with her cousin? Though the thoughts that word immediately conjured up did not feature Miss Holton.

No, the image erupting in his eager mind was of the infinitely desirable Miss Neville, drawn into his embrace. That small ripe body tucked under his chin, that soft, rounded bosom pressed against his hard chest… Heat washed through him as parts lower than his chest hardened.

Enough, he thought, dragging his mind back to the conversation at hand—schoolgirls, and words that might not be voiced in their company. Who knew a simple conversation could become so complicated?

‘Very well, I suppose I shall ride as usual,' Miss Holton finally concluded. ‘I shall see you at dinner, then, Mr Anders?'

‘I certainly hope so,' Greville replied.

After informing the groom she would meet him at the stables as soon as she changed into her habit, Miss Holton, with obvious reluctance, set off for the house.

With equally obvious reluctance, Miss Neville remained. ‘Shall we complete the circuit of this terrace before we go in, Mr Anders?'

Greville wondered why she wished to prolong a walk she seemed to have embarked upon so unwillingly. In addition to that idle curiosity, he had to admit to feeling a bit piqued that she
was
reluctant, given his strong attraction to her.

Had he been the Greville of a year ago, his hackles all too easily raised whenever he sensed he was being treated with disdain by one richer or more favoured by fortune, he might have tried to trade snub for snub. But the hot sun off North Africa seemed to have burned out of him any lingering resentment over the fact that a mere accident of birth had elevated
his cousin Nicky to the rank of marquess, while he was only a younger son from a minor branch of the family, possessed of neither title nor wealth.

At present, he was more amused and curious than offended by her reticence. The new Greville could even concede, given his disreputable appearance upon arrival, that Miss Neville was probably justified in feeling time spent entertaining him could be better devoted to something else.

Mindful of that, Greville said, ‘Your company would be a delight, but as Miss Holton pointed out, I imagine you have matters to attend that are of greater urgency than supervising a gimpy old sailor on a promenade over the terrace.'

To his surprise, another blush coloured her cheeks. So she'd understood his mild jab at her disinclination for his company.

‘I should never wish to neglect a guest of Papa's,' she murmured.

‘I shall not feel neglected, I assure you,' he replied. ‘Miss Holton seems both capable and interested in showing me around later. Unless…it's my accompanying your cousin that disturbs you?' he guessed.

Her startled gaze shot back to his, confirming that suspicion.

Torn between amusement and indignation, Greville said drily, ‘Though you may still feel it necessary to provide Miss Holton with a chaperon, I assure you, I have no intention of ravishing her in full view of the house—or anywhere else. I admit that the circumstances of my arrival may have given you good reason to doubt it, but I do in fact possess the morals of a gentleman.'

Nor was he yet physically up to the challenge of ravishing anyone. Though if the luscious Miss Neville were the prize, he might be forced to test the limits of his endurance.

But perhaps he'd been too blunt. He was thinking how he
might soften that bald statement when Miss Neville said, ‘I fear I owe
you
an apology. If I appeared to give less credence to your scruples than you felt proper, please note that my cousin is in a delicate position, no longer a child, but still a year or more from her come-out. As you yourself remarked this morning, a young lady in such a position must take extreme care not to compromise her reputation. And so I feel I must protect her—whether she wishes me to or not.'

Greville nodded. ‘Point taken. Though I confess, I have difficulty seeing Miss Holton, with her enthusiasm for fencing, shooting and cigars, as a young lady ready to embrace London society.'

Miss Neville gave a rueful grimace. ‘Indeed! Unless something changes, I doubt she will be very enthusiastic about embracing it. But that's not all. Let me further confess that, distressed by your…appearance when you first arrived, I did not greet you with the warmth and hospitality due my father's guest. I do hope that, during the rest of your stay, you will allow me to make amends for that regrettable lapse.'

Of all the things she might have said, that apology was perhaps the most unexpected. In his observation, a Beauty was generally too complacent about her own worth and too absorbed by her own concerns to notice or care about the feelings of lesser beings.

Had some traumatic event—perhaps the tragic loss of her mother the previous summer?—spurred her to this unusual sensitivity? Whatever the cause, the perception and empathy she'd just displayed hinted at a character as sterling as her beauty.

A beautiful lady of gentle birth and sterling character who was already fully capable of managing a vast estate would be a prize indeed on the Marriage Mart this spring. The more discerning London gentlemen ought to fight each other to vie for her hand.

A pang of sadness flashed through him that in neither wealth nor title would he be considered worthy to enter that contest.

But then, he wasn't in the market for a wife, certainly not a wealthy, well-born one eager to plunge herself into the London society, he now disdained. Shrugging off that stab of regret, Greville said, ‘Shall we exchange mutual apologies, then? I shall beg pardon for not initially appearing worthy of your hospitality.'

‘Very well, mutual apologies it is,' she agreed with a smile.

Greville caught his breath. Frowning, Miss Neville had been lovely; uninterested, she was the handsomest woman he'd ever met, but with those tempting lips curved upwards, the smile adding a glow to her cheeks and an appealing softness to her countenance, she was magnificent.

The warmth of her expression flowed like molten honey over his cold heart, glazing it with sweetness. Smiling back, he glanced into her eyes and was captivated.

Ah, how mesmerising were the turquoise-blue depths, scintillating with highlights like a white-capped sea under a blustery fair sky! Greville could cast himself adrift in them for ever.

He felt almost dizzy, his equilibrium unexpectedly upended by a force too powerful to resist. He felt as if he'd been tossed to the deck by a ‘wind shot', the blast of air from a passing cannon ball that could knock a man off his feet, though the ball itself never touched him.

The attraction was so strong, he instinctively wished to move closer, catching himself from doing so only at the last moment.

For several seconds they both remained motionless. Had the blast he felt affected her, too? he wondered. Certainly she had gone still and silent, her lips slightly parted but mute, her wide eyes staring back into his. She
was
shaken, he concluded with a wild upswing of joy.
Every sense exulting, he felt the nearly irresistible urge to close the distance between them and kiss her.

Mercifully, good sense intervened. He stepped back, making himself recall why kissing the daughter of his host was not a good idea, even though other parts of his body enthusiastically endorsed such a course.

She broke the fraught silence then, saying something about returning to the house that his still-dazed ears were barely able to comprehend.

Pull yourself together, Greville.
Though initially he'd merely thought to amuse himself, tweaking this pretty miss with her superior sense of worth, he now felt the strongest compulsion to discover more about her.

‘Let me walk in with you,' he said, deliberately slowing his pace while he reassembled his scrambled wits to produce some suitable conversation to prolong their interlude. ‘You'll be wanting to return to your duties, which, I understand, are considerable. Luke, the footman who acted as my valet this morning, told me about the sad losses your family has recently suffered. Please accept my condolences, Miss Neville. However brilliantly you handle the household—and in my observation, that is very competently indeed—taking over for your mama under such circumstances must have been very difficult.'

The smile faded—and somewhat to Greville's alarm, tears glistened in the corners of her eyes. ‘Yes, it was…difficult.'

There was no reason the sadness on her face should pull at his heart—but somehow it did. Hoping to distract her from that reminder of her loss, he said, ‘You are soon to depart to London for the Season, are you not?'

‘Yes, but you mustn't think I mean to slight Mama's memory. I would remain here in mourning, but before she…left us, Mama made me promise I would go to London as planned. My Season has already been so often delayed that, compared
to the other young ladies, I shall seem practically at my last prayers.'

Greville laughed at the sheer absurdity of such a notion. ‘I assure you, Miss Neville, anyone meeting you will think only that you are one of the loveliest and most charming young ladies ever to grace London.'