Regency Surrender: Sinful Conquests

‘You are often at Court? I thought you said you were a landowner.’

‘I am. I just happen to be well connected enough to attend St James’s, which is nothing very unusual. It is hardly as exclusive as its habitués would like to make out.’ He shrugged. ‘I find politics and diplomacy interesting. Unlike Gabriel who is as close-lipped as a clam most of the time and as indiscreet as a village gossip when he does open his mouth.’ There was an undertone of threat in the teasing words.

There was something he was not telling her, although she could guess what it was. Crispin Defoe was not the country landowner he pretended to be, he was someone who mingled in society, someone used to London. Someone used to authority and privilege. So what was he hiding? And, more to the point, why was he hiding it?

Try as she might, she could not think of any reason that Cris might be a danger to her, or to those at Barbary Combe House. He had come into their world by accident and the fact that he was being less than open about his own life was probably simply reticence and not in any way sinister. And I want him. Was her desire for him blinding her to concerns she should be feeling? No, she decided. Franklin made her uneasy, unsettled, suspicious. Cris made her feel safe, even when she knew her feelings were definitely unsafe.

Aunt Izzy came to the front door, saw them and waved. ‘Dinner in thirty minutes,’ she called. ‘We have quite lost track of time with all this excitement and Cook is threatening a disaster with the fish if we are late.’

‘I must go and tidy myself up,’ Cris said. ‘Return to my entirely respectable self.’

‘And I will show you to your room, Mr Stone. Hot water will have been taken up for you.’

* * *

‘I’m confused.’ Gabe lounged into the dining room, where Cris, decently washed, dressed and combed, was waiting for the rest of the household.

‘You’re confused? I can’t imagine what you are doing here—and don’t give me that line about curiosity. You are never so curious as to put yourself out with a journey of over two hundred miles to one of the most inaccessible parts of England.’

‘I told you, I’m removing myself from temptation and telling myself I am not quite such a rogue as to ruin a respectable young lady.’ He shrugged when Cris lifted an eyebrow. ‘And Kate is worried about you. She thinks you are in love and moping. But the timing is awry, unless you met Mrs Perowne earlier this year.’

‘Kate said...’ Hell’s teeth. Had he been that obvious when he and Gabriel had visited their old friend Grant Rivers, Lord Allundale, and his new wife, Kate? He had thought he had concealed his heartache over Katerina very effectively behind his usual cynical exterior. Apparently not.

Thinking about Katerina did not bring the jab of pain he had become used to. The shock of that realisation almost took his breath away. Was he so shallow, so hard-hearted, that he could shrug off the heartbreak of true love, simply because he was distracted by a lovely woman and a mystery?

Unless, of course, he had not been in love in the first place. Cris moved down the length of the room, away from the door and into the deep window embrasure to absorb that thought.

‘Kate was mistaken,’ he said quietly. ‘There was a woman I could not have. It preoccupied me for a while, that is all.’ It occurred to him that there had never before been something that the Marquess of Avenmore wanted badly, yet could not have. Was that all that had been wrong with him? An attack of pique, added to sexual frustration and a heady dose of forbidden romance and he had thought himself in love? If that was the case, he was not at all sure how that made him feel.

The doubt made him almost dizzy. Ridiculous. He was never doubtful, certainly not to the extent of rocking on his heels as though he had drunk too much. Cris steadied himself with one hand on the window frame. He was always in command of his emotions, clear about his motivation. But now... Had he almost drowned himself out of sheer inattention because of the delusion he was in love?

Gabe, card-player extraordinaire, was watching his face, his own expressionless. He did not have to say anything. It was obvious he thought that Cris had ricocheted from one unsatisfactory amour to another.

‘I was not in love.’ I think. Perhaps. Damn it, I should know, surely? ‘I am not in love,’ he repeated more firmly. ‘And I do not intend to find myself in love. I intend to leave here when I am confident that the ladies are no longer in any danger and I am then going to find myself a suitable, sensible wife. Kate hardly knows me. What she calls moping was merely the gloom brought on by contemplating matrimony.’

Gabriel’s mouth twisted into a wry smile, but he did not respond to the attempt at levity. ‘So what, pray, was going on in the summer house just now? And what is this I hear about you almost drowning yourself?’

‘If I have to explain to you that Tamsyn and I are verging on the edge of an affair, then it is you we need to worry about, not me. As for the near drowning, I underestimated the power of the currents off this coast. I was not paying attention, that is all.’

‘You always pay attention, Cris,’ Gabriel murmured. ‘And you are never transparent. Now I can read you like a book and you lose focus almost fatally. I think—’

Whatever he thought was, mercifully, interrupted by Aunt Rosie being helped into the dining room by the footman, Isobel and Tamsyn behind her. Cris let out the breath he had not been aware of holding and set his face into the blandest and most neutral of all his diplomatic expressions.

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