the marquee.
“I am afraid it is an open carnage,” he said as they waited for the curricle to be brought round. “But I shall wrap you up in plenty of rugs.”
Annabelle did not relax until they had left the Standish mansion well behind. She dreaded the Captain coming in pursuit of her. Perhaps Lord Varleigh dreaded being pursued by Lady Jane. To her horror she realised she had voiced this thought aloud, and Lord Varleigh glanced away from the management of his team to look at his companion with a certain tinge of amusement. “No, my dear Miss Quennell,
I am
the pursuer, I assure you. I shall be meeting Lady Jane again this evening so she will be quite content to exist without my company until then.”
“Oh,” said Annabelle, wondering why she felt a pang of disappointment. After all, it was not as if she wanted Lord Varleigh for herself. Or was it?
With a start she noticed they were turning into the courtyard of a smart posting inn and, for a moment, wild thoughts of abduction and seduction flew through her brain.
“Do not be afraid,” said her companion, reading her mind with irritating ease. “I have just heard the noisy sounds of pursuit and feel sure you do not wish to meet your beloved in his present condition.”
She eyed him doubtfully as he swung her down from his curricle. But then she heard unmistakable roars and tantivies coming closer on the road outside.
She peeped round the shelter of the curricle in time to see a smart phaeton, driven by the Captain, streaming past at a tremendous rate. Mr. Louch and Major Wilks were crammed on either side of him and hanging onto their tall hats for dear life. A slice of lemon rolled into the courtyard of the inn. The gallant Captain had obviously not waited to change.
Annabelle felt strangely embarrassed when she found herself seated alone with Lord Varleigh over the tea tray. But he settled comfortably back in his chair, entertaining her with an easy flow of conversation until she relaxed.
At last he said, “You must forgive the impertinence of the question, Miss Quennell, but is your proposed marriage with Captain MacDonald an
arranged
one? There does not seem to be much regard on either side.”
“More tea?” queried Annabelle sweetly.
Lord Varleigh’s thin brows snapped together, and then he laughed. Of course the very correct Miss Quennell would not discuss her engagement. He also longed to ask her why she had worn such an outrageously indecent gown to the opera but felt sure she would simply give him another setdown.
But Annabelle had thought of a safe topic of conversation. Had Lord Varleigh received her note of thanks for the book he had sent her? Indeed he had. He was amused to learn it was the first novel she had read.
“Mama would
never
allow me to read a novel,” said Annabelle, “although she always insisted I was reading romances on the sly. Miss Austen’s book seems all thatis proper. Now the tales of the ancient Greeks are sometimes
very
scandalous, but Mama never objected to those.”
“Which translations did you read?” asked Lord Varleigh, noticing that Annabelle had an intriguing dimple in her cheek when she smiled.
“Oh, I read them in the original,” said Annabelle blithely, unaware of Lord Varleigh’s start of surprise. “Papa is a great scholar. I have been fortunate in my education. Oh, I had forgot. Godmother told me not to mention books in the presence of any member of the
haut ton
in case I was labelled a blue stocking.”
“There is no fear of that. You are too beautiful,” said Lord Varleigh simply and then cursed himself. His compliment had the effect of causing a closed, tight look on Annabelle’s face, and she began to look at the clock with obvious impatience.
“Come,” he teased. “I will take you home. But you must get in the way of receiving compliments, Miss Quennell. With your face and figure…” He allowed his eyes to roam insolently over her. To his surprise she did not blush or simper
“I am afraid it is an open carnage,” he said as they waited for the curricle to be brought round. “But I shall wrap you up in plenty of rugs.”
Annabelle did not relax until they had left the Standish mansion well behind. She dreaded the Captain coming in pursuit of her. Perhaps Lord Varleigh dreaded being pursued by Lady Jane. To her horror she realised she had voiced this thought aloud, and Lord Varleigh glanced away from the management of his team to look at his companion with a certain tinge of amusement. “No, my dear Miss Quennell,
I am
the pursuer, I assure you. I shall be meeting Lady Jane again this evening so she will be quite content to exist without my company until then.”
“Oh,” said Annabelle, wondering why she felt a pang of disappointment. After all, it was not as if she wanted Lord Varleigh for herself. Or was it?
With a start she noticed they were turning into the courtyard of a smart posting inn and, for a moment, wild thoughts of abduction and seduction flew through her brain.
“Do not be afraid,” said her companion, reading her mind with irritating ease. “I have just heard the noisy sounds of pursuit and feel sure you do not wish to meet your beloved in his present condition.”
She eyed him doubtfully as he swung her down from his curricle. But then she heard unmistakable roars and tantivies coming closer on the road outside.
She peeped round the shelter of the curricle in time to see a smart phaeton, driven by the Captain, streaming past at a tremendous rate. Mr. Louch and Major Wilks were crammed on either side of him and hanging onto their tall hats for dear life. A slice of lemon rolled into the courtyard of the inn. The gallant Captain had obviously not waited to change.
Annabelle felt strangely embarrassed when she found herself seated alone with Lord Varleigh over the tea tray. But he settled comfortably back in his chair, entertaining her with an easy flow of conversation until she relaxed.
At last he said, “You must forgive the impertinence of the question, Miss Quennell, but is your proposed marriage with Captain MacDonald an
arranged
one? There does not seem to be much regard on either side.”
“More tea?” queried Annabelle sweetly.
Lord Varleigh’s thin brows snapped together, and then he laughed. Of course the very correct Miss Quennell would not discuss her engagement. He also longed to ask her why she had worn such an outrageously indecent gown to the opera but felt sure she would simply give him another setdown.
But Annabelle had thought of a safe topic of conversation. Had Lord Varleigh received her note of thanks for the book he had sent her? Indeed he had. He was amused to learn it was the first novel she had read.
“Mama would
never
allow me to read a novel,” said Annabelle, “although she always insisted I was reading romances on the sly. Miss Austen’s book seems all thatis proper. Now the tales of the ancient Greeks are sometimes
very
scandalous, but Mama never objected to those.”
“Which translations did you read?” asked Lord Varleigh, noticing that Annabelle had an intriguing dimple in her cheek when she smiled.
“Oh, I read them in the original,” said Annabelle blithely, unaware of Lord Varleigh’s start of surprise. “Papa is a great scholar. I have been fortunate in my education. Oh, I had forgot. Godmother told me not to mention books in the presence of any member of the
haut ton
in case I was labelled a blue stocking.”
“There is no fear of that. You are too beautiful,” said Lord Varleigh simply and then cursed himself. His compliment had the effect of causing a closed, tight look on Annabelle’s face, and she began to look at the clock with obvious impatience.
“Come,” he teased. “I will take you home. But you must get in the way of receiving compliments, Miss Quennell. With your face and figure…” He allowed his eyes to roam insolently over her. To his surprise she did not blush or simper
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