you shall not! There are other men more worthy."
Fuming silence descended over the carriage interior, the two women making their chilly stance on opposite ends of the seat.
Hale, meanwhile, silently congratulated himself. Mere friends, indeed! Whatever had been between them, at least he had put a stop to that now.
He did it for her own good. Not that she would understand or be thankful.
Too soon they arrived at the door of Mivart's Hotel, and he stepped out to help both ladies alight from his carriage. A lamp outside the building cast a wide pool of shimmering, molten gold across the pavement and as Raven passed under it, she turned her head to look over her shoulder, those lively eyes defiant.
"Perhaps you would take tea with us here, your lordship?" her mother inquired as he opened his umbrella for shelter. "Sometime next week." The wide smile once again stretched across Lady Charlotte's face. It was a rather chilling expression, actually, now he saw it clearer. Her eyes were very dark and cold, not like her daughter's warmly inquisitive, teasing regard. Even when Raven's eyes were angry he would rather have their heat making him sweat, than suffer the frosty bite of her mother's hard gaze.
"Regretfully, madam, I am not staying in town."
"I thought, since you were at the ball tonight, you might stay for the rest of the Season."
"No, madam. I had some business to tend at the Winstanleys', but I go into the country again tomorrow. Back to my estate." Back to the familiar, he thought with relief, and away from quarrelsome young women with pert tongues and firm bottoms.
"What a pity," Lady Charlotte exclaimed. "But when you are next in town then."
Making no commitment, he looked beyond her to where Raven stood by the street lamp, that dark hair a gleaming, lush mane over one shoulder, her chin proudly raised. She chose to get wet in the rain, instead of stand under the protection of his umbrella. The dampness did nothing to dispel her terrible allure. Some men, he was quite sure, would be utterly undone by the sight. Weaker men than he, of course.
"Miss Deverell, you dropped this." One arm slowly outstretched, he offered her the small beaded reticule that had fallen from her wrist while she fidgeted irritably in his carriage.
Her lips parted, shining damp in the lamplight. "Oh." Finally she took it from his hand. "Thank you."
Hale almost smiled, but restrained himself from giving her any encouragement. Wouldn't want her to think he had any interest of that nature. She was a wicked brat looking for trouble, but at least he had served her a warning not to meddle in dangerous wagers ever again.
Hopefully, he had served her a warning. At least, he thought that was what he'd been doing with her.
* * * *
Alone in her bed chamber, Raven sat at her dresser, opened her reticule and found a bank cheque written for one thousand pounds. His handwriting was very neat, very orderly, and there was his signature.
Sebastian Rockingham Hale.
The tall, sloping pillars of the "H" were grandly struck against the paper by a determined, confidently wielded pen.
So he had paid the wager, but left it in her hands. Why give it to her, instead of Matthew? She looked at her reflection in the mirror and shook her head. There was nothing to be gained by trying to understand that man's motives. She would likely never see him again.
Slowly she ran a fingertip over his signature.
What did Matty call him? A self-righteous prig. Exactly right!
Perhaps the Bourne family had asked Hale to intervene and separate her from their son?
Her shoulders slumped. She rested her elbows on the dresser, her head in her hands.
She was not in love with Matty, so she could not be genuinely angry about his potential engagement. But she could be exceedingly cross about an officious man she'd only just met trying to manage her life, spoil her fun, and tell her what to do. As if she was a child. Nobody else had ever got away with that, so why should he?
" It's
Fuming silence descended over the carriage interior, the two women making their chilly stance on opposite ends of the seat.
Hale, meanwhile, silently congratulated himself. Mere friends, indeed! Whatever had been between them, at least he had put a stop to that now.
He did it for her own good. Not that she would understand or be thankful.
Too soon they arrived at the door of Mivart's Hotel, and he stepped out to help both ladies alight from his carriage. A lamp outside the building cast a wide pool of shimmering, molten gold across the pavement and as Raven passed under it, she turned her head to look over her shoulder, those lively eyes defiant.
"Perhaps you would take tea with us here, your lordship?" her mother inquired as he opened his umbrella for shelter. "Sometime next week." The wide smile once again stretched across Lady Charlotte's face. It was a rather chilling expression, actually, now he saw it clearer. Her eyes were very dark and cold, not like her daughter's warmly inquisitive, teasing regard. Even when Raven's eyes were angry he would rather have their heat making him sweat, than suffer the frosty bite of her mother's hard gaze.
"Regretfully, madam, I am not staying in town."
"I thought, since you were at the ball tonight, you might stay for the rest of the Season."
"No, madam. I had some business to tend at the Winstanleys', but I go into the country again tomorrow. Back to my estate." Back to the familiar, he thought with relief, and away from quarrelsome young women with pert tongues and firm bottoms.
"What a pity," Lady Charlotte exclaimed. "But when you are next in town then."
Making no commitment, he looked beyond her to where Raven stood by the street lamp, that dark hair a gleaming, lush mane over one shoulder, her chin proudly raised. She chose to get wet in the rain, instead of stand under the protection of his umbrella. The dampness did nothing to dispel her terrible allure. Some men, he was quite sure, would be utterly undone by the sight. Weaker men than he, of course.
"Miss Deverell, you dropped this." One arm slowly outstretched, he offered her the small beaded reticule that had fallen from her wrist while she fidgeted irritably in his carriage.
Her lips parted, shining damp in the lamplight. "Oh." Finally she took it from his hand. "Thank you."
Hale almost smiled, but restrained himself from giving her any encouragement. Wouldn't want her to think he had any interest of that nature. She was a wicked brat looking for trouble, but at least he had served her a warning not to meddle in dangerous wagers ever again.
Hopefully, he had served her a warning. At least, he thought that was what he'd been doing with her.
* * * *
Alone in her bed chamber, Raven sat at her dresser, opened her reticule and found a bank cheque written for one thousand pounds. His handwriting was very neat, very orderly, and there was his signature.
Sebastian Rockingham Hale.
The tall, sloping pillars of the "H" were grandly struck against the paper by a determined, confidently wielded pen.
So he had paid the wager, but left it in her hands. Why give it to her, instead of Matthew? She looked at her reflection in the mirror and shook her head. There was nothing to be gained by trying to understand that man's motives. She would likely never see him again.
Slowly she ran a fingertip over his signature.
What did Matty call him? A self-righteous prig. Exactly right!
Perhaps the Bourne family had asked Hale to intervene and separate her from their son?
Her shoulders slumped. She rested her elbows on the dresser, her head in her hands.
She was not in love with Matty, so she could not be genuinely angry about his potential engagement. But she could be exceedingly cross about an officious man she'd only just met trying to manage her life, spoil her fun, and tell her what to do. As if she was a child. Nobody else had ever got away with that, so why should he?
" It's
Similar Books
