Fair Juno by Stephanie Laurens Page A

Determined to keep her mind from dwelling on her empty stomach, she cast about for some suitably innocuous topic. ‘You said you’d been visiting your home. Is it near here?’
    ‘The other side of Taunton.’
    ‘You’ve been away for some time, haven’t you? Was it much changed?’
    Martin grimaced. ‘Thirteen years of mismanagement have unfortunately taken their toll.’ The silence following this pronouncement suggested that his anger at the fact had shown in his tone. He sought to soften the effect. ‘My mother lives there, but she’s been an invalid for some years. My sister-in-law acts as her companion but unfortunately she’s a nonentity—hardly the sort to raise a dust when the runners disappeared.’
    ‘Disappeared?’ Shocked incredulity showed in fair Juno’s eyes, echoed in her tone.
    Reluctantly, Martin grinned. ‘I’m afraid the place, beyond my mother’s rooms, is barely habitable. That’s why I was so set on heading back to London without delay.’ Reflecting that had this not been the case he would not have had the honour of rescuing fair Juno, Martin began to look on the Hermitage’s shortcomings with a slightly less jaundiced eye. Considering the matter dispassionately, something he had yet to do, he shrugged. ‘It’s not seriously damaged—the fabric’s sound enough. I’ve a team of decorators at work on my town house. When they’ve finished there, I’ll send them to the Hermitage.’
    Intrigued by the distant look in his eyes, Helen gently prompted, ‘Tell me what it’s like.’
    Martin grinned. His eyes on his horses, and on the rutsin the road, he obliged with a thumbnail sketch of the Hermitage, not as he had found it, but as he remembered it. ‘In my father’s day, it was a gracious place,’ he concluded. ‘Whenever I think of it, I remember it as being full of guests. Hopefully, now I’ve returned, I’ll be able to restore it to its previous state.’
    Helen listened intently, struck by the fervour rippling in the undercurrents of his deep voice. ‘It’s your favourite estate?’ she asked, trying to find the reason.
    Martin considered the question, trying to find words to convey his feelings. ‘I suppose it’s the place I call home. The place I most associate with my father. And happier memories.’
    The tone of his last sentence prevented further enquiry. Helen mulled over what little she knew of the new Earl of Merton and realised it was little indeed. He had clearly been out of the country, but why and where she had no idea. She had heard talk of a scandal, unspecified, in his past, but, given the anticipation of the hostesses of the ton , it was clearly of insufficient import to exclude him from their ballrooms and dinners.
    While he conversed, one part of Martin’s mind puzzled over the conundrum of his companion. Fair Juno was not that young, nor yet that old. Mid-twenties was his experienced guess. What did not seem right was the absence of a ring on her left hand. She was undeniably beautiful, attractivein a wholly sensual way, and the sort of lady who was invited to Chatham House. The possibility that she was a lady of a different hue occurred only to be dismissed. Fair Juno was well-bred enough to recognise his potential and be flustered by it—hardly the hallmark of a barque of frailty. All in all, fair Juno was an enigma.
    ‘And now,’ he said, bringing their companionable silence to an end, ‘we should put our minds to deciding how best to return you to your home.’ He glanced at the fair face beside him. ‘Say the word, and I’ll drive you to your door.’ Entirely unintentionally, his voice had dropped several tones. Which, he thought, catching Juno’s wide-eyed look, merely indicated how much she affected him.
    ‘I don’t really think that would be altogether wise,’ Helen returned, suppressing her scandalous inclinations. He was teasing her, she was sure.
    ‘Perhaps not. I had hoped London starchiness had abated somewhat, but clearly