Page 61 of A Sense of Misgiving
Then their eyes had locked and, still in his arms, she felt them tighten around her and had been certain that he would kiss her. She lifted one hand and daringly ran her fingers through his hair, wanton and unashamedly carnal.
In the end he sighed, muttered something unintelligible beneath his breath and released her. He had probably sensed the nature of her thoughts and was disgusted by her presumption. He had shown her nothing but kindness and consideration, and had allowed her to weep all over him like a leaky watering can, and she had almost exploited that situation. She would have done so, had he not remained in possession of his senses. Mortified, she quickly averted her gaze and assured him that she was in control of herself again. He looked unconvinced, but she had left the room clutching the precious bundle of papers beneath her arm before he could press the issue.
Flora had scurried off to her chamber, cheeks burning with humiliation, in urgent need of solitude. The compulsion to explain her lapse, to apologise for it and to assure him it would never happen again if their relationship could return to its former easy footing, had to be suppressed. There was nothing she could possibly say that wouldn’t make matters worse, so she had run away before she made a complete fool of herself.
Now she had to face him again, but the situation was too potentially serious to worry about her own feelings. Mary’s welfare was all that signified. She tapped at the door and entered at his bidding.
‘Flora I…’ He rose from behind his desk and approached her. ‘Good God, whatever’s happened? Your look worried out of your head. Come and sit down and tell me.’
‘It’s Mary,’ Flora replied breathlessly. ‘Her maid has been taken ill and I have just found out that she went on the excursion without her.’
‘Damnation!’ Luke stood, his expression thunderous. ‘Excuse the language, but I had a bad feeling about this from the start. I should never have agreed to let her go.’
Flora twisted her fingers together, consumed by guilt. ‘It’s all my fault. I suggested that you should, and then I was so taken up with my own affairs today that I didn’t even go and check on her.’
‘She is not your responsibility, and anyway it doesn’t matter where the blame lies. It’s what we do now that signifies.’
‘She has been gone above two hours. Closer to three.’ Flora’s expression reflected his concern as she bent to greet Romulus. ‘In this weather the view will be completely obscured, so she should be home by now.’
‘Quite, so it begs the question…’
They both looked up when the door flew open and Paul dashed through it, clutching a telegram. ‘I’ve just had news from Horse Guards regarding Redfern,’ he said, looking furious. ‘Redfern was not injured during the course of battle. That scar on his face was incurred when he picked a quarrel with another officer. He was in danger of being court-marshalled since witnesses all agreed that the dispute was entirely of his making. A quarrel over a woman, apparently. Anyway, his brother stepped in, using his influence. Redfern was permitted to quietly resign his commission and nothing more was done about it.’
‘The countess is convinced that his limp is feigned,’ Flora said, recovering from the shock first.
‘It is,’ Paul said derisively. ‘He’s no damned hero.’
‘Where are they?’ Flora asked, having quickly explained to Paul the situation with Maud. ‘They should have returned by now.’
‘They must have taken Mary back to Arnold’s house,’ Luke said, his expression thunderous as he headed for the door. ‘Come on, Paul. We’d best go and bring my sister home.’
Chapter Thirteen
Paul was the most even-tempered of souls, well aware that anger hampered rational thought and seldom solved anything. Few things riled him. But today a simmering rage filtered through his bloodstream in virulent waves. It was reminiscent of his reaction when he learned that Archie hadn’t been able to keep away from Magda Simpson despite the personal sacrifices that Paul had made to protect his friend’s reputation. He had sensed that Redfern wasn’t what he appeared to be. He should have warned Mary. He’d almost done so on several occasions, but held back for fear that he might appear over-protective—a complaint that she often voiced against all her brothers, especially Luke. He watched Luke now as he sprang into action, issuing orders for horses to be saddled and a curricle to be brought round.
‘She will be all right.’
Flora’s soft words, her confident smile and manner in which she gently touched his hand in a gesture of sympathy was almost Paul’s undoing. Flora, who held a similar place in this household to his own, understood his worries better than most. She had noticed what had slipped past Luke’s attention, which was that he, Paul, was a fair way to being in love with Mary. He had been ever since she reached maturity and her own uniquely independent character had emerged.
Flora had encouraged Mary to be herself and not to feel fettered by society’s expectations and restrictions. She had supported Mary’s decision to eschew a season because she disliked being the centre of attention and would prefer not to go through the rigmarole. Paul knew that much because Mary had told him how pleased she was to have a female close to her own age in whom she could confide.
But Paul was a realist. Even if he had not sacrificed his education in order to preserve Archie’s reputation, and despite the fact that he was a gentleman in his own right, he knew that he would still have had to make his own way in the world. And he doubted that he would have found a position that suited him as well as this one—or rewarded him so handsomely for his efforts either. He and Luke were as close as they had ever been and Paul was treated as a member of the family. Be that as it may, he would never be in a position to offer for Mary and keep her in the style to which she was accustomed. He was sure that broaching the subject with Luke would drive a wedge between them that could never be bridged. To say nothing of seeing Paul unemployed.
And so Paul had kept his feelings to himself. But that did not mean that he wouldn’t protect the lady who filled his thoughts and roused his passions with his dying breath. That was something that he could and would do for her.
He tapped his foot impatiently as they reached the mews and waited for their horses to be brought out. Sam had answered Luke’s summons, and Paul naturally assumed that he himself would be delegated as the curricle’s driver while Luke and Sam rode ahead and rescued Mary. He understood that they needed a conveyance in which to bring Mary home but damn it, he wanted to plant Redfern a facer—he, himself, personally—for attempting to take liberties with the sweetest girl on God’s green earth.
He tried to convince himself that Redfern would not have fulfilled his objectives and that they would be in time to rescue her. Otherwise, he would not be answerable for his actions. He screwed up his fists, threw back his head and let rip with a string of silent expletives that did little to calm his frazzled nerves.
‘Come along, Paul.’
Luke, already astride a restless Onyx, sent Paul a curious look. It seemed that Sam had been assigned to curricle-driving duties after all. Without giving Luke an opportunity to change his mind, Paul swung into his saddle and trotted from the yard in Luke’s wake, both men wearing identically resolute expressions.
The two friends covered the distance to Arnold’s residence at a swift pace, cutting across fields and skirting the village for fear of being held up there. Onyx’s long stride ate up the ground, churning up mud that splattered both horse and rider. Paul’s gelding, itself no slouch, managed to keep pace. Wind whipped across Paul’s face, tugging at the brim of his hat, and a light rain had started to fall, blurring his vision. Romulus, oblivious to the conditions, loped along beside them, never seeming to tire.
‘What if we miss them on the road?’ Paul asked, when they briefly slowed to a walk to negotiate a narrow path. ‘It is just possible, I suppose, that we’ve done Redfern an injustice and he is in the process of returning Mary home unscathed.’
‘Sam will have to take the road with the curricle.’ Luke’s expression remained carved in stone. ‘If he encounters them, I have told him to transfer Mary to the curricle and then send someone after us so that we are made aware.’
