Page 9 of Society's Most Disreputable Gentleman

An even more dire possibility occurred to her. Despite her avowed interest in ‘manly’ pursuits, Althea was a girl hovering on the brink between child and young woman. If her adulation should turn in a flirtatious direction, the girl might throw herself at Anders’s head. Possessed of a sizeable dowry herself, Althea would be a plump prize for a man who apparently possessed neither wealth nor property of his own.

One further glance at Althea’s expression told Amanda that any attempt to prevent her from escorting Mr Anders about was doomed to failure. The girl would simply disobey a direct order to refrain from his company; if Amanda tried to assign her some task that would prevent their meeting, Althea would likely find a way around it.

Desperately Amanda wished that Papa were present, removing from her shoulders the burden of protecting her cousin. But though she didn’t wish to further offend their guest, she knew it simply was not safe for Althea to go waltzing about the estate with Mr Anders unchaperoned. And since her wily cousin was quite capable of fobbing off any maid or groom she tried to saddle with the task, the only person likely to successfully prevent that—was herself.

Reluctantly she forced the words through stiff lips. ‘I believe I’d like to take the air as well. May I join you in your walk, Mr Anders?’

Though he might immediately guess her purpose, in his guise as a gentleman, Mr Anders could hardly refuse to accept her company if he’d already agreed to Althea’s. Though the girl sent her a furious look for inserting herself where she was not wanted, Mr Anders replied with the only answer courtesy permitted.

‘Of course, Miss Neville. If having the escort of one lovely lady is a delight, having two would be doubly so. Shall I meet you both at the entry in, say, ten minutes?’

After her polite and Althea’s enthusiastic murmur of assent, the three rose from the table.

Amanda lingered in the breakfast room as the other two departed, fuming. With quarterly supplies to order, the household account books to review with Mrs Pepys, several ill tenants to visit and half-a-dozen other urgent tasks awaiting, the last thing she needed was to have to play unwilling chaperon to her equally unwilling cousin.

Amanda resisted a strong urge to hurl her unoffending coffee cup into the fireplace, merely to hear the satisfying crash.

There was no hope for it, though. Until she could transfer the responsibility for Althea’s protection to Papa or work out a better way to separate the girl from the object of her fascination, Amanda would have to intervene.

The regrettable fact that a little stir of anticipation coursed through her at the idea of spending more time in Mr Anders’s company only made her angrier.

Chapter Four

Some ten minutes later, Greville met the ladies in the downstairs hallway before proceeding through the French doors on to the terrace. The pale February sun gave an illusion of warmth and cast a mellow light over the lichen-coated stone ornaments, balustrades, steps and the soft salmon brick of the Georgian wings. Ghostly trees rose out of the mist that still lingered over the lawns, while in the distance a dark wood climbed the hazy outlines of a slope.

Though the house and grounds had obviously been occupied for centuries, the alterations and additions had been made with care, the medieval tower and Elizabethan galleries flowing seamlessly into the Georgian wings.

‘The prospect is delightful,’ Greville said admiringly. ‘The handsome buildings, the broad sweep of terrace, the lawn marching into the hills—all combine to give the impression of timeless serenity.’

Miss Neville glanced at him sharply, her cerulean-blue eyes narrowed. Apparently deciding he was sincere, for the first time, the carefully neutral expression she’d been maintaining brightened.

‘Thank you, Mr Anders,’ she said softly. ‘It was the project of my mother’s life to complete the wings and construct the terrace and gardens to unite the styles of many generations into one elegant whole.’

‘She succeeded brilliantly,’ Greville replied, pleased to see her face brighten further at the compliment.

‘I find the medieval tower more interesting than the new additions,’ Miss Holton broke in. ‘Almost as fascinating as the remains of the original castle, which was built on a bluff overlooking the river. You must let me show you Neville Tour later, when you’re feeling up to a drive. But now you must see Aunt Lydia’s knot gardens, over there below the end of the terrace. These flagstones can be slippery in the damp. Here, let me assist you,’ she said, reaching out to him. ‘We wouldn’t want you to fall and aggravate your injury!’

Dutifully offering the girl his arm, Greville suppressed a smile at Miss Holton’s persistence in treating him like an invalid. But when he turned to share that amusement with Miss Neville, he saw the pleasant expression fade from her face as her cousin latched on to his sleeve. Her gaze fixed with obvious displeasure on the spot where Miss Holton’s hand rested, Miss Neville fell into step behind them.

From whence did that disapproval arise? he wondered. Perhaps, as the reigning beauty of the area, she didn’t take kindly to having her young cousin usurp the escort of the only gentleman present. Surely she couldn’t imagine he had any designs upon Miss Holton, who looked as if she were barely old enough to have escaped the schoolroom.

‘Have you visited Holkham, Mr Anders?’ Miss Neville was asking.

‘No, Miss Neville.’ Though, having been given charge of an agricultural property, a task about which he’d known next to nothing, he probably should have. ‘Regrettably, I haven’t much knowledge of agriculture. I’ve heard of the yearly Clippings held at Coke of Norfolk’s home, of course. I understand your father is also a skilful manager, which makes me even more eager to tour his estate.’

Progressing at the dawdling pace Miss Holton seemed to think necessary for a recovering invalid, they were nearing the garden end of the terrace when a groom sprinted towards them. Doffing his hat to the ladies, the man said, ‘Miss Althea, will you be needing your horse? Harry has him saddled and ready.’

Miss Holton bit her lip, a frown creasing her brow. ‘Oh, bother it, I completely forgot! I usually ride out after nuncheon when the weather allows,’ she informed Greville.

‘Should I tell Harry to walk him for you, miss, or…?’ The groom’s voice trailed off.

When Miss Holton hesitated, obviously torn between the pleasures of riding and her desire to show him around, Greville said, ‘Please, Miss Holton, don’t let me alter your plans. With the day promising clear, a ride should be most refreshing. I can view the gardens another day.’

‘Are you sure you won’t mind waiting? Amanda could show you, but I’m sure she needs to return to her many duties. If you prefer to continue now, I can always ride later.’

The girl obviously didn’t want Miss Neville to take over her place as his escort. Not wishing to be responsible for any increase in the tension he sensed between the two girls, Greville replied, ‘I believe I would prefer to wait. I’m a bit fatigued after walking this far and would just as soon return to the house. I shall count on you, Miss Holton, to show me around another time. You have such p— Ah, enthusiasm,’ he substituted rapidly for ‘passion’, ‘for Ashton Grove, it’s a pleasure to have you as my guide.’

He’d only intended to deliver a pretty compliment to the girl who seemed to resent her beautiful cousin—but even his milder phrase earned him a sharp look from Miss Neville.

Could she object to his using the word ‘passion’ with her cousin? Though the thoughts that word immediately conjured up did not feature Miss Holton.

No, the image erupting in his eager mind was of the infinitely desirable Miss Neville, drawn into his embrace. That small ripe body tucked under his chin, that soft, rounded bosom pressed against his hard chest… Heat washed through him as parts lower than his chest hardened.

Enough, he thought, dragging his mind back to the conversation at hand—schoolgirls, and words that might not be voiced in their company. Who knew a simple conversation could become so complicated?

‘Very well, I suppose I shall ride as usual,’ Miss Holton finally concluded. ‘I shall see you at dinner, then, Mr Anders?’

‘I certainly hope so,’ Greville replied.

After informing the groom she would meet him at the stables as soon as she changed into her habit, Miss Holton, with obvious reluctance, set off for the house.

With equally obvious reluctance, Miss Neville remained. ‘Shall we complete the circuit of this terrace before we go in, Mr Anders?’

Greville wondered why she wished to prolong a walk she seemed to have embarked upon so unwillingly. In addition to that idle curiosity, he had to admit to feeling a bit piqued that she was reluctant, given his strong attraction to her.

Had he been the Greville of a year ago, his hackles all too easily raised whenever he sensed he was being treated with disdain by one richer or more favoured by fortune, he might have tried to trade snub for snub. But the hot sun off North Africa seemed to have burned out of him any lingering resentment over the fact that a mere accident of birth had elevated his cousin Nicky to the rank of marquess, while he was only a younger son from a minor branch of the family, possessed of neither title nor wealth.

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