Mary Brendan - Regency High Society Vol 1 - A Hasty Betrothal / A Scandalous Marriage / The Count's Charade / The Rake and the Rebel

In trepidation, Harriet obeyed and, raising her eyes to meet his, was confused to behold, not the confident gleam of amusement she had expected, but a very shamefaced expression.

‘I don’t know where to start,’ he said, his voice low and hesitant. ‘You said you hated me—I don’t blame you—I hate myself. Please don’t punish me any further!’

‘You called me a witch!’ she said tremulously.

‘Oh, but you are a witch!’ Half-smiling, he lifted one hand and traced his fingers down her cheek. ‘You have bewitched me.’

Harriet dashed his hand away in vexation. ‘You didn’t believe me,’ she cried. ‘Twice—no, three times—you didn’t believe me!’

‘I am a contemptible swine,’ he said, his throat tightening at the memory.

‘You accused me of—of—dreadful things!’ Harriet found that she couldn’t bear the look of anguish in his eyes.

‘I know I deserve to be horsewhipped,’ he choked, his confidence on the verge of destruction.

‘Horses shouldn’t be whipped,’ she whispered, her lips trembling.

‘But I should?’ A flicker of hope had crept into his voice. ‘I didn’t say that, my lord.’ ‘Robert,’ he said fiercely.

Startled, she tried to move away from him, but he still held one hand tightly in his grasp and seemed intent upon recapturing the other.

‘Lord Sandford,’ she protested, weakly, ‘please release me. This is most improper!’

‘Call me Robert,’ he cajoled her, the fire back in his eyes. ‘Then maybe I shall let you go.’

‘Maybe! That’s very poor odds!’ Harriet replied spiritedly.

He put his head on one side as though considering this point, then nodded. ‘True. Call me Robert and I promise not to kiss you. How’s that?’

Scandalised, Harriet struggled to free herself. ‘You wouldn’t dare—you told me that you were no ravisher!’

‘There’s a first time for everything,’ he said coolly. ‘Call me Robert.’

Harriet stopped struggling and regarded him balefully. ‘Well, if it means so much to you— Robert,’ she said, through clenched teeth. ‘Now let me go.’ ‘Say it again—nicely!’

‘Oh, Robert! Robert! Robert! Damn you!’ she exclaimed, without thought for the consequences.

‘Harriet, my love, you are truly magnificent!’ Sandford stood up, swept her towards him and wrapped his arms around her, ignoring her squeal of dismay.

‘Stop struggling—otherwise I shall forget myself—that’s better. Now, listen to me, Harriet—please.’

For a moment he stood very quietly, simply holding her against him and, as her eyes crept up to his face, she could see that he had become very serious once more. She didn’t move, somehow content to remain within the circle of his arms, listening to the rapid beating of his heart. At last he spoke.

‘I know that nothing I can say will undo the hurt that I’ve caused you …’ He hesitated, choosing his words with meticulous care. ‘And it is probably of very little interest to you to know that, far from play-acting, I truly believe that I love you.’ She quivered and his arms tightened. ‘Yes, I do. I had begun to hope that you might learn to hold me in similar regard—I admit that I was mad with jealousy and so desperately afraid, my darling, I think I was about to lose my reason. I was ready to commit murder—I know that now. You brought me to my senses when you struck me and I knew instantly that I had been wrong—that the whole thing was clearly a well-executed plot …’

He stopped as Harriet pulled away from him.

‘Why were you so ready to think the worst of me?’ she cried. ‘You refused even to listen to me!’

Sandford grimaced, finding the memory of that episode of his behaviour particularly repugnant.

‘I had found certain items in a clearing near the gate,’ he said, clearing his throat.

‘What items?’ Harriet demanded. ‘And how did they concern me?’

Sandford flushed and shamefacedly fingered his cravat, as though it were suddenly too tight.

‘Your hat and a glove—I recognised them both, of course …’

‘And?’ said Harriet stiffly, aware that something worse was to follow.

‘A gentleman’s pocket flask—it had contained brandy,’ choked the viscount, unwilling to meet her shocked gaze. ‘And a crumpled cravat.’

‘Also a gentleman’s, I take it?’ Harriet’s eyes glittered.

Sandford nodded in dumb resignation.

‘All the signs of a sordid tête-à-tête, in fact?’ Harriet inquired in a deceptively sweet voice. ‘No wonder you didn’t want to listen to me!’

‘You had the smell of brandy on your breath!’ exclaimed Sandford hotly, in his own defence.

‘So that’s what that funny taste was,’ mused Harriet. ‘They must have given it to me after I passed out.’

Chagrined, Sandford reached out for her once more, but she neatly sidestepped him and opened the office door. Swiftly he strode towards it, attempting to block her exit, but she was out into the hallway in a trice.

‘No doubt your parents—who have proved themselves my true friends—have by now provided you with the correct version of that morning’s events,’ she said in a low voice, not wishing to attract March’s attention. ‘And your only excuse for your appalling behaviour is to tell me that you think you love me—well, we obviously have a very different understanding of the meaning of the word “love'', my lord. The man to whom I give my heart will never doubt my word, never assume my guilt—even if confronted with the blackest of evidence—but, most of all, he will be prepared to lay down his life to protect my name and my person and—’ here her voice broke ‘—I shall do likewise for him. You, my lord, are not and will never be that man!’

She turned to leave, but Sandford caught her arm. His face was rigid, his eyes unfathomable.

‘I wish you well in your search for this paragon,’ he grated, ‘although such a pattern of perfection is unlikely to choose you as his mate …’ He stopped, aghast. My God, what am I saying, he thought, horrified at his own words. He let go of Harriet’s arm and bowed stiffly. ‘My apologies, ma’am,’ he said and re-entered the office, closing the door behind him.

For a moment Harriet stood frozen with shock. His damning words, which continued to echo in her ears, had shaken her to the core, for she was obliged to acknowledge that he was right. In spite of her high-flown speech, she was painfully aware that it had been mostly her own impetuous and foolhardy behaviour that had brought her to this stand. From the time she had left her home in Lincolnshire, right up to this very moment, she had insisted upon going her own headstrong way, ignoring advice from all sides, interfering in other people’s lives—people she hardly knew, she realised, her face suddenly scarlet at some of the memories—and presumptuously assuming that she knew what was best for everyone. No gentleman on earth could be expected to regard such conduct with anything but the deepest abhorrence. What might be considered charming in a wayward child was not acceptable in a full-grown female. Would she never learn? she pondered in despair. Time and time again she had disregarded the warnings and now, it seemed, she had reaped the whirlwind and those rash and arrogant words she had so haughtily vaunted would surely return to torment her.

Hot tears welled up into her eyes as she made her way to the foot of the staircase and the sudden blurring of her vision caused her to stumble on the first step. She was aware of a firm hand on her elbow and an anxious March at her side.

‘Miss Harriet?’ His voice was gentle. ‘Are you unwell? Shall I call Rose? Come and sit down for a moment until you recover.’