“Why mustn’t I? Why, in this lovely peaceful garden can I not remind you that we are better acquainted now and you still have not answered my question? Shall I refresh your memory?”
His voice was gentle and he was smiling at her in a way that derailed her thinking processes. It wasn’t fair, Laura’s brain protested, and her body twitched as she became aware that hisarms, also gentle, were around her. She was oblivious to the setting, indeed to anything except the urgent need to flee from this man whose very existence challenged her carefully crafted plan for her future.
“No, Jack,” she protested, twisting out of his embrace and backing away. “I told you I had no thought of marriage. My life is at Wellstead Farm with my mother.”
“Well, naturally it has been so until now,” he agreed, a puzzled look coming into his eyes, “but from what I have observed these past weeks, Exton intends to ask your mother to marry him, if it is not already settled between them.”
At his words Laura’s face went completely blank, then she said quickly, “Then I shall run the farm alone.”
“What? Why would you wish to do anything so unnatural?”
Laura’s chin went up and she glared at his astounded expression. “I find it infinitely more natural than submitting my entire life to the domination and will of a man.”
“That’s rank nonsense and you know it!” Jack declared, sounding exasperated. “Wives are not slaves. Can you deny that we have always been happy in each other’s company?Thatis natural.Thisis natural.” Quick as a whip he reached out and hauled the defiant girl into his arms. This time he was not gentle. Nor was the kiss he pressed on her protesting mouth.
Her rigid resistance cooled his temper almost at once, however, and he released her, feeling like a bully. His lips were parting to apologise, but Laura forestalled him. “That was a mistake,” she said with steely calm, “because you have now proved that you are like all men. You become infatuated with a face without knowing or caring to know the person behind the face, and then you blame the woman if she does not fit the picture you have of an adoring slave. I would like to go back now, please.” She turned her back on his appalled countenance and headed for the entrance, her stride purposeful.
If the stiff formality of Jack’s bearing on the silent drive to Mount Street was a true indication, any intention he might have had of apologising for his loss of control had fled in the wake of Laura’s attack. The only sounds from the curricle were made by its wheels on the cobblestones.
Laura’s first glance in his direction when the vehicle drew up to the Albright house was met by a cold mask of indifference. Any remark she might have made died a-borning, and she turned hastily away.
“Can you descend without assistance?” he inquired with chilly civility.
“Yes, thank you,” she replied, demonstrating the validity of her claim in an economical fashion.
He kept the horses still until she disappeared into the house.
She did not look back.
Jack shed the pose of indifference like a snakeskin as he headed for the mews where he kept his cattle. A panorama of emotions crossed his face as he replayed the improbable scene with Laura in his mind, seeking an explanation for the disaster. He concluded that it was indeed a disaster only after proceeding from his initial astonishment at Laura’s attitude and the acknowledged hurtfulness of her refusal, through the anger and stiff-necked pride that her insulting opinion of his character had aroused in him. He thought he could claim with truth that he was not so puffed up in his own conceit that he would find it inconceivable that an offer from him could be refused by any woman. But Laura was notanywoman! He’d been speaking the simple truth as he found it when he’d declared that they had always been happy in each other’s society. In his besotted state could he have mistaken mere politeness for pleasure on her part? Could all the delight have been on his side?
As he strode from the mews to his house after depositing the curricle with his groom his footsteps rang on the pavement, butthe sounds did not reach his ears. Huckston had stared after him in surprise at his abrupt departure from the stables, but he’d been unaware of the groom’s eyes on his back. Nor did any of the persons who passed him on the street make an impression on his consciousness, for his tormented vision was entirely inward.
When he came around the corner of Brook Street, however, the sight of a dusty traveling carriage in front of his house brought his unsatisfactory ruminations to a crashing halt.
“Mama!”
Jack broke into a near run and bounded up the steps, not even pausing to greet his faithful coachman, who stared after him open-mouthed from the box of the carriage.
“It’s good to see you, Hanks,” he said in the hall, shaking hands with his butler, who had obviously travelled from Rosehaven with his mistress. “Where is my mother?”
“It is good to be here again, sir,” Hanks said, beaming paternally. “Her ladyship is in the morning room drinking tea while Adams unpacks for her.”
“How did she do on the trip?” he inquired, referring to his parent’s invariable queasiness when traveling any distance in a closed carriage.
“Rather better than usual, though she is understandably a trifle fatigued,” came the reply as Hanks relieved his master of hat and gloves.
Jack dodged a footman carrying a trunk and headed down the hall with long strides. Lady Hastings was seated behind a tea table recruiting her strength with a strong hot brew and a plate of bread and butter, but she rose instantly on seeing her son. They embraced in the middle of the room.
After planting a hearty kiss on each soft cheek, Jack held her off a little, his hands lightly gripping her arms above the elbows while he searched her unlined face for signs of strain. “I am delighted to see you survived the trip in good order, Mama, andthrilled that you have finally given in to my importunities. The Royal Academy’s annual exhibition is coming up and —”
“I did not come to London to see paintings, dearest. I came because Catherine Crofton wrote to me —” She stopped at the alerted expression in her son’s eyes and dropped her own to her hands, plucking at imaginary lint on his lapel.
“Yes? And what did my esteemed godmother write that has you hot-footing it to town when you were deaf to all my entreaties?”
Jack’s soft tones held an unfamiliar note that gave Lady Hastings pause for a moment, but her agitation was such that she ploughed ahead. “Catherine saw you at Almack’s in … in earnest conversation with her neighbour, Mrs. Marsh.”
“And why should she find the sight of me in conversation with Annabelle Marsh worthy of a report to my mother?”
