Page 2 of A Kiss to Stop a Wedding

‘W hat the devil?’

‘Who are you?’

They both spoke at the same time, but the stranger recovered his wits first. He took a pace back, much to Flora’s relief.

‘I thought the family were from home,’ he said.

‘They are.’

He frowned. ‘You do not look like a servant.’

‘I am not. I am walking my dog.’

The stranger’s brows rose and he glanced around before fixing her with an enquiring—and slightly disbelieving—eye. She felt a flush rising, but at that very moment there was a bark and Scamp ran up, his tongue lolling.

If Flora hoped for some show of protection from her canine companion, she was disappointed. The spaniel trotted happily up to the stranger, who bent and scratched at the liver-coloured head.

‘Well now, who is this? ’

‘Scamp,’ muttered Flora, watching as her pet fawned and sniffed at the glossy top boots.

‘Scamp, is it? And a scamp you are, sir, not to take better care of your mistress!’

With a final pat on the dog’s head, the man straightened.

He gave a crooked grin which Flora found surprisingly beguiling and she was sorely tempted to smile back.

There was no denying the man was attractive, with his dark hair curling out beneath a tall hat and chocolate-brown eyes that glinted with amusement.

But he was a stranger and, despite his snowy neckcloth and well-fitting coat, very probably a trespasser, so instead she gave him a haughty look.

He took off his hat and swept her an elegant bow. ‘Matthew Talacre, at your service, ma’am. Matt to my friends.’

She ignored his last words, and the glinting smile that accompanied them.

‘May I ask again, sir, what you are doing here?’

‘I hoped to see Lord Whilton. Having written to him and not received a reply, I thought I would seek him out.’

‘But you know the family is not at home, so why are you in His Lordship’s garden?’

‘I might ask you the same thing.’

That disconcerting smile was still hovering around his mouth and she put up her chin .

‘I am Flora Warenne. Lord Whilton’s fiancée.’

‘His fiancée!’

Flora was not offended by the stranger’s obvious astonishment; she often wondered herself what it was that had persuaded Quentin Gask, Viscount Whilton, to propose to her, but she could not deny it rankled.

‘And what do you find so strange about that?’ she demanded.

* * *

Yes, why the devil should that surprise me? Matt asked himself.

The lady was a beauty. Her figure showed to advantage beneath a rust-coloured pelisse and flame-red hair peeped out from beneath a straw bonnet and framed delicate features with the translucent look of fine porcelain.

Eyes the colour of hazel nuts, fringed with dark lashes, regarded him fearlessly while a sprinkling of freckles decorated her straight little nose. And as for that generous mouth…

‘Well, sir? Has the cat got your tongue?’

He dragged his thoughts away from wondering what it would be like to kiss those rosy lips.

‘Why, nothing strange about it at all, ma’am, save that you are unescorted.’ He added, before she could protest, ‘Although, of course, you do have your guard dog.’

He glanced down at the spaniel, who had lost interest in the humans and was sniffing around the base of the stone statue at the centre of the small lawn. Looking again at the lady, he saw her lips twitch. A smile was forming, but she quickly shut it down.

‘I must go.’ She turned away and called to her dog.

‘I will come with you.’

‘There is no need. Scamp, come here !’

‘But I am staying at the Whilton Arms and thereforegoing that way. I left my horse at the end of the lane. Did you see her? A piebald mare.’

‘No, I did not see her.’ Flora was relieved when the spaniel came up and sat at her feet, his flanks heaving. He was unusually relaxed with this stranger and clearly sensed no danger. She added, less sharply, ‘I came in through the woods.’

‘Ah, yes. I passed a narrow track, about halfway along the path. Would that be it? Please do not be alarmed, ma’am. I am perfectly respectable.’

There it was again, that roguish smile. Flora quickly looked away.

‘You are trespassing,’ she reminded him.

‘But in a good cause. Perhaps you would like to know what it is?’ She glanced up at him then, and he continued. ‘I came to Warwickshire in search of a statue.’

‘Is that why you are here, in this arbour, looking at the sculpture of Mars?’

‘Yes, although I know it by its Greek name, Ares, rather than the Roman. It was stolen from me. ’

‘Stolen!’

‘Sold off by someone with no legal right to do so. Would you like me to explain?’ He took her silence as assent, and went on.

‘I am the co-owner of a pleasure gardens in Gloucestershire. I took charge just over two years ago and shortly before that the manager, a shifty fellow called Hackthorpe, sold off several pieces, including the statue of Ares. It is one of a pair, Ares and Aphrodite, carved from Portland stone and commissioned from Rysbrack by the first owners of the gardens, some sixty years ago. The commission is recorded in an early accounts ledger, which fortunately was never in Hackthorpe’s possession. ’

‘How can you be sure it is the same?’

‘I remember seeing the pair, when I first visited the gardens, and I noticed they both had identical markings carved on the back. Ares was gone by the time I took charge.

‘There is no record in the accounts of the statue being sold. Hackthorpe denied it and he was careful to cover his tracks, but not quite clever enough. I discovered a letter addressed to him from Lord Whilton, referring to an advertisement in the Warwickshire Advertiser and offering him fifty guineas for the sculpture. I found it between the pages of one of the older ledgers, where it had obviously been mislaid.’

As he was speaking Flora moved closer to the statue. She studied the classical face, clean shaven and with curling hair very much like that which was now so fashionable. Very much like that of the stranger, she thought, before brushing the idea aside.

The figure was seated on a rock, sword in one hand and naked save for the stone drapery covering his hips and thighs. It was certainly a very fine piece. She remembered how pleased Lord Whilton had been when he installed it in this garden two years ago. The day he had asked her to marry him.

There might be some truth in the stranger’s story, but she could not admit that. It would be like betraying Quentin.

‘So, you see,’ said the man, coming to stand beside her, ‘it is a matter of some delicacy that I need to discuss with the Viscount.’

‘And I am sure His Lordship will be pleased to listen to you, when he returns,’ she said coolly. ‘Good day, Mr Talacre.’

‘I am coming with you.’

‘I would rather you did not.’

‘But I am obliged to go that way, to collect my horse.’ His brown eyes gleamed with mischief. ‘Or would you prefer me to walk behind you, like a medieval page?’

‘Of course not!’ It was a ridiculous suggestion and she could not prevent a quiver of laughter in her voice.

He grinned. ‘Very well then. Shall we—? ’

‘Hi, you!’ demanded a loud, rough voice. ‘What are you doing in here?’

Matt looked up to see a small, thin man limping into sight from behind the hedge. He was wearing an apron over his homespun breeches and holding his garden hoe before him in a menacing fashion, but when he saw the lady he stopped and touched his hat to her.

‘Oh, ’tis you, Miss Warenne. I beg your pardon; I didn’t see you.’

He was still regarding Matt with a wary eye and she said quickly, ‘It is quite all right, Jepps. This is Mr Talacre—he came to see Lord Whilton.’

‘He ain’t here.’

‘So I understand.’ Matt regarded the groundsman with a sapient eye. ‘Military man, were you?’

‘I was, until I was wounded and shipped home from Corunna.’

‘Thought so. Even your country clothes and high-low boots can’t disguise that straight back. Why, you were even wielding that hoe as if it were a bayonet!’

The man stood a little taller. ‘Aye, sir. Rifle Corps. But that aside, you shouldn’t be here, what with the Viscount being from home and all.’

He shifted uncomfortably and glanced at Miss Warenne, who said quickly, ‘Quite right, Jepps. We were just leaving.’

The man nodded. ‘Thank you, miss. Would you like me to come with you? ’

Matt saw the lady hesitate. She threw him a glance that held more than a hint of triumph and he shrugged inwardly.

Ah well, it had been pleasant talking to her and if she was indeed the Viscount’s fiancée then it would have been useful to have her support, but it was not to be.

Shame, though, he would have liked to walk back through the woods with her and become better acquainted with Miss Warenne. Flora.

‘That will not be necessary, Jepps, thank you,’ she said, surprising him. ‘What I would like you to do is remove the weeds from the flower beds around the south lawn. They are looking very neglected.’

‘Very well, miss.’ He touched the brim of his soft hat to them and shuffled off with an ungainly, dragging step.

Matt turned to Flora, but the look she gave him made him change his mind about teasing her.

‘Shall we go, ma’am?’

He stepped back, inviting her to precede him through the arch in the hedge.

She set off, calling sharply to the spaniel, who abandoned the promising scent he had discovered and bounded ahead.

In the colonnade Matt fell into step beside her, but they had not gone far when she slowed and he knew immediately that she had noticed his own uneven stride.

He said quickly, ‘Do not change your pace for my benefit.’

‘But you are limping. ’

‘I took a French musket ball in my thigh. It is almost completely healed now.’

She did not look convinced. ‘If you are sure…’

‘Aye, and I am much better if I don’t dawdle.’

Flora risked a slight smile, but turned her head away quickly, lest he think her too forward.

‘Were you in the army?’ she asked him.

‘Yes.’