Page 5 of Escape of the Scoundrel (Escape #1)

B ut of course, that could not happen here at Grand Court! Instead, while rising excitement, born of too much isolation, warred with fresh social anxiety, she reminded herself she was entitled to be here and no longer wore her embarrassing old gown.

Lady Grandison’s clear pride in her helped. Holding on to Harriet’s arm, her ladyship beamed around the room and spoke to the people immediately in front of them, two gentlemen and the most beautiful dark-haired lady Harriet had ever seen.

“Ah, you shall be the first to meet my favourite goddaughter, who has just joined us!” Lady Grandison said to the trio. “Allow me to present Miss Harriet Cole, the daughter of my dearest friend. Harriet, this is Mrs. Eldridge, Sir Ralph Lawrence who is our new member of parliament, and Mr. Thornton.”

Harriet curtseyed to all and smiled at each introduction. The lovely Mrs. Eldridge regarded her without warmth and accorded her a slight inclination of the head, not so much unfriendly as indifferent. Sir Ralph, a handsome, fair gentleman, perhaps in his thirties, with a smiling face and rather sad eyes, bowed to her, as did the older Mr. Thornton, whose whole countenance gleamed with interest.

“Delighted, quite delighted,” he said. “I look forward to our greater acquaintance.”

“As do I,” Sir Ralph Lawrence murmured.

He and Mr. Thornton stood aside to let them pass, and Harriet’s stomach jolted hard.

Directly in front of her stood the tall, slender, supremely elegant figure of Lord Sanderly. His raven black hair swept down over his haughty brow in just the way she remembered. If his expression did not quite betray boredom, his posture did. The heavy eyelids rose, revealing the shock of those intensely blue eyes. He had no business having such eyes with that dark hair.

For a breathless moment, she was sure he looked right at her, and in spite of herself, she was pleased to see him and smiled. After all, she had vowed to express her gratitude as soon as she could, though she hadn’t expected him to notice her quite so soon...

He hadn’t.

As Lady Grandison drew her forward, his eyes remained fixed, not on Harriet after all, but on the lovely Mrs. Eldridge. Harriet felt her cheeks burn and tried to hold her smile in place.

Lord Sanderly’s thin lips curved. He even inclined his head to Mrs. Eldridge. And then he turned to Lady Grandison, bowing.

“A thousand apologies, my lady,” he said in the soft voice one could somehow never ignore. “Unforgivable to appear when I had already sent my regrets to your charming party.”

“Nonsense, my lord!” Lady Grandison gave him her hand, which he bowed over punctiliously. “We are quite delighted to have you, as I hope Sir John intimated.”

“Oh, he did, most hospitably.” The words were civil, grateful, and yet the slightest twitch of one lip, the faintest glint of amusement in his eyes, left the impression that he was well aware Sir John’s expressed delight was not sincere.

“Indeed, we are honoured,” Lady Grandison said hurriedly. “And you must meet my goddaughter, Miss Cole. Harriet, Lord Sanderly.”

Now his gaze really was on her, and she might have been back at the inn, dowdy, ragged, and vulnerable in a room full of amorous and entitled drunks. But absolutely no recognition dawned there. Stupidly piqued, she thrust out her hand.

“My lord.”

If he was surprised, he gave no sign of that either. Unhurriedly, he took her hand in the very lightest and coolest of clasps and bowed. “Miss Cole.”

She was released at once and wanted nothing more than to flee in the wake of her godmother who, however, did not move.

“And this is his lordship’s sister, Lady Barbara Martindale,” Lady Grandison said.

At first glance the brother and sister were not remotely alike. Interest and sheer vitality blazed out of Lady Barbara’s pretty face. Her hair was dark brown rather than black, her eyes a paler shade of blue, but she smiled with genuine warmth as they touched hands.

“How do you do, Miss Cole?”

“Let us eat,” Lady Grandison announced. “Sit where you will and make use of the terrace and the garden if you wish. I am glad there is no sign of yesterday’s rain...”

“Shall we find a place to sit, Miss Cole?” Lady Barbara suggested. “Snake will bring us a first choice of morsels.”

“I would,” Sanderly drawled, “only I thought that was what husbands were for. Ladies.”

He bowed and strolled off in the opposite direction to Lady Grandison, who was greeting other guests.

“How rude,” someone said in a stage whisper behind them, though Lady Barbara did not seem remotely put out.

“Drat the man,” she said without rancour, turning a brilliant smile on the gentleman who approached them. “He never used to be so disobliging. This is my husband, by the way, Mr. Martindale. James, meet Miss Cole, who is Lady Grandison’s goddaughter.”

Mr. Martindale was a stocky, somewhat austere looking gentleman, who, Harriet noted, had only approached once Sanderly had left them. Unlike his brother-in-law, he was both helpful and polite, escorted the ladies to a table on the terrace—as if they could not have tottered out there on their own—and immediately returned to the buffet table.

“We have not met before, have we?” Lady Barbara said in her friendly way. “Were you in London for the Season?”

“No, I have been at home with my family.” Only home was no longer home. And she would not dwell on the pain of it. “To be honest, I have not been out much in society at all.”

“Why is that?” asked Lady Barbara with unexpected directness.

“Mostly because my father died,” Harriet said, brushing it aside. “Are you newly married, Lady Barbara?”

“Oh, call me Bab, everyone else does. And yes, we have only been married a few months. Am I not the luckiest lady alive?” She beamed as her husband emerged from the house bearing two loaded plates.

To Harriet, the man was well enough as appearance went, but there seemed nothing obvious to raise him from the ordinary, correct gentleman to the paragon so adored by his wife. He looked too serious for Harriet’s taste. Clearly, she would have to know him better.

In fact, he proved to be pleasant company during luncheon, civil and friendly, and welcoming to Sir Ralph Lawrence who joined them later. Harriet gathered that they had all arrived at Grand Court yesterday and were well acquainted with each other.

“One is surprised to see Sanderly here,” Sir Ralph remarked. “He is not known for gracing such parties.”

“Oh, you know Snake,” Bab said vaguely.

“Actually, I don’t,” Sir Ralph said. “He is somewhat...aloof.”

Harriet was surreptitiously observing his lordship at the other side of the terrace, where he lounged in his peculiarly elegant manner opposite the lovely Mrs. Eldridge. Although a plate and a glass of wine stood before him, he appeared to be merely watching his companion eat, his eyes hooded by their heavy lids.

“Why do you call him Snake?” Harriet asked.

“Because he pounces like one,” Mr. Martindale said.

“I gathered it was because he behaved like one,” said a passing young matron with a tinkling laugh as she paused beside Lady Bab. “No offence, my dear, and all is fair in love and war, but he is not known for inspiring trust.”

“ I trust him,” Bab said crossly. “And you are both wrong. The nickname was bestowed by our late brother Hugo when we were children. It’s just a play on his Christian name.”

“What is his Christian name?” Harriet asked. He looked somehow too distant to possess such an intimate thing.

Bab giggled. “Serpentine. Something to do with my parents walking in Hyde Park along the bank of the river when Mama informed Papa of the approaching happy event. Anyway, we thought it was funny, and the name stuck. I don’t know why you all take it so seriously.”

“Ask Alicia Eldridge,” the matron said with a distinctly false smile and went on her way.

“Cat,” murmured Bab.

Her husband pretended not to hear. “And will you be joining the pall-mall game this afternoon, Miss Cole?”

“If there is room for me on one of the teams, though I confess I have not played for some time.”

“Oh, it is just for fun,” Lady Bab touched her husband’s hand. “No one takes it seriously, do they, James?”

“Probably not, since there is no money involved.” He moved his hand to lift his wine glass.

Harriet noted that all the little looks and touches of affection between the married couple seemed to come from Bab. James was merely unfailingly polite.

“Cynical, Martindale,” Sir Ralph said. “But we could arrange a little wager, if you are willing.”

“Perhaps.” Martindale was polite but not encouraging.

“Good God,” said one apparently startled gentleman loudly, as he emerged from the garden room and stopped to stare. “Is that Snake Sanderly?”

The voice was sneering, dripping with contempt, and an uneasy silence descended upon the terrace. Everyone gazed avidly at the earl, as though awaiting a violent response. Sanderly’s heavy eyelids rose and he regarded the newcomer without blinking, the full force of the icy blue orbs curiously hypnotic. Certainly, the young gentleman appeared unable to move or look away. The silence was tense.

“Ignore him,” Lady Barbara breathed like a prayer.

At the door, the gentleman’s sneering smile began to falter into blushing embarrassment. This was not the kind of attention he had sought and he clearly wished now that he’d kept his mouth shut.

“Hiss,” Sanderly said.

For some reason, it was funny. Harriet let out a gurgle of laughter. The gentleman retreated back inside in some disorder, almost tripping over his surprised companions.

Bab giggled, and Sanderly returned to his contemplation of Mrs. Eldridge, saying something to her that produced low, musical laughter.

With difficulty, Harriet looked away, but the little scene disturbed her. Although Sanderly had turned it into comedy, the attitude of too many of her godmother’s guests toward the earl smacked of bullying. Yet they seemed to regard such behaviour as justified. She contemplated this while the conversation went on around her.

“May I fetch you ladies something else?” Martindale asked.

“Oh, no, thank you, I am perfectly content,” Harriet replied. She had not eaten so much for months, and her plates had all still been half full when she let the servant take them away.

“I believe I shall retire to my room and fortify myself for the afternoon’s activity,” Bab said. “James, why don’t you reacquaint yourself with my brother?”

“Because he is busy with other reacquaintances,” James said wryly. “I shall escort you instead.”

They all rose to their feet. “I must go in search of Lady Grandison,” Harriet said, somewhat mendaciously, and parted from her companions. What she really wanted was to walk off her luncheon at a brisk pace. She did not rule out running, so perhaps she should find the children. Deciding they were probably outdoors in the grounds somewhere, she set off to explore.

She found no sign of the children or anyone else in the formal, terraced garden, or the vast lawn laid out with pall-mall hoops. A nearby wood called to her, but she promised herself that treat in the morning. It had been so long since she had any free time not taken up with exhaustion that she felt almost guilty.

She should enjoy this time, for when she was a governess, she doubted she would have much freedom either.

Almost completing her circuit of the grounds immediately surrounding the house, she decided she felt marginally less full and should see how Lily fared before joining the pall-mall game. She wondered if the enigmatic Earl of Sanderly would play. Somehow, she could not imagine it, though she had a feeling it would be good for him.

At that point, just as she turned toward a side door in the house, a movement caught the corner of her eye, and she spun back to see the tall figure of a man vanishing through a gap in a high hedge.

It was as if she had conjured him up by her idle thought. If it was indeed Sanderly. She only glimpsed him for an instant and at some distance, but if she was right, then this was the perfect opportunity for her to speak to him alone and discharge her duty of gratitude. No doubt he would then apologise for his ill behaviour and the air would be cleared to begin afresh.

Begin what afresh? she wondered. She had no intention of going anywhere near him after this. They would merely be on polite nodding terms and that would be much more comfortable than this...whatever this was.

Harriet was a great believer in clearing the air, whether to mend or avoid quarrels. It had worked well for her in the past, simple honesty and the occasional apology invariably being met half-way, so that good humour and friendship were restored.

Except with Cousin Randolph, of course, who steadfastly refused to admit that he was in the wrong about anything, and insisted it was only his charity that kept their family together and solvent with a roof over their heads.

But Lord Sanderly was clearly not like that. Whatever anyone else said about him, he truly had done her and the children a good turn by giving up his comfortable room and he had expected nothing in return.

Still, she flitted across the grass at speed, eager to get the difficult moment over with before she lost courage. There was something extremely daunting about him, even if she ignored his insolent kiss.

Don’t think of that! she admonished herself and whipped through the open gate of the high hedge, only to come to an abrupt halt. She was facing another tall hedge with only a narrow passage between it and the first. Various gaps opened off this second hedge. She was in a mature maze.

And there, lounging on a wrought-iron bench immediately to her left, his elegant arm draped casually along the back, was the Earl of Sanderly.

He looked right at her, those blazing blue eyes unshielded for the merest moment. It felt like being battered by... something . He did not immediately stand up, either from dismay or to give her time to flee. When she didn’t take the opportunity, he unwound himself from the bench without hurry.

Mentally giving herself a short, sharp shake, she drew in her breath and dropped a curtsey. “Lord Sanderly.”

“Miss Harriet Cole,” he responded, with a bow that was surely ironic.

She held on to her determination, even took a step further into the maze to face him. “I am very glad to find you here, my lord.”

“Flattered as I am, I came here for solitude.”

Although it was unforgivably rude of him, Harriet understood the sentiment and said at once, “Don’t worry, I shall keep you a mere moment.”

He blinked, which may have been a sign of surprise. At any rate, his heavy eyelids drooped further, hiding the startling beauty of those amazing eyes.

Harriet hurried into her speech. “I have to thank you for your kindness in giving up your room at the inn to us. It was the only safety possible for my family and me, and we are all grateful.”

Now, she thought, her tension reaching agonizing levels, he will apologize, and we can part and be comfortable and never speak of this again ...

“My dear girl,” he drawled, “there was no kindness involved. I fully expected payment for my key, only the dice distracted me.”

It was a lie.

She knew that instinctively, even if she didn’t understand the reason behind it. “Yes, yes, but since you did not receive it, we shall agree I have cause to be grateful.”

“Indubitably,” he said, amusement creeping into his soft voice. He even prowled toward her, “Only...how grateful?”

“Don’t start that again,” Harriet said severely, although she took a circumspect step backward. “We both made a mistake at the inn. I have acknowledged mine—”

“And I mine,” he said provokingly. “Never choose dice over women.”

“That was not your mistake and we are both well aware of it!”

“My little innocent,” he mocked, still advancing. “There are so many opportunities for dalliance at such parties as this, but discretion is the watchword, darling. Next time, let me come to you.”

Pride and outrage warred with sense, especially when he halted so close he was almost touching. She could feel his breath on her upturned face, smell his rather tantalizing scent of warm male skin and soap. Somewhere wicked and deep inside her, she wondered if the same incomprehensible dizziness would overcome her if he kissed her again. But he was right about one thing. Discretion was the watchword, and in this particular situation, it was quite definitely the better part of valour.

She stepped back again, whirling toward the gate.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she flung over her shoulder, a mere sop to her pride, and fled.

***

H AD HARRIET BEEN PRIVY to Sanderly’s thoughts, she might well have felt less routed. In truth, he had made his final move and had no intention of going any further, even for another taste of her strangely sweet lips. So he had reached an impasse with no idea what to do next, except verbally blister her, which he was inexplicably reluctant to do.

Her sudden flight was therefore a relief to him, requiring him to do no more than sink back on his solitary bench and smile gently to himself where no one could see.

He had to admit the dowdy girl in the battered straw hat scrubbed up damned well. Without doubt, she would put the cat amongst the pigeons at this party, casting both debutantes and the most beautiful of worldly young matrons into the shade. Perhaps he should stay another day to watch it happen.

He had already agreed to stay at Grand Court until tomorrow in order to sort out Bab’s mess with Illsworth and her dull husband. His ship sailed with tomorrow’s early tide, with or without him. But as Bab pointed out, there were other ships.

On the other hand, did he really want to spend more time than he already had among these tedious, self-righteous members of the ton? No, Africa called him with its intensity of life and colour, its vast, unexplored lands, populated with very different peoples and much more dangerous animals than the odd lapdog or mouse-catching cat. For Sanderly, rightly or wrongly, Africa had come to represent relief and freedom and rebirth. He longed for that.

And yet he was allowing himself to be distracted by his sister’s trivial problems that she had undoubtedly brought upon herself. And by the intriguing girl whose battered straw hat was probably being burned even now in her godmother’s furnace.

He supposed he understood about creating one’s own problems. No doubt it was a family failing. As for the girl, Miss Harriet Cole, he owed her nothing. Much more available and interesting women were ten-a-penny in his experience. So why he should feel the faintest urge to protect this one was beyond him.

Halfway through his yawn, he realized the answer.

When she had come across him before luncheon, she had smiled right at him, as though genuinely pleased to see him. At the inn, she had laughed at a sally which anyone else would have understood as insulting. She had done the same during the encounter with that puppy, Dolt, on the terrace. The silly girl seemed to like him.

She did not crave his favours, his bed, his shock-value, or his title. She gave him the benefit of the doubt when no one else ever had, even enduring considerably more provocation. She had even pursued him here to seek some kind of rapprochement.

Well, that won’t last , he thought cynically. I give her until tea to turn against me.

He closed his eyes, listening to the songs of the birds and the buzzing of distant insects, inhaling the sweet smells and the sunshine of summer. Until distant, human voices began to intrude and he supposed it was time for a tedious and no doubt flirtatious game of pall-mall.

What a pity he had to ignore Miss Harriet Cole.