Her first glimpse of Ford Barrett after seven long years had flustered her even more than she’d expected. Not that he was the same ardent, charming young man she remembered. Time had changed him in many ways.

The pitiless Indian sun had darkened his skin to the colour of a Barbary pirate’s. The wild black curls she had once loved to twine around her fingers had been cropped to short, severe stubble. His mouth, once so mobile, was now set in an unyielding line. The years had chiselled his features into a visage of stark, savage beauty. Eyes once the warm, soft green of new moss were now hard and cool as jade.

Had all those changes been wrought by the passing years and his experiences in the Orient? Or had he always been such a forceful, ruthless man, while she’d been too naïve to see it?

Part of her itched to turn and flee from this formidable man, while another part felt irresistibly drawn towards him…

Married: The Virgin Widow
Deborah Hale

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Author Note

Welcome to the first book of my new series, Gentlemen of Fortune, about the self-made men of Vindicara Trading Company! After I wrote this story I decided to give Ford Barrett a couple of business partners. Since I needed these men to have made their fortunes while still young, I looked for a time and place when opportunities were ripe. I saw it at the end of the Regency era, when the trading post of Singapore was founded. Born of a flamboyant risk, its early existence under constant threat, the tiny settlement brought together people of very different cultures united in their drive to succeed. I have relished the opportunity to learn more about Singapore’s fascinating history and culture.

Ford Barrett, Hadrian Northmore and Simon Grimshaw all left Britain for various reasons, going halfway around the world to make their fortunes. Now, though they have money, power and success, they discover those things mean nothing without a special person to share them. As destiny throws three unique women into their paths, these driven men discover that achieving material success was easy compared to the challenge of forging a close, passionate relationship that will last a lifetime.

MARRIED: THE VIRGIN WIDOW is the story of Ford Barrett, who inherits a title and estate from his late cousin. Returning to England to put his affairs in order, he must confront his cousin’s beautiful young widow—the woman whose betrayal broke his heart and drove him into exile. Ford believes that by possessing her at last he can free his heart from her thrall. But Laura will not be possessed. Tested by hardship, she is haunted by wrenching secrets, including one that could destroy Ford and their rekindled love!

I hope you will enjoy MARRIED: THE VIRGIN WIDOW and look forward to those of the other Vindicara partners!

In the process of tracing her Canadian family to their origins in eighteenth-century Britain, DEBORAH HALE learned a great deal about the period and uncovered plenty of true-life inspiration for her historical romance novels! Deborah lives with her very own hero and their four fastgrowing children in Nova Scotia—a province steeped in history and romance!

Deborah invites you to become better acquainted with her by visiting her personal website, www.deborahhale.com, or chatting with her in the Harlequin Mills & Boon online communities.

Novels by Deborah Hale:

A GENTLEMAN OF SUBSTANCETHE WEDDING WAGERMY LORD PROTECTORCARPETBAGGER’S WIFETHE ELUSIVE BRIDEBORDER BRIDELADY LYTE’S LITTLE SECRETTHE BRIDE SHIPA WINTER NIGHT’S TALE (part of A Regency Christmas)

Look for more in Deborah Hale’s

Gentlemen of Fortune

BOUGHT: THE PENNILESS LADY

WANTED: MAIL-ORDER MISTRESS

Coming August and September 2010

Thanks to the smart, talented, generous members of Romance Writers of Atlantic Canada for their continuing support. Extra-special thanks to Julianne MacLean, Ann Cameron and Anne MacFarlane, who tutored me in the mysteries of alpha-males and romantic revenge.

Chapter One
June 1821

Ford Barrett’s spirits soared as he read the letter he had been waiting seven long years to receive. A letter he had often despaired of ever seeing. A letter that would end his long exile and allow him to reclaim everything that had been stolen from him.

Including his heart.

After a voyage of five months and many thousand miles, the letter had arrived earlier that day in Singapore. Ford and his business partners had been so busy it was after sunset before they had a chance to read their mail.

Now the three men sat pouring over their correspondence by candlelight, on the deep veranda of the wooden bungalow they’d helped build beside their warehouse. Overhead, raindrops from the south-west monsoon pattered softly on the roof, thatched with palm fronds. The distant commotion of a cockfight mingled with a haunting wail summoning the Maylays and Arabs to their evening prayers. Pungent odours of fish, mangrove swamp and burning joss sticks hung in the sultry night air.

Hadrian Northmore glanced up from one of his letters to fix Ford with a penetrating stare. “Bad news, is it? I’ve never seen you look so sour.”

Ford made a strenuous effort to relax the clenched muscles of his face into his usual neutral expression. He hated it when others could guess his true feelings—even the tough, proud man who’d helped him make his fortune.

Hadrian’s remark drew the attention of Simon Grimshaw from his own correspondence. “Not more debts, is it, Ford? I thought you paid off the last of those ages ago.”

“I did.” Ford kept his tone offhand, yet deep inside in rankled to be reminded of the debts that had driven him from his homeland to this tropical purgatory.

So much had happened since then and he had changed so much from that foolish, feckless youth, it often felt like another lifetime. But when thoughts of Laura Penrose stirred his smouldering outrage over her betrayal, it seemed like only yesterday. The letter on his lap had brought all that back like a fresh blow to an unhealed wound.

He had been betrothed to her and deeply in love. Laura knew he could not afford to wed until he inherited his cousin’s title and estate and she had agreed to wait. Then one day, Ford had received a terse note breaking their engagement and informing him she intended to wed his cousin Cyrus instead. The jilting alone had been hard enough to bear, but there was worse. By marrying his cousin, Laura had also jeopardised his expectations. If she’d borne Cyrus a son, Ford would never have inherited the title and estates that had been in his family for centuries. What tormented him worst about her betrayal was the poisonous suspicion that she had only used him to ingratiate herself with his wealthy cousin.

“If not your debts, what is it about then?” demanded Hadrian in a deep voice, rich with the cadence of his native Durham. He was a big man whose tightly coiled power and fierce nobility reminded Ford of a tiger on the prowl.

“It isn’t bad news at all.” He rubbed the edges of the thick paper between his fingers to reassure himself it was real. “Quite the contrary. This letter is from a London solicitor who begs to inform me that my cousin Cyrus died over a year ago, leaving me to succeed him as Lord Kingsfold.”

“Congratulations, your lordship!” Simon rose from his seat and bowed to Ford. Though not quite as imposing as his two partners, he had the pragmatic toughness of a tested survivor. “I say this calls for a celebratory drink.”

He headed off to fetch the bottle, favoring his left leg as he often did at the end of a long day.

Meanwhile, Hadrian stared at Ford with one dark brow arched. “I suppose from now on you’ll expect us to tug our forelocks and address you by your proper title, your lordship?”

His partner’s wry levity shook Ford from his bitter brooding. “Why, of course,” he quipped. “Though, as a token of particular favor, you needn’t fully prostrate yourselves on the floor.”

“You are too kind, exalted one.” Hadrian gave a mocking chuckle.

They were still engaged in deprecating banter when Simon reappeared bearing three glasses and a bottle of potent Batavia arrack. “I was so elated by your good fortune, Ford, I did not think to offer my sympathy on the death of your cousin. Were the two of you close?”

“Not really.” Ford took the glass Simon offered him. “Cyrus was older than my father, so I thought of him more as a distant uncle. A solitary old codger.”

Not so solitary that he’d been able to resist the flattering attention of a pretty young woman, but foolish enough not to realise she was only after his fortune. Had Laura feigned the least show of grief when her husband breathed his last? Or had she celebrated her inheritance with a glass of something more bubbly and expensive than arrack?

Simon uncorked the bottle and poured a liberal measure of clear, yellow liquor into each of their glasses. Back in England the stuff was in great demand for compounding rack punch, but Ford and his partners preferred it undiluted.

“What will you do now?” asked Hadrian as Simon handed him a glass. “Sell up and get out of trade? Sail home and forget you ever knew how to work for a shilling?”

Ford fixed his partner with a level stare. “I shall never forget that, I hope.”

Work had been his salvation—an opportunity to prove he could succeed at something. It had provided a welcome escape as well. His aim had been to work so hard every day that he would collapse upon his bed in exhausted sleep, before bittersweet memories or dashed dreams had a chance to haunt him.

Though hard work had made him rich, it had failed to break Laura Penrose’s pernicious hold upon him. Whenever he caught a stray whiff of orange blossoms, his nostrils flared and his breath raced. Whenever he heard the strains of certain music, an ache of longing gnawed at his flesh. And whenever he’d lain with a woman, he could not prevent himself from picturing Laura in his arms.

“I do intend to go back to England,” he continued. “For a while at least. I shall need to put my affairs there in order. We have often talked about opening an office in London. This might be the right time.”

Ford did not tell his partners the other reason for his return to England, though he had been planning it for years, hoping this opportunity might arise. He recalled his long voyage of exile, his heart and pride mauled to such tatters that he’d yearned to hurl himself overboard to escape the pain. All that had saved him from despair was his unquenchable thirst to reclaim everything that had been stolen from him.

Bolting a drink of the fiery liquor that tasted like potent rum laced with rice wine, Ford pondered his plan.

By forcing Laura into marriage, he would regain control over the fortune she’d inherited from his cousin—a fortune that should have been his. Once he possessed her, the last tangible symbol of his youthful failures, once he bedded her to sate seven years’ thwarted desire, she would no longer exercise her infernal fascination over him. His life and his heart would be his own again.

Hadrian lifted his glass in a toast. “This just might be the right time to open a London branch of Vindicara Company. I don’t trust those smarmy Whitehall diplomats not to hand Singapore over to the Dutch in some treaty or other. We need to be ready if that happens.”

“And until it happens,” Simon raised his glass, “we keep on making money hand over fist.”

They all drank to that.

“Speaking of money,” said Hadrian as Simon refilled their glasses, “when you go back to England, will you take some for my brother? Now that Julian’s out of school and reading law, it’s time he thought about standing for Parliament in the next election. A seat in the Commons doesn’t come cheap.”

“I’ll be happy to do whatever I can for your brother.” Ford had often wondered why his partner never spent a penny on himself. Any profit Hadrian did not plough back into the company went to give his brother the best of everything money could buy. Though he and Ford never spoke of it, perhaps they’d both sensed a secret hunger in each other. The wealth they’d worked so hard to secure was only a means to some deeper end.

“Since you mention it—” Hadrian leaned back in his chair and regarded Ford gravely over the rim of his glass “—perhaps once you’re settled, you might use your connections to help Julian find the right sort of wife.”

By now Ford had drained his second glass of arrack and was feeling a trifle less guarded than usual. “And what sort might that be? I am hardly one to give sage advice about women.”

Hadrian considered for a moment. “One with good breeding and useful connections who can help him rise in the world. Sturdy enough to bear lots of strong sons, but pretty enough that he won’t mind bedding her to breed them. Above all, see that he steers clear of fortune hunters.”

Ford’s hand clenched around his glass. “I can give you my word on that.”

He would do everything in his power to put young Northmore on his guard against women like Laura Penrose.

With a rumbling chuckle, Hadrian drained his glass. “No need to settle everything tonight, though, is there? It’ll be months before the winds shift to take a ship back to England. Anything could happen by then.”

His partner’s words sent a chill of dread down Ford’s spine. Cousin Cyrus had been dead for more than a year already and it would be a further nine or ten months before Ford could hope to reach England. What if, in that time, his cousin’s widow cast off her transparent charade of mourning to wed another old fool for his fortune?

If that happened, Ford feared he might never be able to free himself from her thrall.

April 1822

“Please, Mama, you need to eat more.” Laura whisked the cover off the plate she was holding and leaned over the bed to wave a dish beneath her mother’s nose. “Dear Mr Crawford caught this lovely trout not three hours ago and fetched it here expressly to tempt your appetite.”

And perhaps hoping he might catch a glimpse of Belinda? Much as Laura appreciated his gift, she wished Sidney Crawford would conquer his bashfulness and propose to her sister. Then they could afford to eat fish as often as they liked, purchase the occasional new gown, and perhaps take Mama to Bath for a course of waters.

Best of all, her family could vacate the house that had been their home for almost seven years, before its new master returned from abroad to evict them. Laura would give anything to avoid an encounter with the man who’d once promised to make her his wife only to abandon her in her hour of need.

“How kind of the…dear boy.” Mrs Penrose struggled to pull her frail frame into a sitting position. The effort made her gasp for breath. “You are all…much too indulgent…of a troublesome…invalid.”

“Nonsense.” Laura tried to ignore the stark evidence of how much her mother’s health had declined during the past winter. “Nobody goes out of their way to give less trouble than you.”

Sometimes she feared Mama would like to slip away from life altogether and be no more bother to anyone. Laura would have moved heaven and earth to grant her mother any wish but that.

Having caught her breath, Mrs Penrose inhaled the succulent fragrance rising from the plate. “It does smell good. And Cook has prepared it just the way I like—poached in a very little water, without rich sauces to smother the delicate flavour.”

Laura gave a rueful smile. Did Mama truly believe Cook possessed the necessary ingredients to compound a rich sauce even if she’d wanted to?

Perhaps so. Even when Papa was alive, she’d had a remarkable ability to overlook anything that threatened to dim her rosy view of the world. Now her air of fragile bemusement made the entire household conspire to shield her from any unpleasantness. That protective conspiracy was growing harder to maintain as the number of such worries grew month by month. Laura did not have the luxury of pretending all was well. A faint sigh escaped her lips as she set the dinner tray in front of her mother.

Mrs Penrose glanced up with a look of vague but fond concern. “Are you feeling quite well, dearest? You look tired and you have grown thinner over the winter. I know how hard it must have been for you since poor Cyrus died.”

“It has been a long winter.” Laura avoided mentioning her late husband for fear her tone might betray her true feelings.

Even with the hardship his death had brought upon her family, she was happier as Cyrus Barrett’s widow than she had ever been as his wife. No doubt it was wicked of her to harbour such feelings, but after the way he’d treated her, she could not summon a jot of sincere grief for the man.

“But spring is here at last,” she added. “That is the only tonic I need. Now, eat Mr Crawford’s trout before it gets cold.”

They had survived the winter, Laura reminded herself with a faint glow of pride. Now that the nights were growing milder, she and her sisters would no longer have to share a bed for warmth. The kitchen garden would soon yield vegetables and herbs to augment their rations.

But spring might also bring a less welcome event. The winds of April and May often blew ships from the East Indies to England’s shores.

As her mother took a tiny bite of fish, a brisk knock sounded on the door.

“Come in,” Laura called, a hint of wariness tightening her voice.

The door swung open and Hawkesbourne’s butler, Mr Pryce, strode in with an unaccustomed bounce in his step. A wide smile lightened the usual solemn dignity of his features. “My lady, Master Ford…that is, Lord Kingsfold has just arrived! He is waiting in the drawing room. I told him I would summon you at once to welcome him home.”

Laura tried to form a reply, only to come over as breathless as her mother had been a few moments ago. A tempest of contradictory emotions raged within her at the prospect of facing the man who had forsaken her after she’d naïvely given him her trust and love.

If her family had not been dependent on her for their survival, she would have taken great pleasure in denouncing Ford Barrett for his past behaviour. But she did not have the luxury of venting her hurt and anger. For the sake of her mother and sisters, she would have to behave with as much civility as she could muster. A man with so few scruples surely would not hesitate to turn her family out of his house if she provoked him. But if he expected to find her the same helpless, gullible girl he had abandoned seven years ago, Lord Kingsfold would soon discover his mistake.

What in blazes was going on?

Ford wrenched open the heavy window curtains to let a little light into the drawing room. Its murky dimness made the linen-shrouded furniture look like a party of musty-smelling ghosts. Had the whole place been shut up for the winter while Laura gadded off to London or the Continent?

If so, she must have returned recently. The moment he’d entered the house, the faint scent of orange blossoms had beguiled him with the most vivid awareness of her. She seemed to hang about him, no more than a breath or a kiss away.

Even before he could demand to see her, Pryce had bustled off, saying he must fetch her ladyship to welcome the new master. At least that provided satisfactory answers to Ford’s most pressing questions. Laura was in residence and she had not yet found a new husband. During his voyage home, he’d been haunted by the possibility that remarriage might place her beyond his power. How could he have endured it, if she’d slipped through his fingers again to continue plaguing him for years to come?

The soft patter of approaching footsteps made Ford feel like a volcano—his core of seething emotions encased in a shell of cold, hard selfcontrol. He dared not erupt, as he longed to do, spewing accusations and reproaches. Even a hint of his true feelings might make Laura flee. And that would spoil all his plans.

So he steeled himself to withstand the sight of her and betray nothing of the fury that smouldered inside him. The years he’d spent struggling to make his fortune had given him plenty of practice. Indeed, he owed much of his commercial success to his skill at concealing his emotions. But nothing in the past seven years had tested his iron selfcontrol as severely as his first glimpse of Laura.

She entered the room carrying a candle. Its light glinted over her fair hair, which had darkened to a shade that reminded Ford of sweet cider. Most of it was pinned up in soft ripples, but a few stray curls clustered around her face like the kisses of a gentle lover.

The moment she crossed the threshold, she swept him a low, formal curtsy. “Welcome home, Lord Kingsfold. You look very prosperous. You must have made gainful use of your time in the Indies.”

Nothing she could have said would have whipped Ford’s wrath up so quickly. It took all his selfcontrol to school his tone to one of cool irony. “You sound surprised. Did you expect me to return from the Indies in rags? I will have you know, I amassed a considerable fortune during the past seven years.”

“I congratulate you.” Laura could not disguise the silvery glint of avarice in her eyes. “What made you leave all that behind and travel so far for the sake of a modest country estate?”

Did she despise the place? Was that why she had not hesitated to deprive him of it? “Hawkesbourne and the family title have always been more important to me than any amount of money, Lady Kingsfold. That sounds awkward, doesn’t it? Perhaps you would prefer I call you something else?”

He could think of a great many things he would like to call her, none of them flattering.

His suggestion set Laura in motion. Or perhaps it was some menace in his stare that he could not fully conceal. She hurried about the room, lighting candles with the one she had brought. “We were once on friendly enough terms to call each other by our given names. Could we not continue?”

She still moved with rhythmic grace, as if every step were part of some bewitching dance. Once she ran out of candles to light, Laura came to stand a few feet in front from him and fixed him with an inquiring look. Jolted out of his bemusement, Ford recalled her question. Did she mean they should take up again as if the past seven years had never happened? Though that would play perfectly into his plans, the heartless audacity of her suggestion infuriated him. He paused for a moment, weighing his reply.

Meanwhile his gaze ranged greedily over Laura, comparing her present appearance with the golden ideal of his memory. He had once thought her eyes as clear and candid a blue as the summer sky. Now they were clouded with secrets, perhaps even capable of passionate storms. Her face was thinner than it had been, making her wide jaw look stronger. But her lips were as full and potently inviting as he remembered—like some succulent tropical fruit at the peak of ripeness.

“I must confess, I never think of you as Lady Kingsfold…Laura.” He found it impossible to say her name without his tongue caressing it.

Though her features betrayed no sign that she noticed or cared, the flame of the candle she held suddenly flickered out. “I must apologise for offering you such poor hospitality. If we had known you were coming, we would have contrived something better.”

The gall of the woman! Welcoming him into his own house when it was clear she considered him as welcome as the plague. No doubt she’d hoped he would stay half a world away so she could continue to play the lady of the manor at his expense.

“Perhaps you wish I had warned you of my arrival.” Ford spoke more sharply than he intended. “So you could have contrived to be elsewhere.”

“No, indeed!” A flash of distant lightning blazed in the summer sky of her eyes. It must vex her that he saw through her mask of courtesy to the disdain she truly felt for him. “Though I will admit, that is partly because I have nowhere else to go.”

“You cannot mean that.” Ford drew back abruptly and began to stalk around the room, circling her at a wary distance. “According to the solicitor’s letter, you inherited all my cousin’s personal assets, while the estate fell to me by entail. Surely a beautiful young widow possessed of such a fortune is at liberty to go wherever she wishes.”

Damn! He had not meant to call her beautiful, even if it was truer now than ever. From there it was but a short, treacherous step to admitting her beauty affected him.

Laura refused to acknowledge his compliment. “I assure you, what I inherited from your cousin was no fortune and now it is almost gone.”

Her words stopped Ford in his tracks. If she was telling the truth, what had become of his cousin’s money?

Chapter Two

So Ford thought she’d been living in luxury on his cousin’s fortune. Had he cultivated that belief to assuage any bothersome twinges of conscience over his past behaviour toward her?

Even from several feet away, Laura marked the sudden jump of his dark brows and the brief slackening of his tight-clenched jaw. This was not precisely the way she’d meant to surprise him. But it would do. Anything to jar him out of his frosty composure.

Perhaps then she might not feel quite so vulnerable in her own unsettled feelings. Her first glimpse of Ford Barrett after seven long years had flustered her even more than she’d expected. Not that he was the same ardent, charming young man she remembered. Time had changed him in many ways.

The pitiless Indian sun had darkened his skin to the color of a Barbary pirate’s. The wild black curls she had once loved to twine around her fingers had been cropped to short, severe stubble. His mouth, once so mobile, was now set in an unyielding line. The years had chiselled his features into a visage of stark, savage beauty. Eyes, once the warm, soft green of new moss, were now hard and cool as jade.

Had all those changes been wrought by the passing years and his experiences in the Orient? Or had he always been such a forceful, ruthless man, while she’d been too naïve to see it?

“My cousin’s fortune all gone?” Ford spoke in a bemused murmur. “How is that possible?”

His tone of disbelief galled her. Did he suppose she would continue to live in this decaying old mansion, crammed to the rafters with painful memories, if she’d possessed the means to go elsewhere? Did he imagine she would have stayed to be subjected to his mocking condescension?

Staring at him over the hump of a dustdraped chaise-longue, she refused to be cowed. “Losing money is a great deal easier than gaining it. Rising expenses. Bad investments. The years since the war have brought hardship to many in this country. Perhaps you were not aware of it, being so far away, in lands where luxuries are cheap and fortunes easily made.”

Harsh laughter burst from Ford. “You have no idea what you are talking about.”

His scathing tone reminded Laura so much of his cousin’s, it made the flesh on the back of her neck prickle. The deep timbre of his voice, once a mellow caress upon her ears, now had a hoarse, raspy edge.

“Those items you consider luxuries may be cheap in the East, on account of being so plentiful. If cinnamon came from the bark of elm trees or cloves from the buds of myrtle bushes, no one in England would think them such rare extravagances. In the Indies, items you might hold of little value—iron cooking pots, glassware, printed cotton—are the costly luxuries.”

Every word struck Laura like a stinging blow, driven by contempt and sharpened with ridicule. That Ford was correct in everything he said did not lessen the insult. That his handsome, arrogant presence overwhelmed her with such intense awareness made it ten times worse! She did not dare reply for fear of saying something so offensive he might take out his anger on her mother and sisters. She’d been relieved to discover he was wealthy, only because it meant he might not grudge her family houseroom.

Ford emerged from behind the draped chaise-longue and approached her with deliberate, intimidating steps. “As for my fortune being easily gained, you could not be more mistaken. There are opportunities in the East, but for a man to take full advantage of them, he must work hard, take risks and be ruthless when necessary.”

As each word brought him closer, Laura stood her ground against his steady, menacing approach. On no account must she let Ford see how his nearness affected her. And how was that, exactly?

It filled her with alarm, of course—a sensation no less distressing for being so familiar. Though her husband had been dead for more than two years, her throat still tightened and her insides knotted whenever a man came too close to her. The faint whiff of spices that hung about him made her mouth water, while his air of tightleashed power made her light-headed. When his glittering green gaze roved over her from head to toe, Laura’s flesh prickled as if responding to a feathery touch.

She managed to stand firm. But that owed less to her resolve than to being caught between two contrary inclinations. Part of her itched to turn and flee from this formidable man while another part felt irresistibly drawn toward him.

Willing her voice not to tremble, she replied, “No wonder you made such a success of your ventures. Two of the three necessary qualities come so naturally to you.”

Once he came toe to toe with her, Ford stopped, unable to advance further without knocking her down. As Laura glared up at him, he loomed over her, his gaze fixed upon her lips. Was it her imagination, or was he leaning toward her?

“Which two qualities might those be?” he demanded in a husky murmur.

Ford was leaning closer, inch by inch, forcing her to tilt her head back. If the candle in her hand had still been burning, its flame would have scorched the breast of his coat.

Her voice did not come out in the brisk snap she intended, but rather a breathless whisper. “Surely you can guess.”

As his lips bore down on hers, Laura opened her mouth to protest. But before she could speak, a volley of girlish giggles erupted from the doorway.

“Pray don’t let us interrupt!” cried her sister Belinda in a teasing voice.

“I believe we must interrupt,” chimed Susannah, the younger of the two, “for the sake of Laura’s reputation.”

As Ford jerked back from her and spun about to face her younger sisters, a wave of relief swamped Laura. But in its wake came a fleeting sting of frustration.

The sound of high, twittering laughter broke over Ford like a cold sea wave upon scorching sand. Jolted back to his senses, he shook off the bewitchment Laura had cast upon him. He turned toward her sisters with a vexing mixture of gratitude and annoyance.

“Who are you two snooping chits?” he demanded in a bantering tone. “And what have you done with the sweet little Penrose girls?”

His question was not altogether in jest. The sight of Belinda and Susannah drove home the reality of how long he’d been away and how much had changed. He remembered a coltish girl of barely fifteen and a child of twelve with oversized front teeth that had made her look like a little brown rabbit. In his absence, they had blossomed into a pair of lovely young women who had not yet lost their childish impudence.

“The Penrose girls?” A hint of turquoise mischief flickered in Susannah’s eyes. “Those silly green gooses? We locked them in the west attic until they learn to flirt properly with young gentlemen.”

Ford felt his mouth stretch upwards in an unfamiliar way while a strange sound rumbled up from his chest, stiff and hoarse from disuse. He marvelled at the effortless way Laura’s sisters lightened his mood. While he bantered with them, the past seven years seemed to retreat like a bad dream from which he’d been relieved to waken. “I thought flirts were the ones who got locked away until they learned proper decorum.”

Belinda shook her head, making her chestnut curls waggle. “I fear you are sadly behind the times, sir.”

Both girls laughed, wrinkling up their pert little noses as their sister once had. It was a mannerism Ford had found particularly endearing. Now, as she brushed past him to stand behind her sisters, Laura looked as grim as any strait-laced spinster.

“Mind your manners, you two,” she chided them with only the flimsiest veneer of jest, “or Lord Kingsfold may turn us out of his house. Is that not so, my lord?”

Behind her pretence of wit, Ford sensed fear and desperation. But the proud tilt of her chin issued a challenge. He was not certain how to respond. Nothing at Hawkesbourne Hall was what he’d expected.

“I said no such thing,” he replied. “Your sisters are welcome to visit for as long as they wish.”

“Visit?” cried Susannah as she and Belinda swooped toward Ford, each taking hold of one of his arms. “You’re joking again, aren’t you? We live here, of course, and so does Mama. How pleased she will be to see you again.”

Belinda let out another infectious giggle. “I hope you won’t turn us out before we’ve had a chance to hear about your adventures in the Indies. Did you ever see an elephant? Or a tiger? Did you eat lots of curry?”

“Too much.” Ford strove to conceal his surprise at Susannah’s off-hand announcement. How long had the girls and their mother been living at Hawkesbourne and why? “But just now, I could eat a whole tiger or a haunch of roast elephant. Join me for dinner and I promise to fill your ears with tales of the Far East.”

“Dinner?” Laura looked as if he had demanded her head on a platter. “Of course, you must be famished after your journey.”

Casting a glance at her sisters, she nodded toward the drawing-room door. “Susannah go help Mr Pryce fetch in the master’s baggage. Belinda, come with me to help Cook prepare dinner. We have the rest of those trout dear Mr Crawford brought. I hope fish will suit you, Ford, since we are fresh out of elephant?”

Her question made Ford grin before he could stop himself. It surprised him to discover she still possessed a spark of wit beneath her mask of cool restraint. A great number of things about her surprised or mystified him.

One minor mystery provoked him to inquire. “Who is this Mr Crawford who furnishes food for my table?”

“Only a kind neighbour,” Laura replied as her sisters released Ford’s arms and headed away with obvious reluctance. “Without his generosity, we would have had a poor meal to welcome you home.”

Now that he thought of it, Ford recalled a Crawford family who occupied one of the neighbouring estates. They had made quite a fortune in the brewing business. “I suppose I should be grateful to him, then.”

He did not feel grateful, no matter if the fellow filled his whole larder. He did not care for the fond way Laura spoke of their kind neighbour. Might his cousin’s fortune-hunting widow have her eye on a fresh matrimonial victim?

That would never do.

What a disturbing encounter!

Laura’s fingers fumbled as she tied on her apron. Prior to Ford’s return, a stubborn corner of her heart had nursed the foolish hope that she would find him still the same eager, amiable man she’d once known.

But the cold, severe creature who’d confronted her seemed quite capable of turning his back on anyone who became an encumbrance or an obstacle. At first she’d questioned the flashes of hostility she glimpsed behind his mask of aloof restraint. After all, she’d never done anything but free him from an inconvenient obligation to her. Was he angry with her for marrying his cousin? What choice had he left her?

And why on earth had he tried to kiss her?

Laura wished she had some private time to puzzle it out, but at present she had her hands full trying to prevent Cook from having hysterics.

The poor woman was well on her way. “Lackaday! How am I to put a fit meal on the table for the new master with the larder so bare? Why did he not send word he was coming so we could have prepared things decent?”

Laura wondered that herself. Did Ford enjoy setting the household in an uproar and her life in turmoil?

“Don’t fret.” She patted Cook on the arm and tried to reassure them both. “His lordship has been away for seven years and finally come to the end of a long journey. Little wonder he wanted to get home without delay. Besides, he says he’s very hungry, so he isn’t likely to care what we put in front of him as long as it fills his belly.”

“He complained about spicy food, too,” Belinda piped up from the hearth, where she was adding a few scraps of coal to the fire. “So I doubt he’ll mind plain fare.”

Cook fanned her ruddy face with her hands, but seemed to be recovering her composure. “We do have the rest of Mr Crawford’s trout and there’s plenty of sprouts and carrots in the cellar. That still isn’t much of a meal.”

“I promised his lordship dinner within the hour,” Laura muttered. “We have lots of eggs, haven’t we? What about a batter pudding? I’ll have Mr Pryce open the wine cellar. If we ply his lordship with enough to drink, he may not notice what he’s eating.”

“Have Mr Pryce fetch me a bottle of brandy while he’s at it.” Cook grabbed a copper mixing bowl and a long wooden spoon. “If I hurry, I can poach some pears for the sweet course.”

Having finished stoking the fire, Belinda snatched a basket from its peg by the cellar door. “I’ll go fetch the pears and vegetables.”

For the better part of an hour, they chopped, stirred, filleted and fried. Meanwhile, Mr Pryce fetched bottles from the wine cellar, unlocked the silver chest and supervised Susannah as she set the dining table.

With only ten minutes to spare before the meal, Laura herded her sisters up the servants’ stairs for a quick change of clothes.

“This is so loose in the bust,” complained Belinda as she donned a gown that had once been Laura’s. “If we must dress for dinner from now on, I’ll have to take it in.”

Susannah brushed one red-brown curl around her fingers. “Now that Ford has come back, perhaps we can all have new gowns that won’t need to be let out or hemmed up or mended.”

Her sister’s delight at Ford’s return made Laura’s tightly suppressed feelings boil over. “Why should Lord Kingsfold spend money on new gowns for us?”

Susannah set down the hairbrush, then turned to fasten the buttons on the back of Belinda’s gown. “Perhaps so his new sisters-in-law won’t look shamefully shabby at your wedding. You are going to marry him, aren’t you? When Binny and I caught the two of you in the drawing room, I thought he must have proposed.”

“Proposed? What nonsense!” Laura turned away from her sisters, to hide her foolish blushes. “That would be the last thing on his mind, I’m sure. He hasn’t set eyes on me in seven years and he didn’t want to marry me then. Nothing about me has improved in the meantime.”

Back then theirs had been a fairly equal match. She’d been a young lady of good family, though limited prospects. he’d been a young man with nothing but his expectations. Now she was a penniless widow with a family to support, well past whatever beauty she’d possessed in her youth. By contrast, Ford was more attractive than ever, in a dark, dangerous way, with a fortune and a title. He could have his choice of women.

Susannah gave a defiant sniff. “Are you certain Ford didn’t want to marry you? As I recall, you were the one who broke the engagement to marry his cousin.”

“You were a child then,” snapped Laura. “How could you know anything about it? I only broke our engagement because he could not.”

A gentleman was legally bound to stand by his offer of marriage, while a woman had the prerogative to change her mind. Laura wondered how any woman could insist upon wedding a fiancé whose feelings toward her had changed.

“Let’s not spoil such a happy occasion by quarrelling,” Belinda entreated the other two. This was not the first time she’d played peacemaker between her responsible elder sister and her rebellious younger one. “Ford is home at last and scarcely seems changed from how I remember him. No matter what his feelings for Laura, I’m certain he’ll be hospitable.”

Laura wished she could be so sure.

One thing she could not dispute—Ford’s manner toward her sisters was altogether different from the way he’d treated her. When he’d bantered with them, she caught a bittersweet glimpse of the man she’d once loved. That had shaken her more than his earlier severity, which she’d been better prepared to confront. The last thing she needed were any of her old feelings for Ford complicating her life more than it was already.

Halfway through the main course and after three glasses of wine, Ford continued to ponder the situation he’d found at Hawkesbourne. Nothing was as he’d expected. His uncle’s fortune appeared to be gone. Rather than revelling in the lap of luxury, as he’d imagined her, Laura was living under strictest economy with her sisters and widowed mother in a corner of his house.

Though this presented him with an unforeseen opportunity to compel Laura to wed him, marrying her would not restore the fortune he should have inherited. Perhaps he should cut his losses and forget the whole thing.

The hell he should! Seeing Laura again, more alluring than he had left her, Ford knew the debt she owed him was far greater than money.

He sat at the head of the long dining table opposite Laura, with her sisters seated halfway down each side. The ladies made a pretty trio in spite of their ill-fitting gowns.

“Give my compliments to the kitchen, Pryce.” Ford raised his wine glass. “This dinner is far superior to shipboard food. I cannot tell you how I have longed for the taste of plain, fresh English cooking.”

All the same, it was rather humble fare for a baron’s table. Well prepared, but not much variety. From what he could tell, there were only a handful of servants looking after the place, with Laura and her sisters acting as maids of all work. Her claims of poverty seemed genuine, but where had his cousin’s money gone? Frittered away by a young bride with no thought for the future because she could always snare another rich husband? That was how Ford’s stepmother had behaved, bringing his father to ruin.

“Cook will be most relieved to hear the meal met with your approval,” replied the butler. “More wine, my lord?”

Ford shook his head. “I have already had more than I am accustomed to at meals. Perhaps for the ladies?”

Belinda and Susannah looked toward their sister, who gave a discreet nod. “Only a little, though. We are not used to taking wine with our meals.”

Since Pryce must know that, Ford assumed the comment was meant to enlighten him. All through dinner, Laura had addressed her conversation exclusively to her sisters and the butler.

Not that she had much need to speak. Belinda and Susannah kept him busy answering questions about his experiences in the Far East. At first, he hadn’t known quite what to say. He had never thought of his years away from England as anything but a sweltering perdition of work and festering bitterness. Yet the young ladies seemed fascinated by the most commonplace customs of those far-off lands.

“Do they drink wine in the Indies?” Susannah savoured a sip from her glass.

“Only the Europeans,” Ford replied. “When I was in India, the local people drank sweet coffee or tea brewed in a mixture of milk and water. In Singapore, where I’ve been lately, many of the traders drink arrack instead of wine.”

“Tell us more about how they dine in India,” begged Belinda.

“Dinner is usually served around midday,” said Ford. “After that, most people retire to sleep for an hour or two. Supper is served late in the evening.”

“Sleep?” Laura sounded if she thought he was having a jest at their expense. “In the middle of the day?”

“In the heat of the day.” Ford relished a flicker of satisfaction for having compelled her to address him. “I assure you, it is impossible to accomplish any useful work, then. The only thing you want to do is lie naked under your bed netting and hope you may escape to some cool place in your dreams.”

A sudden vision of Laura lying bare beneath a flimsy drape of netting sent the sultry heat of the first monsoons sweltering through his flesh. What had possessed him to say such a thing, in the presence of her innocent sisters? He should never have let Pryce ply him with so much wine.

“Naked!” Susannah clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a burst of giggles.

Laura stared down at her plate as if she had not heard Ford’s provocative remark. But even from the far end of the table, he detected a blush blazing in her cheeks.

“Bed netting?” Belinda shot her giggling younger sister a fierce glare. “Is that like bed curtains?”

“Rather like.” Ford seized upon Belinda’s helpful diversion. “But instead of the thick cloth we use to keep draughts out, they use very fine netting to let the air in but keep the insects at bay.”

“Fancy!” Susannah stopped giggling as abruptly as she’d begun. “Now what about the elephants? You said you’d seen some.”

“Mostly in festival parades. Then they are decked out in bright, colored silks and paint, with plates of gold hanging over their foreheads and howdas on their backs.” In reply to their puzzled looks Ford added, “A howda is a sort of saddle for riding on an elephant. They can be quite elaborate, lacquered and gilded, with canopies to protect the rider from the sun.”

That description invited more questions, which provoked more stories. The ladies seemed to hang upon his every word, including Laura. For the first time in seven years, he found himself making an effort to be sociable. To his surprise, it brought him an all-but-for-gotten sense of enjoyment. Was it possible his experiences in the Far East had enriched him in more than material ways?

“India sounds so much more exciting than cold, dull Sussex.” Susannah turned toward Laura. “Don’t you wish you could have gone to India with Ford?”

“No indeed.” Laura fumbled her spoon. “It may sound fine in stories, but I expect the discomforts and dangers far outweigh the pleasures.”

Her sharp retort pierced Ford’s high spirits and sent them plummeting to the ground. During his first years of exile, whenever he’d beheld a scene of exotic beauty, his first unguarded impulse had been to wish Laura could be there to share it with him. Her disdain for those brief, yearning moments was an insult to every tenderness he’d ever felt for her.

“Your sister is fortunate not to have lived in India.” Though he addressed his words to Susannah, Ford directed a contemptuous sneer at Laura.

“Why is that?” She lifted her napkin and swiped it across her mouth. “Do you suppose I am a frail flower who cannot withstand harsh conditions?”

“No.” He dismissed her suggestion with a thrust of his lower lip. “Because it is the custom in some areas to burn a widow upon the funeral pyre of her dead husband.”

In unison, Laura’s sisters gasped.

“How dreadful.” She spoke in a cool, dismissive tone. “You must be weary after your long journey. We should not pester you with so many tiresome questions.”

Before Ford could protest, she rose from her chair, beckoning to her sisters. “Let us leave his lordship to enjoy his brandy in peace.”

Belinda scrambled to her feet at once, but Susannah gave a mutinous scowl and followed her sisters out of the room with obvious reluctance.

After they had gone, Ford tried to convince himself he was relieved to have a bit of peace and quiet in which to reassess his plans.

Laura had stolen his inheritance and he meant to find out what she’d done with it. If, as he suspected, she’d squandered it beyond his power to recover, he deserved compensation more than ever. He could imagine few forms of compensation more satisfactory than her presence in his bed.

Chapter Three

Two days after Ford’s arrival, Laura found her mother holding court from her bed. Ford and the girls sat on either side while a vigilant Mr Pryce hovered nearby.

Feeling like an intruder, she was about to slip away when Ford suddenly glanced her way. She could not allow him to think he had the power to frighten her off.

“Are you hosting a party, Mama?” She affected a cheerful tone as she entered the room. “I hope too much company will not tire you.”

“Quite the contrary, dearest.” Her mother’s voice sounded stronger. “I have not felt so well in months. Come and sit with the others. Ford was telling us the most amusing story about the time a pack of monkeys got into his baggage.”

As Laura approached, Ford rose from his chair. A fast-fading smile still lit his dark features and once again she caught a glimpse of the man she’d loved. Even as a gentle ache swelled in her heart, the moment passed and he became a stranger once again. An attractive, compelling stranger, but still a dangerous enigma.

She wished she could keep a safe distance from him, the way she did at mealtimes with the long table and her chattering sisters between them. But there was only one chair left—the empty one beside his.

Warily, she sank on to it. “The poor man may soon long to sail back to the Indies to escape these constant demands for stories of his adventures.”

As Ford resumed his seat beside her, his nearness overwhelmed her senses. The dark arch of his brows and the jutting crests of his cheekbones lured her gaze. Her skin prickled whenever he made the slightest movement, anticipating an accidental nudge of his knee. Every time she inhaled, the faint, spicy tang of his scent tickled her nose. Her ears strained to drink in his low, husky voice.

“Never fear,” he replied, a hint of frost cooling his tone, “I would far rather talk about the Indies than return there any time soon.”

“No indeed.” Laura’s mother regarded Ford with a doting smile. “You have been gone far too long. We couldn’t bear to part with you again now that we’ve got you back.”

The butler cleared his throat. “Since all the family is gathered here, Mrs Penrose, shall I fetch tea?”

“An excellent suggestion! The tea Ford brought has such a delightful flavor. I feel quite invigorated when I drink it. And I caught a whiff of gingerbread when Laura opened the door. Could you bring us some of that, too?”

“Delighted, ma’am.” Mr Pryce beamed with pleasure. Just that morning, Laura has overheard him whistling while he polished the silver.

No doubt the poor man was happy to have a proper staff working under him again. One of Ford’s first tasks as master of Hawkesbourne had been to authorise the hiring of several new maids, footmen, gardeners and stable hands.

“Ford,” said Belinda, “Cook is in raptures over the sugar, tea and spices you brought from the Indies.”

Susannah nodded. “And I am in raptures over the bolts of silk and cotton. Did you mean it when you said we could have some to make up new gowns for the summer?”

“Of course I meant it.” Though Ford kept his attention focused on her sisters, Laura sensed his words were aimed at her. “I have never been one to make promises I do not intend to keep.”

Like her promise to wed him? She bristled at the thought. If he had not wanted her to break their engagement, why had he not lifted a finger to stop her?

“Besides,” he continued in a lighter tone, “I don’t believe peacock-blue silk or sprigged organdy would look at all flattering on me.”

They all laughed at that, including Laura, though it gave her heart a wrench because he sounded so much like the Ford she remembered.

Mama’s pale blue eyes sparkled with curiosity. “Tell us more about this new British trading post. Sing-a-song?”

“Singa-pore, ma’am. I must say I preferred it to India. Not nearly so hot, though often quite sultry during the monsoons. The settlement is still rather primitive at the moment. Everyone is too busy establishing their businesses and making money to worry about amenities. Besides, it is likely the Dutch will find a way to get rid of Singapore. It poses a threat to their control of the lucrative China and South Seas trade.”

“It sounds like an exciting sort of place,” said Laura’s mother.

Ford nodded. “It is a crossroad of the world with so many races and cultures all mixed together—English, Spanish, French, Chinese, Indian, Arab, Malay. I have learned to curse fluently in a dozen different languages.”

Laura fought to contain her amusement. She had survived the heartbreak of losing her first love, the shock of her father’s death and the ordeal of her marriage by encasing her heart in a protective sheath of ice. Ford’s coldness only hardened her defences. But the warmth of his wit and kindness toward her family threatened to chip a web of tiny but perilous cracks in her frozen ramparts, making them prone to shatter.

A few minutes later Mr Pryce returned, bearing a tray laden with tea things and a plate piled high with spicy-sweet nuggets of gingerbread. While Susannah and Belinda tucked into those with exuberant relish, Laura took a guarded sip of her tea. Pleasant as these small luxuries were after months of frugal living, they came at too high a price to suit her.

Despite Ford’s assurance that her family was welcome to visit at Hawkesbourne, she knew he must want her gone as soon as possible. Every time they’d spoken in the past two days, she had braced for him to raise the subject. With any other gentleman, she’d have been confident he would never turn out an ailing widow and her penniless daughters. But Ford had boasted of his ruthlessness and she knew from bitter experience that he was not a man to let other people’s problems stand in the way of his plans.

When the others had finished eating, Laura rose from her seat. “Enjoyable as this has been, we must not tire Mama.”

“No indeed.” Ford shot to his feet so quickly his arm brushed against hers, sending bewildering sensations rippling through her. “I have an appointment with Repton to look over the accounts and review his running of the estate in my absence.”

His sharp tone and piercing look made Laura wonder what this meeting with his man of business had to do with her.

“Pray excuse me, ladies.” After a stiff bow, he stalked away, leaving Laura feeling as if the breath had been knocked out of her.

As he marched toward the office of Hawkes-bourne’s estate manager, the devilish hot ache in Ford’s loins began to ease. The slightest accidental brush against Laura was all it had taken to set him on fire. Of course that had only struck a spark to the fuel, which had accumulated splinter by combustible splinter as he sat beside her. Hard as he’d tried to ignore her by focusing all his attention on her mother and sisters, he had failed.

The mellow lilt of her laughter had made him long to drink it from her lips like sweet wine. The sidelong glimpse of her dainty hands had made him yearn to feel her fingers running through his hair. But why?

Much as he’d loved Laura Penrose seven years ago, he had not burned for her with such fierce intensity. Was it the time he had spent trying to forget her? Had the blaze of his outrage kindled this unruly passion? Or was it some streak of perversity that made him crave her because she had spurned him?

He had no time to ponder such riddles now, Ford reminded himself. There were more practical questions to be answered first.

“Tell me straight, Repton.” He dropped into a chair across the desk from the estate manager. “How bad is it?”

If the condition of the Hall was any indication, Hawkesbourne must be deep in debt. Ford recalled Laura’s mention of economic hardship after the war.

Repton’s brow furrowed at the question. He was a slight, balding man with ink stains on his thumb and forefinger. “I beg your pardon, my lord? How bad is what?”

“The debts, of course,” snapped Ford. “How much do we owe and to whom? You needn’t be afraid to tell me. I have the resources and the energy to set things right.”

“I’m sure you do, sir.” Repton pushed a large ledger book across the desk. “But I don’t know where you got the idea that the estate is in debt. You can see for yourself—though there are improvements needed, Hawkesbourne is quite solvent.”

Ford scanned the neat columns of figures. Seven years ago, he would not have been able to decipher them. Now he had no trouble. Rents minus expenses yielded a modest profit.

“Then why was so much of the house shut up?” he demanded. “And most of the servants gone? The larder nearly bare?”

Repton closed the ledger. “I told her ladyship the house was part of the estate and should be maintained in a suitable manner at the expense of the estate.”

Ford nodded. “You were quite right.”

“Thank you, my lord.” A look of relief lightened Repton’s stubby features. “Her ladyship did not agree. She refused to have any money spent on the house apart from a few urgent repairs, the coal bill and salaries for the cook and butler. Without your authority, I could not go against her wishes.”

Ford mulled over this information, not certain what to make of it. In a similar situation, his stepmother would not have hesitated to maintain herself in luxury at someone else’s expense. “Did her ladyship offer any reason for all this?”

Repton shrugged as if the explanations of women made no sense to him. “She said it was enough that her family should live under your roof without your permission. She did not wish to be any deeper in your debt.”

Ford fancied he could hear Laura speaking those words in a haughty tone that grated on his pride. Had she assumed he would fail in the Indies and not be able to afford the expense of maintaining her family? Did she think he would be too mean to extend them decent hospitality? Or did she have some other motive for playing the poor but proud widow?

“I am surprised my cousin did not leave her better provided for.” Leaning back in his chair, Ford strove to make the comment sound casual. “I thought he had a fair fortune of his own.”

Repton grimaced. “A man can go through a deal of money if he isn’t careful.”

“Cousin Cyrus always preached frugality to me.” The old fellow had kept him on a tight allowance. If Ford hadn’t borrowed against his expectations, he never would have been able to live the way a gentleman was expected to. “But I suppose keeping a young wife and all her relations can be quite an expense.”

“Lord Kingsfold made her ladyship a very generous settlement at the time of their marriage,” said Repton. “I believe she provided for her family out of her own allowance. At least, I never received any bills for their support.”

“That’s right, you administered my cousin’s personal accounts as well as the estate’s.” Ford pretended he had just recalled the fact.

“I hope you don’t think I failed in my duty.” Repton sounded defensive. “Or abused your cousin’s trust in any way.”

“Nothing like that, I assure—”

“Because you would be welcome to review the accounts,” Repton rattled on. “Everything is perfectly in order.”

The offer was too tempting for Ford to refuse, though not because he suspected Repton of any underhand dealings.

“I’m certain it is,” he agreed in a reassuring tone. “But if it would ease your mind for me to see the figures, I am willing to take a look.”

“I would consider it a service, my lord.” Turning to a shelf behind his desk, Repton drew out another ledger. “Perhaps you could assure her ladyship everything is perfectly above board. I tried to go over the accounts with her after his lordship died, but she found it very distressing to see how little money was left.”

Rather than passing the ledger across the desk, Repton brought it around to Ford, opening it to a page dated 1815. He pointed to a very large disbursement. “There is the sum he gave her ladyship upon their marriage.”

Three thousand pounds? Ford’s eyes widened. “Have you any idea what she did with the money?”

“She did not entrust the handling of it to me, my lord.” Repton’s tone bespoke offence over Laura’s decision. “Perhaps she has her own man of business in London, though to my knowledge he has never called at Hawkesbourne.”

What had become of that money? Ford wondered. Surely Laura would not be living in such straitened circumstances if she had an amount like that at her disposal.

“As you can see, my lord, all was well then.” Repton turned the page. “By the next year, however, expenses had begun to exceed income. Your cousin was obliged to dip into his capital to make up the shortfall.”

Ford did not need to be told what a dangerous downward spiral that created.

“I urged economy and retrenchment.” With a sigh Repton turned to the accounts for Cyrus’s final year. “My warnings fell on deaf ears.”

His cousin’s fortune was gone. Ford no longer doubted it. The evidence was there in black and white. But that evidence raised more questions than it answered.

“You have been most helpful.” Ford rose abruptly and shook the man’s hand. “I am relieved to discover the estate is not in debt. I shall return tomorrow to discuss what improvements are needed.”

Repton tucked the ledger under his arm. “I should be happy to discuss them now if you wish, my lord.”

Ford shook his head. He needed some time to collect his thoughts. “Other matters require my attention just now, if you will excuse me.”

He took his leave in haste, heading back to the house through the neglected gardens that had once been his grandmother’s pride. Now several newly hired gardeners were busy digging and pruning. Ford paid them scant heed as he trod the overgrown paths, lost in thought.

It seemed Laura had told the truth when she’d claimed her inheritance was a paltry one. What she had failed to mention was the handsome settlement Cyrus had made her before her marriage. Had she squandered that, too? Or had she squirrelled it away somewhere while she played at poverty for some devious reason he could not fathom?

Rounding a boxwood hedge near the east wing of the house, Ford came to a sudden halt. Ahead, he spotted Laura talking to a slender young man with ginger hair. She was smiling at the young fool in a way Ford had not seen her smile since he’d returned to Hawkesbourne.

His heart began to hammer against his ribs as if trying to batter its way out of his chest. A bubbling cauldron of acid seethed in his belly. Could this be the reason Laura had remained at Hawkesbourne feigning penury? So she could stay close to her next conquest, engaging his sympathy and assistance on her way to winning his heart?

Ford wondered if that was the reason for her thinly disguised hostility toward him. Perhaps Laura feared he would spoil her plans to secure a new husband.

She would soon discover he had plans of his own for her remarriage.

Did Sidney Crawford suspect her plans for him? Laura wondered as she kept their handsome young neighbour engaged in conversation, hoping Belinda might happen by.

“We so enjoyed the fish you brought the other day. Mama ate with a better appetite than she has all winter. Then when Lord Kingsfold arrived so unexpectedly, we were able to offer him a much better dinner than we could have otherwise. So I must thank you once again for your kindness.”

She treated him to a fond smile. Mr Crawford was one of the only neighbours who had shown her family any kindness. He was also one of the few men around whom she felt somewhat at ease.

Her praise brought a blush to the young man’s fair features. “I am always delighted to be of service to your family. I hope the fish agreed with…your sisters.”

His hazel eyes shimmered with particular interest. How could Belinda persist in ignoring Mr Crawford’s shy fancy for her?

“Very much so. Belinda praised its flavour to the skies and said how fortunate we are to have so thoughtful a friend in you.” It was not an outright falsehood, just a touch of well-meant exaggeration to reward his generosity.

“D-did she?” The poor fellow’s face grew redder. “I hope she…er…you…that is…your family will always think of me as a friend. I would do anything in my power to assist…all of you!”

Where were the girls? It was a lovely afternoon for a stroll before dinner, especially since Ford had engaged the new servants, leaving her and her sisters more time for leisure. The sound of approaching footsteps made Laura turn with an expectant smile.

It froze on her lips when she spied Ford striding toward them, his stern visage dark as a thundercloud. The brooding power of his approach sent a chill of fear quivering through her, but she held her ground as she scrambled to rally her composure.

“Ford,” she cried as if he were the person she most wanted to see, instead of precisely the opposite, “come and meet our kind neighbour I told you about. Mr Sidney Crawford, may I present Ford Barrett, the new Lord Kingsfold.”

“Crawford.” Ford thrust out his hand with the swift force of a combatant about to inflict a blow. “I must congratulate you on your fishing skill. I should try my hand at angling again. It cultivates patience and vigilant restraint—qualities a man needs to achieve his aims in life.”

“It is an honor to meet you, my lord.” Poor Mr Crawford winced at Ford’s powerful grip. “If you would care to indulge in a day’s fishing, I’d welcome the company. Lord Bramber sometimes hunts with me in the autumn, but angling is rather too leisurely a pursuit for his temperament.”

Mr Crawford’s tactful assessment of the impetuous Lord Bramber coaxed back a remnant of the smile Ford’s arrival had dashed from Laura’s face. The young marquis and his two sisters lived at nearby Bramberley, an estate much older and grander than Hawkesbourne, but even more neglected.

Ford drew back his hand. “I will let you know if I find myself with time on my hands. Between making improvements to the estate and setting up a London office for my trading company, I expect to be much occupied. Now, if you will excuse us, I have an important matter to discuss with her ladyship.”

Important matter? Laura did not like the sound of that any more than she liked Ford’s curt dismissal of Sidney Crawford. What if he should feel unwelcome at Hawkesbourne, and stop dropping by? Any possibility of a romance between him and Belinda would wither on the vine. Laura had been willing to let love take its course, but now, with the threat that Ford might evict them from Hawkesbourne, she needed to hurry matters along.

“Of course, my lord.” Mr Crawford looked torn between his unease with Ford and disappointment at leaving without a glimpse of Belinda. His candid features were as easy to read as Ford’s were inscrutable. “I should be on my way.”

He bowed to Laura. “My lady. Pray give my regards to your mother and sisters. Tell Miss Belinda I am most gratified to hear she enjoyed the trout.”

“Indeed I shall. I am sorry you did not have the opportunity to tell her so yourself.” Laura fixed her lips in the brittle imitation of a smile as she waved Sidney Crawford on his way.

As soon as he was safely out of sight, she rounded on Ford. “Are you always so rude to people who deserve your gratitude? I remembered you being more polite. Or perhaps I deceived myself.”

Ford shrugged. “Memories can be deceptive. I seem to recall your character rather different than I find it now. As for your precious Mr Crawford, I was perfectly civil to the man.”

Laura sensed an insult in his remark about her character. “If that was civility, heaven spare me your insolence!”

One corner of Ford’s mouth arched ever so slightly, halfway between a gloating grin and contemptuous sneer. “Be assured, my dear, if I mean to offend, you will know it.”

His frosty tone told Laura she was anything but dear to him. Had she ever been? Or were her misty memories of their courtship only the delusions of a foolish girl? If by finding her different, Ford meant that she was more guarded, no longer given to blind trust or reckless affection, then she would consider it a compliment.

“What is this important matter you wished to discuss with me? Or was that only an excuse to chase Mr Crawford away?”

Ford gave a hoarse, mocking chuckle. “What devious motives you credit me with. I certainly do have a matter of importance to discuss with you.” He offered her his arm with exaggerated formality. “Shall we wander the bluebell path as we talk? The flowers should be in bloom now.”

Was he being deliberately cruel? Laura wondered, though she took his arm without voicing any objection. Or had she meant so little to him that he could forget he’d once proposed to her in the bluebell wood?

Even with all the layers of garments between her hand and Ford’s arm, Laura could not ignore her disturbing awareness of his hard, unyielding muscle as they walked.

“Well?” she prompted him, eager to distract herself from the perverse rush of heat that swept up her arm to kindle an unwelcome fever in her body.

“Yes…well…” By the sound of it, Ford’s mind had been elsewhere too. “Now that I have been back for a few days and taken measure of the situation, I believe the time has come to discuss your family’s continued residence at Hawkesbourne.”

So he did mean to turn them out! Though that dread had haunted her since long before his return, Ford’s abrupt mention of it staggered Laura. Her knees went weak, obliging her to cling tighter to his arm when she would rather have pushed him away with all her strength.

By now they had entered a coppice of beech trees, green with the bright foliage of spring. Rays of golden sunlight pierced the canopy of leaves to shimmer upon a breathtaking carpet of bluebells below. Neither the beauty of her surroundings nor the sweet woodsy perfume of the wildflowers had sufficient power to ease Laura’s desperation.

After all it had cost her to secure a home for her family, she could not let Ford snatch it away from them. But what could she possibly do to prevent him?

Chapter Four

So this poised, aloof woman did care deeply about something after all.

As Laura tightened her grip on his arm, a strange jolt of exhilaration rocked Ford. He told himself it was only the satisfaction of discovering a weakness he could exploit.

Laura sounded anything but weak when she replied, “What is there to discuss? I told you my family does not possess the means to go elsewhere.”

How sincere she sounded. Almost as sincere as on the day she’d professed her love for him, on this very spot. If only he’d been able to see through her lies as easily then as he could now. She’d promised to wait for him until he could afford to marry her, when all the time she’d only meant to sustain the charade of their engagement until she could worm her way into the affections of his wealthy cousin.

“What a shame Cyrus left you so ill provided.” Hard as he tried, Ford could not keep the nettle of sarcasm from his tone. “But wait! What about the three thousand pounds he settled on you before your marriage? It was quite some time ago. Perhaps you forgot about it.”

Guilt had never been written so plain as on Laura’s ghostly pale face. For a moment she seemed too mortified to speak. Or perhaps the accumulation of lies on her tongue had finally turned it to stone. Ford waited with anticipation to see how she would answer his charge.

Then, as suddenly as they had blanched, her features grew livid. She snatched her hand away from his arm. “What do you know of my personal finances and how did you find out?”

How dare she cast him in the wrong after all she’d done! “The subject came up during my meeting with Repton. Perhaps you should have warned him your settlement was meant to be kept secret.”

“It was meant to be kept private!” Laura clamped her arms tight to her sides, her hands balled into fists. “You had no right—”

“I have every right.” Ford rapped out each word, like flint striking flint. “You gave me the right when you pleaded poverty to impose upon my hospitality.”

For an instant he thought she might strike him with one of her clenched fists. He pictured himself grabbing her wrists to restrain her, pulling her close so he could stare deep into her eyes, then…

Just as his blood was pounding in his ears, Laura deprived him of his expected sport by subduing the flicker of passion he had roused.

Expelling a quivering breath, she clasped her hands in front of her and answered in measured tone. “You make it sound as if I lied about that. I did not. The money Cyrus settled on me is long gone. Do you suppose I would have allowed my mother and sisters to live as we have these past months if I had three thousand pounds?”

A ring of sincerity in her voice tempted Ford to believe her. But the way her eyes darted as she spoke told a different story. Ford was about to observe that he would not put anything past her, when he suddenly recalled the reason he had brought her here. Satisfying though it might be to expose her lies, he did not want to risk making her angry enough to thwart his plans.

Before he could find a way to back down gracefully, Laura provided him with the diversion he needed. “Besides, money is only one of the reasons my family has stayed on at Hawkesbourne, and not the most pressing, either.”

Ford cocked one eyebrow. “What is the most pressing reason, pray?”

“Mama’s health, of course. She has been bedridden for the past few years. Her doctor warned me that a move of any distance could do her great harm.”

Ford did not doubt that, for he had seen the truth with his own eyes. Though Mrs Penrose had put on a brave show, he could tell her time was running out. “I am sorry to hear it.”

“Then you will let us stay?” For the first time since his return, a genuine smile lit Laura’s face.

Its luminous magic bewitched Ford. For a wondrous instant, he relived a golden moment from his past, when he had stood on this very spot preparing to propose to his beloved Laura.

The beginning of a bemused smile was all the encouragement she needed to continue. “We take up very little room. I promise we will stay out of your way and not be any trouble. In such a large house, you need hardly know we are there.”

Her eager rush of words shattered the spell that bound him. Heartbreak, betrayal and bitterness stung him again like a swarm of angry wasps, their venom all the more potent for the fleeting reminder of what he’d lost. Though he could never get that back again, he would get something to compensate him.

“I should like to assist your family, of course.” He steeled himself against Laura’s dangerously convincing look of gratitude. “Though, for the sake of propriety, if I am to provide you with a home, I must insist upon doing it as…your husband.”

He watched her face with greedy relish as his words sank in. Her eyes grew wide and her lips fell open in a faint gasp that brought him an almost sensual thrill of satisfaction.

“H-husband?” she repeated as if the notion never would have occurred to her in a hundred years.

Once the idea sank in, Ford was certain she would seize this opportunity, pretending to accept only for the sake of her family. No doubt that was how she had justified her marriage to Cyrus—the little hypocrite!

“Does it not make admirable sense?” He took care to contain his eagerness in case it might make her suspicious. “We were once betrothed, but you required a husband of greater fortune to provide for your family. Now I am in a position to assist them and you are free to remarry. Shall we make a match of it at last?”

Laura flinched, as if from a sudden blow. It surprised and vexed Ford that her dismay brought him so little pleasure.

What surprised him more was her guarded response to his proposal. “Why should you want to marry me if you do not love me? You don’t, do you?”

If she had drawn a loaded pistol and held it to his head, Ford could not have felt more threatened than by that one simple question.

Of course Ford did not love her! What on earth had made her ask such a daft, pathetic question?

It must be the place, Laura decided as she awaited his answer. The soft rustle of a breeze through the beech leaves, the melodic trill of birdsong, the woodsy fragrance of bluebells all revived long-buried memories and threatened to thaw long-frozen feelings. Ford had not forgotten the significance of the bluebell wood. He had brought her here on purpose to propose once again. But why?

“Love? I am quite cured of such nonsense, as I’m sure you must be.” His scathing tone reminded Laura so much of his cousin’s, it made her bilious. “That is precisely why we should marry. Neither of us is blinded by bothersome romantic delusions. You need a home for your family and I would like an heir to keep Hawkesbourne in mine. Would I not be wise to wed a practical woman who knows better than to seek other things from me that I cannot give?”

His question sent a clammy chill through Laura. Five years of loveless marriage to a domineering husband had been more than enough to last her a lifetime. But an even more urgent fear seized her by the throat and squeezed.

“An heir?” she whispered. Hard as she strove to keep her composure, her lower lip trembled.

“Naturally.” Ford’s predatory gaze fixed on her lips. “What our marriage may lack in the warmth of love, I trust it will make up in the heat of physical desire.”

He leaned toward her, as he had in the drawing room on the day of his return. This time Laura tried to retreat, only to stumble over a tree root. As she fell backward, Ford seized her, pulling her toward him. His lips bore down on hers and took possession of them, igniting a volatile brew of passion and panic within her.

How many nights of her marriage had begun with a kiss only to end in curses and blows? Those memories haunted her, as she feared they always would whenever a man tried to kiss or touch her. And yet, Ford’s overwhelming desire kindled an unwelcome spark of arousal within her. Pulses of wicked heat coursed through her flesh, searing fiercest in her breasts and loins. Her husband’s attentions had never provoked such sensations. If they had, perhaps her marriage would not have been such a wretched failure.

What dismayed Laura even more was that she’d never had such a wanton reaction to the tender kisses she’d shared with Ford during their long-ago betrothal. How could her traitorous body now burn for a man who so contemptuously proclaimed he cared nothing for her?

Ford’s body sizzled with raw lust.

He hadn’t meant to claim a kiss from Laura before she accepted his proposal. But when she’d backed away, he could no more resist the temptation to follow her than a questing hound could ignore the scent of a vixen.

He could tell his mention of an heir had shaken her poised detachment. Her tremulous whisper when she’d echoed his words, the ripe color that had flamed in her cheeks and the provocative parting of her lips had aroused him beyond prudence and far beyond propriety. When he caught her in his arms to keep her from falling, primal urges overwhelmed his reason.

The dewy fullness of her lips yielded beneath his fervid kiss. His tongue sought to plunder her soft mouth of all its sweet secrets. There had been an element of desire in the feelings he’d had for Laura once upon a time, but nothing so hot and reckless as the hunger that now possessed him.

The sound of approaching footsteps and voices jolted him back to his senses. He released his hold on Laura, but not soon enough. A gasp and a giggle told him her sisters had seen them.

“Don’t stop on our account!” Susannah sounded delighted to catch her sister in such a compromising situation. “I was just telling Binny how much more interesting life has become at Hawkesbourne since Ford got home.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Sukie.” Belinda’s quavering voice belied her words. “Ford and Laura must have come to pick a nosegay of bluebells for Mama.”

Ford bit back a burst of derisive laughter. So Belinda meant to protect her sister’s reputation by pretending not to have seen them kissing? He was not about to let Laura off so easily. “As admirable an endeavour as that would be, I must own I had more selfish intentions in bringing your sister here. I have just asked her to marry me.”

He ventured a glance at Laura to find her glaring at him. Was it the kiss she resented or the fact that he’d informed her sisters of his proposal? Both, perhaps. And yet, he was certain she’d responded to his kiss.

He had no time to ponder that riddle for Laura’s sisters let out piercing squeals of joy and flew toward them.

“Proposed?” Belinda threw her arms around Laura’s shoulders. “How romantic!”

“Congratulations!” Susannah seized Ford’s hand and shook it vigorously. “No wonder you made such a success in the Indies. You don’t waste any time going after what you want. I so admire a decisive man.”

“Save your congratulations.” Laura’s voice slashed through her sisters’hearty good wishes. “His lordship may have proposed, but I have not yet given him my answer.”

Susannah refused to be cowed by her sister’s stern tone. “Not in words, perhaps. But I saw what you were doing just now, even if Binny pretends to be blind. Are widows permitted to accept passionate kisses from gentlemen they don’t mean to wed, without losing their reputations?”

The audacity of her sister’s charge seemed to strike Laura dumb. Her lips parted in the very way that had compelled Ford to take liberties with her a few moments before. They were even more tempting now—infused with deeper color and slightly swollen from the intensity of his kiss. If her sisters had not been present, Ford might have seized her in his arms again to take up where he’d left off.

“Of course Laura means to accept him!” Belinda grabbed her sister by the hand and pulled her back down the path. “But you mustn’t spoil it by speaking for her.” She called to Ford and Laura, “Forgive us for interrupting. We didn’t mean to, truly.”

As Ford spun about to confront Laura, she rushed past him after her sisters.

Caught off guard, he barely had wit enough to seize her wrist. “Hold on a moment. You did not answer my question. Will you marry me?”

It was a far cry from his first proposal to her, all those years ago. He’s held her hands gently in his then, and looked deep into her eyes, sealing their pledge with a soft kiss once she accepted. How could he ever have been so blindly trusting and hopeful?

“You gave me no opportunity to answer.” Laura tried to wrench her arm away, but Ford held fast. “Your proposal was quite unexpected. I need time to think it over.”

Time to seek dear Crawford’s advice, hoping he might make her a better matrimonial bargain?

“I will give you one day to weigh the advantages of my offer,” said Ford. “Now that I have returned to England, I am anxious to settle my affairs and get on with my life.”

“Very well then.” She shook off his hand and retreated out of reach. “Tomorrow you shall have my answer.”

One day to weigh the advantages of his offer? Laura spun away from Ford and fled down the wooded path after her sisters. That would not take one hour.

By marrying him, she would secure a home for her family. Her mother would be well cared for in the comfort of familiar surroundings. Belinda could remain near Sidney Crawford, giving him time to work up the nerve to court her. Susannah would be able to go about in local society and mix with gentlemen of good family.

But how long would her mother live? A year, perhaps two. And her sisters? Laura doubted it would take much longer for them to be happily settled. Meanwhile she would face many more years of unhappy wedlock to pay for their temporary comfort.

The girls looked surprised when Laura caught up with them.

Susannah broke into an impish grin. “You made quick work of accepting Ford. And you were so certain proposing would be the last thing on his mind. I knew better, though.”

“I haven’t accepted.” Laura gasped for breath. “I only asked for time to decide. Until then, I want neither of you breathing a word of this to Mama.”

“Why wait if you mean to say yes?” demanded Susannah, who seldom gave her own actions much fore-thought. “You’d better not take too long or some other lady may snap him up. I’m sure either of Lord Bramber’s sisters would have him before you could bat an eye.”

Despite all her confused, often hostile, feelings about Ford, a bewildering qualm of distress gripped Laura at the thought of him married to someone else.

“It was because we interrupted you, wasn’t it?” Belinda reached for Laura’s hand and gave her fingers a gentle squeeze. “We spoiled the magical moment, so you want to recapture it later in private. How romantic that Ford proposed to you so soon. He’s probably been yearning for you these past seven years. The moment he heard you were free, he flew to reclaim his first and only love!”

Her sister’s cloying flight of fancy made Laura’s gorge rise. She knew better than to indulge in such starry-eyed delusions about Ford’s proposal. Not only did he no longer love her, if he ever had, the man now proclaimed love an absurdity he was incapable of feeling for any woman.

“Don’t talk such nonsense, Binny.” What she meant to be an impatient demand came out sounding more like a desperate plea. “This isn’t a fairy story and seven years is a very long time. A great deal has happened to both of us since we parted. We have changed and our feelings have changed—it is only natural.”

Susannah scowled. “Ford’s feelings cannot have changed a great deal if he still wants to marry you. Whatever your feelings, he’s a vast improvement over your first husband. I think you’d be a fool to turn him down.”

Before Laura could box her ears for her impertinence, Susannah flounced off toward the house.

“I do not care what you think!” Laura cried after her. “After this, kindly keep your opinions on the subject to yourself!”

“Don’t mind her.” Belinda’s arms stole around Laura from behind. “She was too young to understand why you married Lord Kingsfold. I’m sorry if what I said before upset you. I’m certain Ford still loves you. A man cannot kiss a woman that way unless he feels something for her.”

“Don’t say that, Binny, please!” With a massive effort, Laura shored up her flagging self-control. Her sister was too innocent to understand that what Ford felt for her had nothing to do with love.

“Very well, if you don’t want me to.” Belinda sounded bewildered and a little hurt. “But whyever not?”

Laura refused to answer. Indeed, she refused to enquire too closely into her reasons. She feared if she did, she might discover some tiny, very foolish part of her wanted to believe it could be true.

Chapter Five

What was Laura playing at? Ford wondered as he watched her hurry down the wooded path away from him. Much as he hated to admit it, some part of him found perverse enjoyment in the challenge of guessing her motives and anticipating her next move. So far, she had defied his expectations at every turn.

Despite her barely concealed antagonism, he’d been certain she would seize the opportunity to secure another wealthy, titled husband. Especially when the plum landed in her lap with so little effort and an admirable excuse to accept. Yet in spite of her surprising response to his kiss, she seemed reluctant to wed him.

How could that be? Ford asked himself as he strode away through the beech coppice. After all, she’d married Cyrus—a full generation older and never a favorite with the ladies. But perhaps that did not signify. Cyrus was not his rival for Laura’s hand. Young Mr Crawford, however…

That thought sent Ford in search of information from the one person at Hawkesbourne he dared ask. He found Pryce, the butler, in the drawing room, supervising a troop of new maids and footmen as they swept, scoured, dusted and polished every visible surface.

Catching sight of Ford, the butler bowed. “May I be of service, my lord?”

“I have a few questions about our neighbour, Crawford.” Ford made it sound like a trifling matter. “Does he call here often?”

“Not in a formal way, my lord. He does stop by now and then to pay his respects to Mrs Penrose.”

Using the ailing mother as an excuse to get closer to the daughter. Ford’s lip began to curl. “Have you any idea of his fortune? Does his family still own that brewery in Southwark?”

“Mr Crawford takes no active part in running it, but I believe the family maintains a share of the profits.” Pryce mentioned a figure he’d heard bandied about in connection with Crawford’s income.

Ford’s brows shot up. No wonder Laura liked the fellow so well.

“What do you make of his temperament?” Ford thought the young fellow rather insipid. Not the type of man capable of making his fortune in distant, forbidding lands.

“Mr Crawford has been very kind to Mrs Penrose and the young ladies since the master died,” replied the butler. “He often sends presents of game or fish. Sometimes fruit from his hothouse.”

No question the fellow knew how to ingratiate himself. Him and his miserable fish! Laura had gone on as if they were the greatest delicacy in the world, procured by the most extraordinary effort. Meanwhile, Ford’s offerings of spices, silks and all the treasures of the Orient had scarcely merited an acknowledgement.

Pryce seemed to sense that his praise of their neighbor did not please Ford. “I have observed the young gentleman is rather backward in the social graces. Her ladyship is one of the few people with whom he converses freely.”

Ford lowered his voice so the other servants would not hear over the scrape of scrub brushes and the slosh of water. “Do you reckon Crawford has any interest in her ladyship? Interest of a romantic nature, I mean.”

“Oh, no, my lord,” the butler answered, swiftly and emphatically.

But before the tension in Ford’s body could ease, Pryce added, “Though now that you mention it, I often see them talking together. Her ladyship speaks highly of him and he goes out of his way to make himself agreeable to her.”

The butler’s observation prodded Ford’s conscience. Since returning to Hawkesbourne, he had been rather severe with Laura. No more severe than she deserved, his embittered heart protested. Besides, she provoked him at every turn with her quiet defiance, her flagrant lies and her damned icy allure! His mouth tingled with the memory of their kiss, as if he’d just eaten a highly spiced curry.

Reviewing Crawford’s attractions as a prospective husband, Ford found the list weighted far too heavily in the young man’s favor. He feared if Laura told their neighbour that she was being forced into marriage, it might spur the young fool to make her a better offer.

He must give her no opportunity to go running to Crawford. And, much as it irked him, he must put aside his gnawing resentment and make an effort to be more agreeable.

The person most likely to prevent her from accepting Ford’s proposal was…Ford, himself. Laura pondered that bit of irony as she hurried to check on her mother. She was determined never to endure another marriage as wretched as her first, and Ford’s manner toward her suggested she would be no less miserable as his wife than she had as his cousin’s.

But what choice did she have if she wanted to protect her family? No more than when she’d been forced to accept Cyrus’s proposal. She doubted Ford would turn them out of Hawkesbourne, if he were convinced they had no other resources. But it was obvious he did not believe that nothing remained of her marriage settlement. She might have persuaded him if she could have told him where the money had gone, but he was the last person she would dare trust with that terrible secret.

Long-suppressed memories stirred, threatening to torment her. When she eased open the door to her mother’s room and discovered Mama’s bed empty for the first time in years, her emotions overwhelmed her.

“Mama!” Laura rushed toward the bed, darting glances around the deserted room. Her stomach churned with panic and her heart raced like a runaway horse.

The muted sound of voices wafting up from the garden outside sent her flying to the window. She sank against it, faint with relief at the sight of her mother sitting in a wheeled garden chair, swathed in shawls and blankets. Ford was pushing it down a gravel path between the flowerbeds.

What was he trying to do—kill poor Mama? Laura marched out of the room and down the back staircase. Wrenching open a side door, she stormed out into the garden. Her footsteps crunched over the gravel path as she followed the indented tracks left by the wheels of the garden chair. Up ahead, she heard her mother cough.

Breaking into a run, she rounded the hedge so quickly she barrelled into Ford. The sudden, violent contact between them assaulted her with intense, unwelcome sensations. All her churning anger burst forth.

“What do you think you are doing?” She leapt back from him like a cat tossed into a water trough. “Bring my mother back inside at once! You had no right to drag her out here where she might catch a chill.”

“A chill? Rubbish!” A glint of venom flashed in Ford’s green eyes. “It is a mild day and I made certain your mother was well wrapped. Sunshine, fresh air and a change of scene will do her far more good than wasting away in that dark, stuffy room.”

After all she had suffered to secure her mother’s comfort, this arrogant man had the gall to imply that Mama was ill cared for? “How dare you say such a thing? What makes you think you know what my mother needs after being here less than a week?”

“Don’t be cross with Ford, dearest.” Her mother’s frail protest halted the bitter torrent of words Laura had been about to unleash. “He asked me if I felt…strong enough for a walk in the garden. I thought how pleasant…it would be to smell things growing.”

Laura’s insides twisted in a knot of shame. No matter how much Ford vexed her, it was no excuse to distress her mother. The fact that he had provoked her outburst made her resent him more. The possibility that he might be in the right was simply intolerable.

“Forgive me, Mama!” She flew to her mother’s side, giving Ford as wide a berth as possible on the narrow path. “I was so alarmed to find you gone from your room that I lost my head. Of course you should come out and enjoy the flowers if you feel up to it. I only wish I’d been told so I would not have worried. Are you quite certain you’re warm enough and not too tired?”

Before Mrs Penrose could answer, Ford did. “We have not been out more than ten minutes. I told your mother to let me know the moment she feels chilled or fatigued and I will take her back inside at once.”

Though he spoke in a calm tone, Laura sensed answering hostility behind his composed features. In his level gaze she detected a hint of something unexpected. If she hadn’t known better, she might have fancied his feeling slighted.

Refusing to acknowledge his words, she fixed her attention on her mother. “If you are quite comfortable, then I will leave you to your walk.”

Mrs Penrose laid one delicate hand upon Laura’s. “I should enjoy my outing so much more…if you accompanied us. I’m certain Ford would, too.” She twisted about in the chair to offer him a wan smile. “He tells me you are considering a rather special request he made of you.”

“Did he?” For her mother’s sake, Laura strove to mask her exasperation. “I thought it was customary to keep such matters private until a decision had been reached. Perhaps Ford is used to different customs from the Indies.”

“I am.” Ford began to push the garden chair forwards at a leisurely pace. “In the East, a girl’s parents negotiate all the details of her marriage before she is informed of it.”

“And the bride has no say in the matter?” Almost against her will, Laura began to walk along beside. “Infamous!”

She caught Ford in a fleeting grin. He enjoyed goading her, the beast!

“Do not be so quick to condemn a tradition that has endured for centuries. Perhaps it is we English who are misguided in our willingness to base the commitment of a lifetime upon the passing romantic fancies of callow youth.”

So that was all he’d felt for her—a passing romantic fancy? Though Laura fought to stifle her emotions, her eyes stung and her throat tightened. Cyrus had used almost those exact words seven years ago, when he’d insisted his cousin had no deeper feelings for her. For the longest time, in spite of mounting evidence, a stubborn corner of her heart had refused to believe it. Now she felt as if Ford had reached into her chest and ripped out that last sliver of dogged faith.

“I am surprised,” he added, with callous disregard for her feelings, “that a woman of your admirable prudence should not perceive the merits of arranged marriages.”

“My dear Ford,” Mrs Penrose chided him with gently, “you sound so severe one might believe you were in earnest. You men take such delight in teasing your sweethearts. Laura’s father was just the same when we were courting.”

Ford gave a rich, rustling chuckle that seemed to confirm her mother’s charge. Laura thought it more likely he was mocking Mama’s naïveté. “If I must not tease my sweetheart, what should I talk about, ma’am?”

“Why not tell us about your plans for improving the estate. I’m certain my daughter will be as interested in hearing about them as I am.”

Ford glanced toward Laura. “Would you?”

By now she had regained sufficient composure to look him in the eye. But she still did not trust her voice. Instead she replied with a curt nod.

“Very well then.” Ford launched into a discourse on animal pasturage, fruit cultivation and drainage, which Laura hated to admit she found fascinating.

From the time she’d come to Hawkesbourne, the tenants had always treated her with respect and kindness. She’d watched with helpless dismay as Cyrus had neglected the estate. If Ford’s ideas helped put more acreage under cultivation, or increased crop yields, those hardworking people she’d come to know and admire would prosper.

Several questions slipped out before she could contain them. To her surprise, Ford answered readily, with no hint of condescension.

“How did you come to know all this?” she asked at last, grudgingly impressed by the breadth of his information.

He shrugged. “I had to do something with my time on the long voyage home. I bought every book I could find on the subject of agriculture and studied them. When I found out one of the other passengers had been the overseer of a plantation in India, I quizzed the poor fellow until he was heartily tired of my company.”

For the first time since his return, Laura compared the new Ford to the old and conceded an improvement. The old Ford would have rather spent the long voyage playing cards or drinking with his fellow passengers than pouring over books about agriculture. But what would his tenants make of Ford’s innovations?

She was about to observe that Mama had been outdoors long enough when Ford suddenly turned the garden chair down a side path that led back to the house. “Time to take you back inside, Mrs Penrose. I do not wish to exhaust you on your first excursion, or your daughter might forbid us going out again.”

A sharp retort rose to Laura’s lips, but she bit it back, not wanting to upset her mother or to give Ford the satisfaction of baiting her again.

When they reached the house, Ford scooped Mrs Penrose out of the chair and carried her to her room while Laura ran ahead to open doors. Hard as she tried, she could not deny her intense awareness of his strength and vitality. Neither could she ignore the unexpected gentleness with which he treated her mother.

“There.” Ford set Mrs Penrose on her bed. “Your face has a bit more color. The next fine day, I shall take you out again. In fact, I believe we should move you to rooms on the ground floor to make it easier for you to get out. I shall arrange it at once.”

When he had gone, Laura removed her mother’s bonnet and shawls and tucked her in. “I hope the outing did not weary you.”

“Only a trifle, dearest.” Mrs Penrose seemed to wilt once Ford had gone. “But what does that signify? I would rather spend my strength enjoying a pleasant time once in a while than let it ebb away doing nothing.”

That was the closest her mother had ever come to voicing a complaint or admitting the gravity of her condition. It sank Laura’s spirits. Could Ford be right about what was best for Mama?

She drew the window curtains closed. “I will leave you to rest, then.”

“In a moment.” Mrs Penrose patted the bed beside her. “First come and sit with me. Have you made up your mind about Ford’s proposal?“

“I still have a few more hours to decide.” A feeling of futility welled up in Laura, as if she were being pushed toward the edge of a high cliff. The harder she struggled to escape, the more pressure Ford brought to bear upon her.

“What is there to decide, dearest? It sounds like the answer to a prayer.”

Answer to a prayer? Of course her mother would see it that way. But then, she had said the same thing about Laura’s marriage to Cyrus. Instead it had proven to be a devil’s bargain.

There was no help for it, though. She had no choice but to accept Ford’s offer. That did not mean she would tolerate the kind of abuse from him that she’d endured from his cousin. Cyrus knew things that had given him a terrible power over her. But she knew something about Ford that would give her a weapon to resist him if he ever tried to hurt her. She only hoped he would never force her to use it.

Laura was about to cut him down to size—Ford sensed it as surely as an impending summer storm.

She lingered at the dining-room door after her sisters had excused themselves and the servants cleared the last few dishes. No doubt she intended to tell him all the things her mother’s presence had prevented her from saying that afternoon. Well, let her! He did not care how she insulted or raged at him. It amused him to bait her into losing control of her emotions while maintaining a firm hold on his.

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