‘Would you like to kiss me goodnight?’

She knew she was taking a great risk but he did not look outraged, nor did he admonish her for her forwardness. When he maintained his silence she added softly, ‘You are a rake, are you not? And rakes always want to kiss a pretty girl.’

He stopped, frowning down at her fingers resting on his sleeve.

‘You would not be wise to pursue this, Miss Salforde.’

A tiny frisson of excitement ran along her spine as she heard the warning note in his voice. She moved a little nearer.

‘Surely it would not be improper for my guardian to call me Elyse?’

Her excitement intensified as his gaze moved to her face, so piercing that for a moment it took her breath away. She read danger in his look, but the wine she had imbibed had given her courage and she felt emboldened by the challenge. She schooled her face into a picture of innocence, at the same time leaning closer so that the lace at her breast was almost touching his waistcoat. She saw his eyes darken and felt a flicker of satisfaction.

‘You are playing a dangerous game, Miss Salforde.’

AUTHOR NOTE

Ten years after Bonnie Prince Charlie tried and failed to reclaim the British throne for his father, Drew Castlemain returns to England to carry out his friend’s final wishes. He meets Elyse, a spirited young lady and the belle of the northern spa town of Scarborough, but events conspire to prevent him from delivering her to her fiancé and instead they find themselves falling headlong into love…

This Georgian romance is set half a century before the Regency, when it was still usual for men to carry swords and for ladies to wear heavy gowns with hoops and layers of petticoats. Travel was slower, too, with poor roads and lumbering coaches—as my hero and heroine discover to their cost.

I really loved telling Elyse and Drew’s story; they are a young couple who have to fight against the odds to win their happiness, but of course in the end they succeed, and I hope you will enjoy their journey as much as I enjoyed writing about it.

Oh, and on a final note, Drew and Elyse’s whirlwind romance blossomed over a couple of weeks. Improbable, you might think, but it can happen—I met my own hero and knew after just two weeks that he was the one for me. We have just celebrated forty-one years together, so I think I might have been right!

Never Trust

a Rebel

Sarah Mallory

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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To the UK’s brilliant NHS and all its dedicated staff, especially in A&E.

In particular, Dr E B-G—thanks for the (rather painful) memory!

SARAH MALLORY was born in Bristol, and now lives in an old farmhouse on the edge of the Pennines with her husband and family. She left grammar school at sixteen to work in companies as varied as stockbrokers, marine engineers, insurance brokers, biscuit manufacturers and even a quarrying company. Her first book was published shortly after the birth of her daughter. She has published more than a dozen books under the pen-name of Melinda Hammond, winning the Reviewers’ Choice Award from singletitles.com for Dance for a Diamond and the Historical Novel Society’s Editors’ Choice for Gentlemen in Question. Sarah Mallory has also twice won the Romantic Novelists’ Association’s RONA Rose® Award for The Dangerous Lord Darrington and Beneath the Major’s Scars.

Contents

Cover

Introduction

Author Note

Title Page

Dedication

About the Author

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Copyright

Prologue

Paris—1756

The Porte St Honoré was crowded with the usual mix of smart carriages, heavy wagons and tumbrils, all anxious to reach their destination before dark. Suddenly shouts and an unseemly scuffle interrupted the steady flow of traffic. A group of liveried servants surged down the Rue St Honoré, dragging in their midst two figures whose bloodied faces, muddied frockcoats and torn lace ruffles suggested that they had been seriously manhandled. When the group reached the city gate they carried the two men outside and threw them down on to the cobbles.

‘If you are wise you will not return to Paris, messieurs,’ growled one of the servants, making a great show of dusting his hands.

‘Aye, we do not take kindly to English dogs cheating our master at his own card table,’ declared a second, while several others aimed vicious kicks at the two men on the ground, before the whole group turned and made their way, laughing, back into the city. The excitement over, the traffic on the Rue St Honoré resumed its steady progress, passing on either side of the two bodies with barely a glance.

One of the men struggled to his hands and knees and stayed there for a moment, as if debating if he could get up. He made the attempt and stood, swaying. Then he pushed his long, unpowdered hair back from his face and turned to help his companion.

‘Come along, Harry. I think it best if we heed their advice.’

‘No choice, my friend. The duc will see to it that we are not made welcome in Paris for some time.’ Harry gingerly touched his swollen lip. ‘I can’t abide a bad loser.’

‘You were flirting with La Belle Marianne. That was damned reckless of you.’

‘Faith, Drew, the lady gave me a blatant invitation to pursue her. And what of you? Madame le Clere has been warming your bed for the past se’ennight.’

‘Someone had to amuse her, with her husband out of Paris. Not quite the same as dallying with the duc’s mistress under his very nose. You should have resisted.’

‘Nay, my boy, where is the fun in that? Now, where the devil’s my wig?’

Drew scooped up the sorry-looking jumble of hair and silk and held it out, saying, ‘And you are sure you did not mark the cards?’

‘Of course not.’ Harry jammed the wig on his head. ‘Stap me, boy, I should call you out for that.’ He winced and put his hand on his back. ‘Egad, but that hurts.’ His grin faded and was replaced by a look of shock as he staggered. He collapsed against his companion, saying with a feeble laugh, ‘By Gad, I fear they have finished me, old friend.’

* * *

‘Come along, Harry,’ Drew wrung out the cloth and wiped the ashen face. ‘We’ve been through worse than this.’

He frowned as he regarded the restless figure on the bed. He himself was stiff and bruised from the beating he had received but he was recovering, whereas Harry appeared to be growing weaker, writhing in agony as the effects of the laudanum wore off. They had made their way to an inn on the Rue de Chemin Vert where the landlady quickly ushered them upstairs to a bedroom, declaring that the sight of them in their present bloodied state would frighten away her customers. Drew welcomed her ready assistance and suspected she was another of Harry’s conquests. He felt a momentary irritation with his friend: they might not be in this situation now if Harry had been able to resist flirting with every pretty woman who came his way.

As the long night wore on he could do nothing but bathe his friend’s face and administer more laudanum. In the long periods between he thought back over the years they had spent wandering Europe together. Three years ago Drew had been scraping a living as a mercenary, fighting for any foreign power that would pay him, but then he had met Harry Salforde. Drew was more than ten years his junior but the two men had struck up a close friendship. Harry had taken Drew under his wing, bought him a suit of fine clothes and introduced him to the gambling hells of Rome, Naples and finally Paris, where they had practised their skills at games of chance. So successful had they been that Drew had been able to put away a tidy sum. Thus he was not too concerned about their current lack of funds. It was one of the hazards of living by one’s wits.

They had found themselves at the gaming tables with the richest and most powerful nobles in France, but those same nobles did not enjoy losing to their English opponents, and Drew supposed it was inevitable that one day their luck would turn. That the duc should have them beaten and thrown out of the city in such an ignominious manner rankled, but Drew bore the man no ill will. He had learned that much from Harry over the years. He merely shrugged off misfortune, learning from his mistakes and moving on to the next city.

Except this time it did not look as if Harry would be moving on for some time.

* * *

Drew spent a sleepless night, finally getting a little rest as dawn broke and Harry was sleeping more peacefully, but it did not last and as the morning wore on he grew restless again. Drew noted with some unease that Harry was sweating badly and he fetched a damp cloth to bathe his face. Harry looked at him with bloodshot eyes and for a while did not seem to recognise him. Then at last he gave a sigh.

‘I think I’m done for this time, Drew.’

‘Devil a bit. Rest is all you need, old friend.’

Harry shifted in the bed, wincing and Drew reached for the laudanum.

‘Here, drink this, it will help you sleep.’

‘No, not yet.’ Harry grabbed his wrist. ‘Before that, there’s something I must tell you. Something you must promise me.’

‘Of course. Anything.’

‘I have a daughter.’

‘I know. Elyse.’ Drew forced a grin. ‘You told me she is a rare beauty.’

‘Aye, she is. She had just emerged from the schoolroom the last time I saw her but she was bidding fair to become a diamond, like her mother.’ His face contorted in pain. ‘Lisabet. Frenchwoman, y’know. Beautiful, spirited—only woman I truly loved. She died several years ago and since then Elyse has been in the care of her aunt, my sister, Matthews in Scarborough.’

‘She is safe then.’

Harry’s grip on his wrist tightened.

‘No. There’s more. That last time I visited her was just before I met you. Viscount Whittlewood was in Scarborough for his health and I chanced upon him at the gaming tables. Naturally we sat down together on several occasions.’

‘Naturally,’ Drew said drily.

‘He—er—lost. We came to an arrangement. He would marry Elyse to his younger son, in payment of the debt.’

‘What? But that’s outrageous.’

Harry gave a laugh that was cut short by a gasp of pain.

‘Whittlewood had lost an outrageous sum. There is nothing so bad about it. Elyse and William were dancing together at the assembly and getting on famously. Smelling of April and May, both of ’em. That is what gave me the idea. Contracts were drawn up, the boy proposed, everything was agreed, but the viscount asked that the marriage should be put off for a while until his son had reached his majority. I saw no harm in it. After all Elyse was only seventeen at the time and had much to learn about the world.’ He coughed, wincing as the pain tore at his insides and it was some moments before he could continue.

‘Whittlewood’s son was one-and-twenty six months ago but he made no move to claim his bride. I wrote to the viscount, advising him that my patience was wearing thin. Play or pay up. Whittlewood agreed that I should deliver Elyse to him by Michaelmas, when she reaches her majority, and the marriage will take place within the month.’

‘And what does your daughter say to all this?’ asked Drew.

‘What should she say, but yes? What girl in her right mind would turn down the chance to ally herself to the Reversons? They are one of the foremost families in England. Besides, he’s a good-looking young man and they were fancying themselves very much in love even then. Don’t look down your nose at me, Drew. I know that was a few years back but m’sister’s last letter informed me that Elyse has been corresponding with Reverson and he is still eager for the match. So all that needs to be done now is to take the bride to her groom. Only I did not expect to cock up my toes before I could do it.’

‘Do not talk such nonsense. You will be up and about again in a few days.’

Harry closed his eyes, one hand waving feebly.

‘I don’t think so, my friend, not this time. I won’t be able to escort Elyse to her new family, so I must ask you to do it for me.’

‘Me!’ the shock of it surprised a laugh from Drew. ‘Lord, Harry, you more than anyone should know that I can’t go back to England. There’s a price on my head.’

‘You can change your name. It wouldn’t be the first time. And what has it been, ten years since you went back? Who is likely to remember you?’

‘That is not all, Harry. I have lived those past ten years by my wits and my sword, stealing kisses from other men’s wives and daughters. A disreputable rogue! I am the last man you should entrust with such a task.’

‘No, you are the perfect choice to look after my precious daughter.’ Harry’s voice was failing, but he managed a weak grin. ‘Poacher turned gamekeeper. Help me sit up now, and I’ll write a note for m’sister, then she will give Elyse into your care.’

Drew argued, but in vain. In the end he called for pen and ink and helped Harry to write his final letters. It took a long time, sitting up seemed to cause Harry even more pain and he fainted off more than once, but at last the business was finished and Harry leaned back, closing his eyes.

‘There, it is done.’ His voice was little more than a thread. ‘Give this to my sister, she will find you all the documents relating to this business.’

‘Hush, my friend, no need to talk more of this now. Wait until the morning—’

‘I doubt I shall see the morning. The pain in my gut is damnable.’ He waved his hand towards his frockcoat, thrown over a chair. ‘You’ll find some papers sewn into the lining, and a letter of introduction to a certain gentleman in Lyon. Go to him and he will give you access to my funds.’

‘Harry—’

‘No, let me finish.’ He drew another laboured breath, the skin on his face as grey as old parchment. ‘Take what you need for your journey, and give the rest to Elyse on her birthday. ’Tis her inheritance.’

‘I will, Harry.’

‘Do I have your word as a gentleman? And don’t give me that rubbish again about your being a rebel. I knew you for a gentleman the first time I saw you!’

Drew grasped the hand, and not by the flicker of an eyelid did he show his dismay at the cold skin.

‘You have my word, Harry. A rebel’s honour, for what it’s worth.’

‘Good.’ He closed his eyes and seemed to relax down into the pillows. ‘Then I commend my daughter to your care.’

Within an hour Harry Salforde was dead.

Chapter One

‘Miss Salforde, I prostrate myself at your feet. I am your slave!’

Elyse looked down at the portly gentleman kneeling before her, his badly powdered bagwig failing to cover completely his straggly blond hair.

‘Well, you need not, Mr Scorton. I cannot give you any hope because I am promised to another, as you are very well aware.’

She tried and failed to stop the smile that was bubbling inside her. The gentleman, looking up at that moment, saw her lips twitch and struggled to his feet, saying in an injured tone, ‘You are very cruel, fair beauty. If you will not countenance my suit, why did you agree to come outside with me?’

Yes, why had she?

Elyse pondered the matter. She could not deny that the drawing room was very hot and crowded, but there had been no shortage of gentlemen offering to escort her out on to the terrace. So why had she favoured Mr Scorton?

Because he was the least likely of her many admirers and tonight she had decided to take pity on him. Elyse did not consider herself vain, but she was often called beautiful, so she supposed it must be true. Her figure was good, and there was something about her dark curls, brown eyes and heart-shaped face that seemed to draw gentlemen to her. All sorts of men, married or single, young or old, they crowded around her. They paid her compliments, teased her, flirted with her. She was happy enough to respond to them all, knowing herself safe from any serious courtship because she was in love with the Honourable Mr William Reverson, younger son of Viscount Whittlewood, and she was going to marry him. And her admirers, too, knew of her engagement and were content to enjoy a mild flirtation, a little amusing badinage with a pretty young lady. All quite harmless.

However, it seemed that Mr Scorton, with his pompous manners and badly fitting wig, was so smitten with her that he was not content to kiss her hand and whisper ridiculous compliments into her ear, he had actually had the temerity to propose!

It was a salutary lesson, and one that she knew regretfully she should have learned before this, but what was one to do when men were silly enough to shower her with praise and adulation? However, she had no wish to cause distress to anyone, and she realised she must be more circumspect in future. With a rueful smile she held out her hand to Mr Scorton.

‘Why, sir, I came out with you for a little air, nothing more, but if I have raised false hopes in you then I am very sorry for it. Pray cry friends with me, sir.’

He clasped her fingers in his pudgy hands.

‘Ah, so kind, so generous. I cannot let you go without trying to persuade you to think seriously of my offer.’

Before she knew what he was about he had pulled her into his arms.

‘Really, Mr Scor—’

Her words were smothered as he covered her face with hot, ardent kisses.

He might only be the same height as Elyse, and as broad as he was wide, but Mr Scorton in the throes of passion proved himself immensely strong. She could not break out of his hold and was crushed against him, unable even to deliver a well-aimed kick to his shins because the thick folds of her black petticoats were in the way.

She twisted her head away, shuddering as his wet lips slithered over her cheek.

‘How dare you, sir, I am in mourning!’

‘And your sorrow makes you even more irresistible.’

‘Enough sir, let me go!’

She did not expect him to obey, so she was more than a little surprised to find herself suddenly released.

Elyse staggered back and steadied herself against the balustrade that edged the terrace. As soon as she had regained her balance she raised her head, intending to deliver a blistering reproof, but the words died on her lips when she realised that they were no longer alone on the terrace.

A dark stranger was standing between her and Mr Scorton, who was clutching at his throat.

‘For Gad, sir,’ Scorton gasped, ‘you have well-nigh strangled me.’

‘I had to find some way of pulling you off the lady and my fingers in the back of your neck cloth proved most effective.’

This cool rejoinder brought a choleric flush to Mr Scorton’s cheeks.

‘Then by heavens you shall answer for it. Name your friends, sir.’

Mr Scorton placed his hand upon the hilt of his sword and drew himself up to his full if diminutive height, which Elyse could not fail to notice left him several inches shorter than the tall stranger.

‘Don’t be such a damned fool,’ came the crushing retort. ‘I am the girl’s guardian.’

The effect of this statement silenced Mr Scorton, but it caused Elyse to give a little shriek. Both men looked towards her but it was the stranger who spoke, addressing Mr Scorton in a tone of weary boredom.

‘I suggest you go away, sir, before I give you a bloody nose to go with your sore throat.’

With only the slightest hesitation Mr Scorton hurried away and the stranger turned towards Elyse. Her instinct was to step back, but her thick skirts were already pressing against the balustrade and she was trapped.

‘Keep away from me,’ she said, putting out her hand.

He had his back to the light that spilled out of the drawing room windows, so Elyse could not see his face and she was aware of an unaccountable stirring of alarm. His large frame stood menacingly between her and the safety of the house. She felt a stab of annoyance that her erstwhile suitor had gone off so readily and left her to face this man alone.

He made no move to approach, but his silence was equally unnerving and she said sharply, ‘I have no idea who you are.’

‘Drew Bastion.’ He spoke curtly without even a bow or an ‘at your service’. ‘I wrote to you from France, to inform you of your father’s death and the fact that he had appointed me your guardian.’

‘I do not need a guardian.’

‘From what I have just seen I think you do,’ he retorted. ‘I was surprised to arrive and find the house so full of company.’

‘My aunt arranged this party weeks ago and decided we should not cancel. Once we heard the news about Papa we made it clear there could be no music or dancing.’

‘You should also have made it clear there would be no flirting.’

‘I was not—’

‘From the moment I walked in I have observed you,’ he interrupted. ‘You have been constantly surrounded by gentlemen and your manner, the way you ply your fan, is most unseemly for one in deep mourning for her father.’

Drew paused, reining in his anger. Harry’s loss was still raw and this lack of respect was an outrage. Yet it was hardly Miss Salforde’s fault if men were falling over themselves to win her favour. Her dark beauty was everything that Harry had described to him. Luminescent was the word that came to his mind, despite her bereaved state. She was as covered up as a Jesuit in a bombazine manteau, but its dull black petticoats only enhanced the porcelain delicacy of her fine skin, which was innocent of paint or powder.

She had caught his eye as soon as he walked into the room. In any other circumstances he would have made his way to her and engaged her interest, for there was no denying the sharp tug of attraction he had felt as he took in her excellent figure and those luxuriant curls, the colour of polished ebony. But he had recognised her immediately as Harry’s daughter, and honour would not allow him to trifle with a lady who had been placed under his protection. However, it was clear that the other gentlemen present were equally entranced and they had no such restraint upon them.

No, he could not blame her for attracting any man’s attention, but he could blame her for responding in such a flirtatious manner. And what was Mrs Matthews thinking of, to allow the party to go ahead barely three months after her brother’s death? Of course, this was the thriving spa town of Scarborough and not Paris, but surely the rules of polite society in England had not changed quite so radically while he had been away? As if reading his mind the girl put up her head, a challenge in her dark eyes.

‘We are holding a quiet soirée, sir, as befits a house in mourning. The guests here came only to offer their condolences.’

His lip curled.

‘That may well have been the intention, but the gentlemen crowding around you were certainly doing more than offering their condolences and you were doing nothing to discourage them.’

‘That is outrageous. You have no right to say such things to me!’

He ignored her outburst.

‘Then I come out here to find you flirting so disgracefully in the darkness. By heaven you are as bad as your father.’

‘How dare you malign my sainted papa!’

Her dark eyes sparkled with wrath but he found his own anger diffused by a sudden flash of humour.

He said drily, ‘Your father was many things, including a good friend to me, Miss Salforde, but he was no saint.’

He thought she would fly at him for that, but although her eyes widened and the angry flush on her cheeks deepened, she bit her lip and regarded him in silence. He observed her resentful look, the shadow of doubt in her eyes. So she knew something of her father’s life then. But he was not here to argue with her. He tried to modify his tone when he spoke again.

‘Enough of this, Miss Salforde. Shall we go in and find your aunt?’

* * *

After the briefest hesitation Elyse laid her fingers on his proffered arm. Andrew Bastion. She recalled, now, that her aunt had mentioned his name when she had read out his letter, but Elyse had taken little note of it at the time, nor the fact that he had been appointed her guardian. She had been too shocked by the news of her father’s sudden demise. Since her mother’s death twelve years ago she had only seen Papa occasionally and for very brief periods. He would arrive, boisterous, laughing and bringing with him extravagant presents for them both, then he would disappear again for months, even years. He had become a distant figure, larger than life yet not quite real. That is why it felt so uncomfortable to be in deep mourning for a father she barely knew.

But that did not mean she would forgive this man for upbraiding her in such a brutish manner. A tiny prickle of conscience whispered that she might have deserved his reprimand but she was not accustomed to criticism. Mama had always spoiled her, and Aunt Matthews was of such a complaisant nature that she never made any effort to check her. It was the same with the gentlemen of her acquaintance. As soon as she had left the schoolroom she had been aware of their admiration. Why, even her aunt’s elderly gentlemen friends gazed upon her with approval.

Elyse glanced up at her escort as they stepped back into the light of the drawing room. As a friend of Papa’s she had assumed he would be of a similar age and she was surprised to discover that he was much younger—some years less than thirty, she guessed. As if aware of her scrutiny Bastion glanced down at her and she discovered he was also extremely handsome. Something, a flash, a bolt of attraction shot between them and she quickly averted her gaze, frightened by the sudden inexplicable feeling that came over her, as if she had always known this man. It could not be. She had never seen him before, although now his image was burned into her memory.

His face was lean, with straight dark brows above a pair of searching blue eyes. A coat of dark blue velvet embroidered with silver was moulded to his large frame and threw into sharp relief the snowy lace ruffles at his throat and wrists. His clothes were undoubtedly fashionable and had a distinctly French air. Despite the fact that he wore his own light brown hair unpowdered and caught back with a simple black ribbon she thought him very elegant, much more stylish than any other gentlemen present tonight.

Indignation welled up within Elyse. It would not do to let him know what she thought of him, especially when he so patently disapproved of her. But surely his disapproval would not last for long? He would come round when he knew her better. After all, she had not yet met a man who was impervious to her charms. She took another glance at the unyielding figure of her escort and a tiny doubt shook her. It was true she had never been short of admirers, but she had never before set out to attract a man. She shook her head at her foolishness. She was not trying to attract him, merely to make him like her. She buried her indignation and tried for a friendly tone.

‘Are you truly my guardian, Mr Bastion?’

‘I am. Your father left you to my charge. I have the papers with me, proving my identity, if you would like to see them.’

‘I beg your pardon, I did not mean to question you, but when we read your letter—I expected someone older.’ She flashed him a smile. ‘Why, you cannot be much older than I am.’

‘I am six-and-twenty, and old enough not to be bamboozled by your tricks and stratagems, madam.’

The glint in his blue eyes made the blush deepen in her cheeks. Had he guessed her thoughts? She was tempted to protest, but in truth she had been trying to charm him and decided it would be wiser to remain silent until she had the measure of Mr Andrew Bastion.

He took her back to her aunt, who greeted them with unruffled cheerfulness.

‘So you found her, Mr Bastion. Was she on the terrace, as we thought?’

‘I was, Aunt Matthews.’ Elyse answered quickly, to prevent her companion from doing so. ‘I had stepped out for a breath of air and Mr Scorton was so ungentlemanly as to forget himself.’ She could not resist a flicker of a glance at the man beside her. He should not be allowed to think she had been indulging in a light flirtation. ‘He made me an offer of marriage.’

‘Did he my dear? How tiresome for you.’

Knowing her aunt’s complaisant nature, Elyse was in no way disconcerted by her lack of concern, but Mr Bastion was much less sanguine.

‘You appear singularly unsurprised, madam.’

Mrs Matthews opened her eyes at him.

‘You are wrong, sir. I am very surprised, for everyone here knows Elyse is promised to Viscount Whittlewood’s son. However, I must take you to task, Elyse. It is all very well for you to be friendly with the gentlemen here. After all, you have known them for years, but as for going out on to the terrace alone with one of them, that was not at all wise, my love.’

Elyse bit her lip. It did not need her aunt’s gentle reproof to tell her that. She could only be grateful that Mr Bastion did not disclose just how unwise she had been. Yet his silence on the subject only increased her irritation, since she was now doubly beholden to him. When another guest claimed her aunt’s attention Elyse turned to Mr Bastion and began to offer him an apology. He cut her short.

‘Save your words, Miss Salforde. You will not turn me up sweet.’

‘I was not attempting to—’

‘It is my opinion that you have been grievously indulged,’ he continued as if she had not spoken. ‘No wonder your father asked me to take you in hand.’

She drew herself up, an angry retort rising to her lips but before she could utter it he had pulled her hand on to his arm.

‘Let us move away a little, Miss Salforde, where we may talk undisturbed.’

‘I have no wish to talk to you.’

‘I do not doubt that, but I am your guardian and I think I need to make a few things clear.’ He led her to the far side of the refreshment table, which was currently deserted. ‘You have been petted and spoiled and come to think of yourself as a diamond of the highest order.’

She gave a gasp of indignation.

‘I think no such thing.’

‘But you do think yourself up to every rig and row, and able to wrap any man round your little finger, is that not so?’ She blushed a fiery red and he nodded with satisfaction. ‘Let us get one thing straight at the outset, Miss Salforde. I am no callow youth to be dazzled by your smile, nor am I ancient enough to dote on you.’

She pulled her arm free and turned to glare up at him.

‘You are insulting, sir.’

He leaned a little closer. She saw again that disturbing glint in his eye, but this time it held her attention. She could not look away.

‘I am merely making sure we understand one another,’ he told her. ‘Your father appointed me to look after you, and not before time, from what I have witnessed tonight.’

He was towering over her and she had the strangest impression that she was enveloped in his shadow. His blue eyes bored into her as if he could see into her very soul. Her spine tingled, she felt threatened, imperilled, yet this man was her guardian, sent by Papa to protect her.

She blurted out, ‘I think you are far more dangerous than any of the gentlemen here tonight.’

The harsh look vanished and the corners of his mouth lifted.

‘You may well be right, Miss Salforde, so you would be wise to tread carefully.’ He gave a little bow, turned on his heel and left her to stare at his retreating form.

* * *

The remainder of the evening proved very long and frustrating for Elyse. She kept away from the infuriating Mr Bastion as much as possible, but she could not relax and enjoy herself. She was very conscious of every man who approached her, unable to respond to even the mildest compliment and instead she sought out her female acquaintances, determined that no further accusations of improper conduct should be levelled at her.

For once she was relieved when the guests began to take their leave, but even then her trials were not at an end, for she discovered that Aunt Matthews had invited Mr Bastion to remain behind.

‘I have ordered wine and cakes to be brought to us in the morning room,’ she told Elyse, directing a smile at the gentleman that showed how far she had fallen under his spell. ‘There are papers I need to hand over and I made sure you would like to talk to him about your father.’

‘I should, of course, Aunt, but perhaps it is a little late for Mr Bastion.’

‘I have already assured you I am not in my dotage, Miss Salforde.’ His eyes gleamed with a challenge as he anticipated her next argument. ‘And everyone assures me that you have boundless energy.’

She shot him a smouldering glance but was not yet beaten.

‘I have,’ she responded sweetly, ‘but perhaps my aunt may be fatigued.’

Aunt Matthews laughingly disclaimed.

‘Not a bit of it. Why, it is not much past midnight. Now come along, both of you, let us repair to the morning room and make ourselves comfortable.’

She sailed out of the room and Elyse followed, head held high and ignoring the gentleman who fell into step beside her.

‘I would not advise you to cross swords with me, Miss Salforde,’ he murmured.

She gave a little huff of impatience.

‘I have no wish to do so,’ she hissed at him. ‘But I will not allow you to browbeat me, you...you bully!’

He stopped caught her arm, turning her to face him.

‘I shall do whatever is necessary to look after you as your father would have wanted. Is that clear?’

‘Perfectly.’ The harsh look in his face made her quail inwardly, but she kept her chin up and met his eyes with a defiant stare. ‘But that does not mean I have to like you.’

To her consternation his frown disappeared at that and he grinned.

‘I am desolated, of course, but doubtless I will survive.’

She gave a little gasp of indignation. How dare he laugh at her. Pulling her arm free she hurried on to the morning room, determined to be revenged upon the hateful man.

* * *

‘So, Mr Bastion, you were with my brother at the end.’

Drew, Mrs Matthews and her niece were sitting around a small table in the morning room, wine and a selection of delectable little cakes provided by Mrs Matthews’s indefatigable cook set out before them.

Drew sipped his wine, wondering how much to tell them. That he and Harry had been thrown out of Paris, ostensibly for cheating at cards? That might not shock the ladies as much as the real reason, that Harry had been having a liaison with the duc’s mistress. He glanced across the table at Elyse, looking very demure as she nibbled at one of the little cakes. She had probably inherited her beauty from her mother, but she certainly had Harry’s charm of manner. She looked up at him at that moment, peeping at him from beneath her lashes in a way that immediately aroused his interest. He fought it down quickly and frowned. She also appeared to have inherited Harry’s propensity for flirting.

‘You said he died of an injury,’ Mrs Matthews continued, when he tarried too long over his answer. ‘Was he involved in a duel, perhaps?’ She smiled when he looked up, his brows raised in surprise at her question. ‘My brother was a scapegrace, Mr Bastion. An adventurer with an eye for the ladies. He never made any secret of it. Even when Elyse’s mama was alive he could not change his ways and settle down, so you need not think to shock us.’

‘There was a little trouble,’ he confessed. ‘In Paris.’

He paused, remembering how he had half-carried half-dragged Harry to the inn where Harry had told him he knew the landlord’s wife. Drew’s lips tightened. Harry’s trouble was that he knew every man’s wife.

Drew saw that Elyse was watching him, although he acquitted her now of trying to flirt with him. Her gaze was steady, direct. He knew she would not be satisfied unless he gave some explanation of what had happened. But her candid look made him uneasy. He wanted to protect her from the truth.

‘Footpads. Harry was more seriously injured than we thought at first. I summoned a physician but it was no use, he died within hours, but before he did, he drew up certain papers. Including one making me your guardian, Miss Salforde.’

‘Yes, I have been considering that,’ Elyse said. ‘Why should he do such a thing, sir, when my aunt has managed very well on her own for the past dozen years?’

He replied carefully. ‘Your father was very conscious that Mrs Matthews is a widow.’

‘And he thought you a more suitable guardian?’ She raised her brows and he observed the faint look of disbelief before she shifted her gaze to the cakes. ‘I believe you had known my father for some years, Mr Bastion.’

‘That is correct. We had become close friends.’

Her hand hovered over the platter before she selected a tiny iced fancy, saying as she did so, ‘If you were my father’s friend, sir, and you were with him in Paris, it occurs to me that you, too, are an adventurer. And quite possibly a rake,’ she added thoughtfully. ‘I am well aware that my father had that reputation.’

Touché.

‘What I was in the past is irrelevant,’ he told her. ‘As is the future. For now I have a task to perform. Before he died your father was in touch with Viscount Whittlewood concerning your marriage to his younger son, the Honourable William Reverson.’

‘Ah, thank heaven for that,’ exclaimed Mrs Matthews. ‘Elyse and William Reverson have been betrothed now for three years and I was afraid they would never marry.’

‘Quite,’ said Drew. ‘Harry considered the delay had gone on long enough and he was anxious to have the matter settled. He and the viscount came to an agreement, a date was set for the marriage and Miss Salforde will join the viscount’s household a month beforehand, that she may grow accustomed to her new family.’ He glanced at Mrs Matthews. ‘It was also agreed that you, ma’am, should be invited to remain with your niece as chaperon—and honoured guest—until the wedding.’

‘Well, of course,’ said the widow. ‘And that is even more important now, since I am the only relative the poor child has.’

Drew inclined his head at her before turning his attention to Elyse.

‘On his deathbed, your father charged me with the task of delivering you safely into Lord Whittlewood’s care by Michaelmas.’

The cake fell from Elyse’s nerveless fingers.

‘But that is my birthday, and less than a month away.’

‘Yes.’

‘But I shall still be in mourning.’

‘Your father knew that, but it is his express wish that the arrangements stand. The wedding will take place a month later, at the end of October.’

‘I cannot possibly be married so soon.’

From her startled gaze Drew knew that Elyse had not been informed of the forthcoming change in her circumstances. He felt a tiny spurt of irritation. It was just like Harry to want to keep such information to himself until he could return to Scarborough and whisk his daughter off to her new life. He would have considered the speed and surprise of the whole venture exciting. Elyse looked as if she needed more time to grow accustomed to the idea. In contrast to her niece’s shocked countenance, Mrs Matthews was beaming at him.

‘But of course you can, my love. Heavens, you have been waiting long enough. With Lord Whittlewood’s money and influence behind the alliance everything can be arranged in a twinkling.’ She turned her smile upon Drew. ‘That is wonderful news, sir. I know Mr Reverson and my niece are eager for the match, but we did not know a date had been agreed. And, Elyse, just think of it. You will be with Mr Reverson for your birthday on the twenty-ninth of September.’

‘Yes. I shall be one-and-twenty.’

‘At which date my guardianship of you comes to an end,’ stated Drew.

‘And not a moment too soon.’

Mrs Matthews tutted.

‘Now, now, Elyse, it was your father’s wish that Mr Bastion should have a care for you and we must respect that.’ She smiled at Drew. ‘So you will be accompanying us to the viscount’s principal seat, sir? I believe it is in Cambridgeshire.’

‘No. Lord Whittlewood informs me he will be at his town house in London.’

Drew recalled the viscount’s letter which Harry had passed over to him. It was unusually specific. Miss Salforde was to be delivered into his care by Michaelmas and not a day later, or he would consider the agreement null and void. Drew did not know how binding that last clause would be, but to drag the matter through the courts was unthinkable. It would not reflect well upon either party. The viscount’s standing was sufficiently good for him to survive it, but Harry’s name would fare less well, and the scandal attached to his daughter would ruin her for life. And as for his own part in the affair, Drew had no wish to attract the notice of the authorities.

He said now, ‘I intend to deliver Miss Salforde to Lord Whittlewood in London by the end of the week. I will then remain in town for the two weeks until Michaelmas. That will give me time to ascertain that Miss Salforde is happy with all the arrangements before I relinquish my guardianship. After that she will be in the care of the viscount, who plans to remove the whole family to Cambridgeshire for the banns to be called.’

‘Yes of course, but...’ Mrs Matthews frowned. ‘To be in town by the end of the week we will need to set out in a few days’ time.’

Drew nodded. ‘Wednesday at the latest, ma’am. If the weather turns we might easily take a se’ennight to reach London.’

Elyse had been listening in silence, but now she gave an outraged gasp. The news of her forthcoming marriage was shock enough, but to leave her home at such short notice was intolerable.

‘That’s the day after tomorrow,’ she said. ‘We cannot possibly be ready so soon.’

‘I’m afraid you will have to be.’

‘You are riding roughshod over us, Mr Bastion.’

His gaze flickered over her, the blue eyes cold and indifferent.

‘I would have thought you would be impatient to join your fiancé. Perhaps you are not so eager for the match as you once were?’

‘Of course I am, but—’

‘But nothing, Miss Salforde. You have tomorrow to do your packing and make your arrangements.’

She sat upright in her chair, bristling with indignation.

‘It is not long enough. Why, there are a dozen little things I shall need, including new gowns.’ Elyse turned to look at Aunt Matthews, but she received no support there.

‘We will manage with what we have, my dear. After all, we shall be able to go shopping in town, and think how much more exciting that will be. Do not worry, Mr Bastion. Elyse and I will be ready.’

‘Good.’ He rose. ‘I will organise a post-chaise and send you word of what time it will call for you.’

Elyse felt her anger bubbling up inside. She had one hand resting on the table and it clenched tightly into a fist as she drew in a breath to retort, but Aunt Matthews covered her fingers with her own and squeezed them warningly as she repeated quietly, ‘We will be ready, sir.’

* * *

‘What an insufferable man!’

Elyse had struggled to contain herself until Mr Bastion had been shown out and the door had barely closed behind him before her exclamation was uttered, resonant with suppressed violence.

‘Hush my dear, he may still hear you.’

‘I am sure I do not care. I declare I quite abhor him.’

‘Why should you do that, my love, when he is doing his best to carry out your father’s wishes?’

‘But in such a high-handed manner.’

Aunt Matthews chuckled.

‘He does appear to be in a hurry to get you to the viscount, does he not? But there, your father’s plans were never straightforward, so doubtless there is a good reason for it,’ she added shrewdly.

Elyse tossed her head. ‘He is the most arrogant, overbearing man I have ever met.’

‘Is he? I think it more likely that he is the first man you have met who has not succumbed to your charms.’

Elyse flushed, not at all pleased at her aunt displaying such unwonted perspicacity. She said no more on the subject and presently took herself off to bed, where her rest was disturbed by dreams of an autocratic gentleman with searching blue eyes.

* * *

Despite a long journey and the bracing sea air, it was a long time before Drew slept. He had very reluctantly agreed to become guardian to Harry’s daughter and now he realised that his qualms had been justified. Harry had described his daughter as intelligent, spirited and beautiful, but he had not told Drew just how spirited she was. Nor had Drew believed she would be so beautiful. A veritable diamond. Oh, Harry had described her as such but Drew had dismissed that as a father’s natural partiality. And after all, Harry had not seen his daughter for three years, he could not have known with any certainty that the pretty seventeen-year-old would become a nonpareil.

As soon as Drew had arrived in Scarborough he had heard bucks in the taproom toasting the incomparable Miss Salforde and the way they had been clustering around her in her own drawing room convinced him that all the menfolk of the town were in thrall to her. It was not difficult to understand why. She was witty and beautiful and she had a smile that could light up a room. And those large pansy-brown eyes—he had no doubt that her local swains had written odes to them. He had seen for himself how they could be velvet soft or sparkling with anger. He imagined they would be heart-stoppingly glorious when they were shining with happiness. Or love.

The thought had him turning restlessly in his bed. He might not have his old friend’s weakness for a pretty face, but he could not deny the attraction he felt towards Elyse Salforde. What was it that Harry had said?

‘Who better than a rake to look after a beautiful woman? Poacher turned gamekeeper, my friend.’

Well, perhaps there is still a little too much of the poacher about me, thought Drew.

There was no doubt that he found Elyse Salforde too damned tempting for comfort. It wasn’t just her beauty, but something within her, some force of nature that shone out. When their eyes met it seemed to call to him, like a kindred spirit.

By God he was turning into an old fool. He pushed himself up and thumped his pillow before settling down again and pulling the blankets more securely around him. He was honour-bound to carry out Harry’s dying wishes and he would do so. He would deliver Harry’s daughter safe and sound to her bridegroom if it was the last thing he did.

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