The Notorious Lord

Chapter Ten

‘Lady Sally is the most consummate hostess, is she not?’ Deborah murmured to Rachel as they stood side by side in the long gallery at Saltires a week later. ‘She promised us a ball and here we have one that would grace the ton. The Midwinter villages have not seen so many eligible gentlemen since Henry VIII came hunting here!’

‘There seems to be plenty of hunting going on this evening,’ Rachel said drily. ‘The ladies seem determined to charm the gentlemen in order to get them to agree to take part in Lady Sally’s watercolour book, and the gentlemen are not exactly resisting very hard!’

She leaned on the stone balustrade to scan the hall below. Saltires was too small to have a ballroom, so Lady Sally had cleared the Great Hall and had had a dais erected for the orchestra at one end, beneath the huge stained glass window. The iron sconces flared with candles and the stone walls were warmed with brightly coloured tapestries. The medieval atmosphere was further enhanced by a self-important little man who strutted through the guests dressed in doublet and hose, his chest thrust out like a ruffled pigeon.

‘That is Lady Sally’s tame artist, Mr Daubenay,’ Deborah commented, following Rachel’s gaze. ‘He is the one who is commissioned to paint her watercolours. Does he not affect the oddest attire? I almost expect him to bring out a lute and start to serenade the ladies!’

The artist had in fact whipped out a sketching pad and was starting to draw one of Lady Sally’s guests. As the crowd in the hall shifted, Rachel saw that it was Helena Lang. She seemed quite flattered by Daubenay’s attentions, for she was preening a little under his attentions, tossing her curls and trilling with laughter. At her side lounged a tall man with very dark auburn hair and the classic good looks of the Kestrels. Rachel caught Deborah’s sleeve.

‘Deborah, you must tell me who Lady Sally’s guests are, for I have not been introduced to them all. The gentleman with Miss Lang, for instance. He must be one of the Duke’s brothers.’

Deborah laughed. ‘That,’ she said, ‘is Lord Lucas Kestrel, the third of the unholy trinity! They say that he is even more unsafe to tangle with than his brothers because he looks a lot less dangerous!’

‘He is the one who is an army man, is he not?’ Rachel asked. She thought that Lucas looked extremely attractive. ‘I had heard that he was recently returned from India.’

Deborah snorted. ‘That poppycock! Lucas Kestrel is no more a soldier than Richard Kestrel can sail a ship. I heard the tale he was spinning you the other day about being invalided out of the Navy. I expect he trapped his hand in his desk drawer or some such injury!’

‘Oh, Deb,’ Rachel said reproachfully. She liked Richard Kestrel and thought her friend unduly harsh. ‘You are unkind!’

‘I know.’ Deb caught Rachel’s arm and turned her very firmly in the other direction. ‘There is the Duke himself, chatting to Lady Sally. You have not met him yet, have you, Rachel? He is only in Midwinter Bere briefly, for I hear business calls him back to London. A pity he cannot take Lord Richard with him!’

Rachel sighed. There was a certain air of careless distinction about the Kestrel brothers, as though just their presence bestowed a dazzle upon the proceedings. And, indeed, it was a very fashionable crowd that Lady Sally had gathered that evening. Without realising what she was doing, Rachel’s gaze instinctively sought out Cory Newlyn in the throng.

When she saw him, formal in his black and white evening clothes, her heart skipped a tiny beat as it had been doing every time she saw him since their kiss in the billiards room. It was pointless, it was annoying, but it was inescapable. Rachel had tried to cure herself of this strange affliction but to no avail. For someone who prided themselves on their common sense, it was particularly galling.

We should pretend that it never happened.

It had sounded quite easy at the time. Now she was not so certain. The following morning she had been possessed by a quite unexpected shyness where Cory was concerned. She had put off going down to the excavation for as long as possible and then conjured up some spurious excuse about asking Lady Odell if she wished for trout or salmon for supper. Naturally Lady Odell had no preference and was surprised to be asked, but at least it gave Rachel the chance to say a subdued good morning to Cory. He had given her a brief, smiling glance and had continued with his work, and after a moment Rachel had turned away and gone back to the house. She had seen Cory each day of the following week and he had seemed to be making a point of spending time with her. Normally Rachel would have enjoyed this, but now she felt a reserve in her manner towards him. She tried to behave as though nothing had happened between them but she knew that it had, and that seemed to make all the difference.

‘There is Lord Newlyn,’ Deborah said, suddenly. ‘My goodness, Rachel, there is something about him…’

Rachel looked-and felt once again the tiny, telltale shiver along her skin.

‘He looks most distinguished,’ she said colourlessly.

‘Well, yes…’ Deborah put her head on one side thoughtfully ‘…in a thoroughly disreputable way!’

Rachel was obliged to laugh. Cory did indeed look supremely elegant tonight, but still rather dishevelled, in a manner that suggested that he had just got out of his own-or someone else’s-bed. His tawny hair was tousled, his neckcloth tied with casual aplomb and Rachel was glad to see that he had at least done Lady Sally the honour of having his evening clothes pressed.

As she watched, Cory strolled over to Lucas Kestrel and Helena Lang, looked over the artist’s shoulder and grinned. He made some comment to Helena that caused her to look at him archly through her lashes and Rachel felt another sharp twinge in her side, as though someone had stuck a pin in her.

‘Are you quite well, Rachel?’ Deborah enquired. ‘Just for a moment, you looked a little sick.’

‘I am very well, thank you,’ Rachel said hastily. ‘I do believe that your sister and her husband have arrived, Deborah.’

‘Oh!’ Deb beamed. ‘Excuse me! I must ask Ross for a dance.’ And she skipped away down the stairs to the hall.

Left alone, Rachel sighed and followed more slowly. Sir Arthur and Lady Odell were being fêted at one end of the hall, but Rachel had no wish to stand in her parents’ shadow and hear them talk forever about their greatest excavations. Nor did she wish to hover about Cory Newlyn, listening to him flirt with Helena Lang and feeling like a spare part. Evidently Cory did not have the same difficulty that she did in forgetting. But then, Cory was a rake…

Rachel reached the bottom step and was almost immediately accosted by Lady Sally, the best of hostesses, who would not allow one of her guests to wilt in the shadows untended.

‘Miss Odell, I have been looking for you everywhere. Pray come and meet my guests.’

She took Rachel’s arm and drew her towards the baronial fireplace, where the Duke of Kestrel was standing. Justin Kestrel professed himself extremely pleased to meet her and Rachel had no reason to doubt his sincerity. His manner was entirely devoted to making her feel at ease, whilst also making her feel she was the most delightful creature in the room. Rachel appreciated this whilst recognising exactly what he was doing. They chatted happily for a few moments, but Rachel was amused to note that when the Duke thought that her attention was not upon him, his gaze was drawn back to Lady Sally like a compass to north.

‘Justin, you have monopolised Miss Odell for quite long enough,’ Lady Sally said reproachfully, returning after a minute with another gentleman in tow. ‘I have brought your cousin James to make her acquaintance.’

Justin Kestrel bowed, a faint smile playing about his lips. Rachel had the strong impression that he was amused. ‘Then I concede gracefully, of course, Lady Sally,’ he said smoothly. ‘Miss Odell…James…’

He bowed and strolled away, and Rachel looked at the newcomer with sharpened interest. This was the only remaining Kestrel that she had not met, and he stood out like a sparrow in a family of peacocks. He was neat where his cousins were flamboyant, quiet where they were gregarious. He seemed colourless beside them and Rachel felt her heart warming to him. She felt drawn to someone who did not quite fit into their surroundings.

The orchestra struck up for a country dance and suddenly the room was vivid with excitement. Justin Kestrel came across and solicited a dance from Lady Sally. Deborah Stratton strolled past on the arm of her brother-in-law, Ross Marney, whilst Cory Newlyn was prising Lily Benedict away from Sir John Norton with a skill that argued long practice. Rachel waited.

James Kestrel adjusted his cuffs and admired his reflection in the long mirror on the wall behind them. Finally he said, ‘Would you care to dance, Miss Odell?’

‘Thank you, sir,’ Rachel said.

James offered a decorous arm.

‘This is a very elegant occasion, is it not?’ Rachel said, when they took their places in the set. ‘Lady Sally entertains in great style.’

James looked around. His thin face wore a slightly disapproving expression as though there were an unpleasant smell beneath his nose.

‘It is a little raffish,’ he said, ‘but that is what one expects when one invites a group of pirates and adventurers to visit.’

Rachel laughed. ‘Pirates, sir?’

James primmed his lips. ‘There are those here who are little better than pirates. John Norton, for instance…’

Rachel looked round. John Norton was close to them in the set. He saw her looking at him and gave her an exaggerated wink. Rachel blushed and looked quickly away.

‘Sir John is bound to win the Deben Yacht race, then,’ she said lightly, ‘if he is a privateer. Do you sail, sir?’

‘Good lord, no,’ James Kestrel said. ‘It is quite ruinous to the complexion, Miss Odell. Rather like polar exploration. Norton got the most shocking frostbite on his last trip. Almost ate through his nose.’ James looked her over thoughtfully. ‘I hear that you have been quite the traveller, Miss Odell,’ he said. ‘I am happy to see that the sun has not taken its toll on your skin. I suppose that you carry a parasol?’

‘Always,’ Rachel said. Her lips twitched. ‘Even in a sandstorm.’

James nodded. ‘Very wise. One cannot be too careful. Too much sun and one ends up looking a shocking fright.’

The dance progressed and they all changed partners. With a flash of surprise, Rachel found herself taking Cory’s hand for the next figure. His fingers closed strongly around hers and he gave her his heart-shaking smile.

‘Good evening, Rachel. You look very pretty tonight. The golden gauze suits you.’

He was appraising her with a lazy familiarity that nevertheless held echoes of some other, more disturbing emotion. Rachel felt her heartbeat increase. There was something in his eyes that made her feel acutely vulnerable. But this was all wrong-Cory was not supposed to make her feel like this.

She fixed her gaze on a point beyond his right shoulder. It was a mistake, as it brought Helena Lang into her line of sight. Helena was dancing with Lord Northcote, but craning her neck to watch Cory. Rachel felt deeply irritated.

‘Good evening, Cory,’ she said. ‘Are you enjoying yourself in such a…promising environment?’

She saw Cory’s grey eyes widen at the sarcasm in her tone, then he flashed her a grin.

‘I am having a splendid time, I thank you, Rae. Lady Sally’s guests are charming.’

‘They are indeed,’ Rachel said, feeling cross. She was not sure why she wished to provoke him, but the need to do so seemed to go deep. ‘And you seem to be enjoying them to full measure!’

Cory’s hand tightened on hers and she looked up at him instinctively. There was a quizzical look in his eyes now. ‘What is the matter, Rae?’ he asked ‘Did you eat a prune at supper?’

Rachel felt a little light-headed. She could sense herself drawing near to some precipice and felt strangely as though she was about to rush straight over the edge. It had something to do with the need to annoy Cory as much as he was angering her with his thoughtless attentions and careless kisses. She did not like to see him flirting with Helena Lang or Lily Benedict. She felt jealous and angry and confused. Nor did she know what she wanted-Cory’s friendship or his kisses.

‘I am sure that you understand me,’ she said tightly. ‘You are…generous…in your attentions, are you not? One might almost say indiscriminate.’

Cory’s gaze hardened into challenge. ‘Can it be that you are jealous, Rachel?’ he asked mockingly. ‘I thought you professed to want no more than friendship from me?’

Rachel felt trapped. That was what she had told him. It seemed that it was increasingly untrue. And she did not know what to say.

They continued the dance in silence for a few seconds, but it was a quiet that was taut as a bowstring. After a moment Rachel shot an exasperated look at Cory’s face.

‘I believe we should have a little more conversation,’ she said, ‘just to pass the time. Unfortunately, this is a long figure.’

She heard Cory sigh. ‘Very well. Since you claim to dislike rakes, then let us speak of men of another sort. Did you enjoy James Kestrel’s company? I see that he was talking to you, whilst admiring his own reflection, of course.’

Rachel felt hot with annoyance. There was a strong note of sarcasm in Cory’s tone and it infuriated her. Despite her own initial disappointment with James Kestrel, she was not prepared to allow Cory to disapprove of him.

‘He seems a very sensible man,’ she said.

‘Ah. You admire good sense, of course.’

‘I admire it more than I like recklessness, certainly. A sensible man is not so unreliable as an adventurer!’

She heard Cory draw a sharp breath. There was an undertone of anger in his voice now. ‘You are quick to provoke me tonight, Rachel. I cannot but wonder why.’

Rachel glared at him. ‘You are quick to criticise Mr Kestrel, if it comes to that, Cory! I also wonder why.’

Cory’s mouth set in a hard line. ‘Very well. It’s true that I don’t like James Kestrel. He is a worthless man. He cares for nothing but his place in society and the starch in his shirts.’

Rachel frowned. ‘I had heard him described as a worthy man, not a worthless one. I think that he seems very sound.’

‘You are mistaken.’

Their conversation had of necessity been conducted in low tones because the dance kept them in such close proximity to the other couples. Now, however, Rachel found her voice rising to match the frustrated fury inside her.

‘You cannot forbear to meddle, can you, Cory? You always know best! This is the third time that you have warned me away from a gentleman who admires me. Well, you are not my brother and if I choose to recognise sober virtues where you do not, and value them above your own more dubious qualities, then that is my affair!’

With a shock, she realised that the music had stopped and the other dancers were regarding them with some curiosity. With a tight smile, Cory tucked her hand through his arm and steered her to the edge of the dance floor. Rachel could feel the tense anger that vibrated throughout his entire body. She was almost certain that he was about to drag her into a private room and continue the argument there. It would have been in character; on the rare occasions that they had quarrelled in their youth they had argued the matter out until it was finally settled. This felt different, however. Rachel did not know why, but this dispute felt sharp and painful and damaging. She knew that she had to act quickly in order to prevent any further hurt being done.

Unfortunately, she did not get the chance.

The dance had ended now and James Kestrel himself was approaching them with Lily Benedict on his arm.

Lady Benedict’s eyes lit up when she saw the two of them.

‘Miss Odell! What good fortune. Perhaps we might exchange partners?’ She shot Cory a flirtatious look. ‘I know that you will not mind if I importune Lord Newlyn to partner me in the quadrille, for as the two of you are such good friends I do not scruple to split you up!’

Rachel struggled to quell her fizzing temper. She wanted to have put things right with Cory and she also felt a strong aversion to surrendering him to Lily Benedict. Then, as she hesitated, Cory smiled at Lily and said unforgivably,

‘Of course you may importune me with my very good will, Lady Benedict! Miss Odell and I are such old friends that we are quite run out of new things to say to each other. I shall hand her over to Mr Kestrel with pleasure. Perhaps he may entertain her more than I do.’

And, with a mocking bow to Rachel, he turned to Lily and drew her away.

Through a mist of outraged fury, Rachel watched them retreat. She and Cory might be very old friends, but he had never been anything but polite to her in public before. She stood frozen to the spot, trying to collect her thoughts whilst Cory walked away without a backward glance.

She thought that James Kestrel was also watching Cory and Lady Benedict as they took their places for the quadrille, but when she looked at him he was rearranging his cuffs and checking his neckcloth.

‘I am surprised that you wish to claim acquaintance with Newlyn, Miss Odell,’ he said censoriously. ‘He can be a ramshackle fellow. Does as he pleases and has no manners at all.’

A hot denial sprang to Rachel’s lips, but she beat it down. Her thoughts were in a turmoil. She had no notion why she would wish to defend Cory against criticism when she was so angry with him herself, but to hear James Kestrel condemn him just seemed to make her feel even more wretched.

‘Lord Newlyn and I have known each other for years,’ she said sharply. ‘He is like a brother to me, and, as you saw, shows a brotherly lack of respect on occasion. I do not regard it.’

She knew that she lied. Cory’s words had hurt her deeply and a flame of anger was still burning hotly inside her as she watched him give Lily Benedict his undivided attention. She allowed James to take her arm and lead her over to one of the open windows, where the breeze did a little alleviate her heated feelings. Olivia Marney was sitting alone in the next alcove, drooping a little as she thought herself unobserved. Ross Marney was dancing with Lady Sally and Mr Daubenay, the artist, was standing a short distance away, sketching Lady Odell. A small, admiring group had gathered around them as Lady Sally’s guests watched the portrait grow.

James Kestrel flicked a minute speck of dust from his sleeve.

‘Would you care to meet tomorrow afternoon, Miss Odell?’ he asked, sounding a little bored. ‘If it is a pleasant day we could drive along the river.’

Rachel hesitated. She was disinclined to spend much time with James Kestrel, for she had quickly divined that his favourite subject was himself and nothing else could raise any enthusiasm in him. On the other hand she could not bear for Cory to think that she had turned Mr Kestrel away because of anything that he had said. It was a foolish and contrary reason to accept, and Rachel knew it. Nevertheless she nodded and forced a smile.

‘Thank you, sir,’ she said. ‘That would be delightful.’

‘It may rain, of course,’ James Kestrel continued. ‘If it rains, I think we should postpone our plans. It would never do to undertake anything so foolhardy as to go out in the rain.’

‘No, indeed,’ Rachel agreed, visions of weatherswept excavations in the Shetland Islands before her eyes. ‘One could get most horribly wet.’

‘One of my best jackets was once damaged by rain,’ James said. ‘One of Weston’s finest creations. It never recovered from the experience.’

‘It sounds as though you did not recover either, sir,’ Rachel observed sweetly.

James’s pale eyes gleamed. ‘I did not, Miss Odell. Not only was the jacket ruined, but I took a shocking chill as well. I swear it took me a week to recover my spirits.’

Rachel found herself wishing that the chill had carried him off. She excused herself politely and made her way over to the group that encircled Lady Odell. Mr Daubenay was just finishing the drawing, with a flourish of his pencil and a triumphant exclamation. Rachel craned her neck to see. Daubenay really was very good indeed. He had made no concessions to the toll that time and weather had taken on Lady Odell’s face, but the finished effort captured all her character and spirit. Rachel was impressed. She had never been a portraitist herself, but she had once sketched her parents’ entire collection of Egyptian antiquities before they had lent them to display at the Egyptology exhibition at the British Museum.

‘Devil take it, man,’ Lady Odell exclaimed with great good humour, ‘do I really possess four chins? How damnably unflattering!’

‘I think that Mr Daubenay has captured you perfectly, Mama,’ Rachel said tactfully. ‘He sees through the outside and draws the soul.’

The artist beamed, clearly delighted. ‘You flatter me, Miss Odell.’

‘Not at all,’ Cory Newlyn’s voice said. Rachel jumped to see him looking over her shoulder. ‘Miss Odell is in the right of it, Daubenay. Perhaps you could sketch her next. What would you see, I wonder? Youth, beauty and a sweet disposition?’

His tone was equable, but there was mockery in his eyes. Rachel felt herself flush with annoyance. Much more of Cory’s provocation tonight and she would be demonstrating her sweet disposition by slapping his face. She drew a little bit away from the group and threw Cory a challenging look.

‘Take my advice, sir, and do not attempt a sketch of Lord Newlyn,’ she said to the artist. ‘There are qualities there that are better left unseen.’

‘One up to Miss Odell,’ Sir John Norton murmured. His blue eyes were snapping with laughter. ‘Come and dance with me, Miss Odell. I feel brave enough to take you on!’

Rachel allowed him to take her arm and lead her into the set. Sir John’s admiration was balm after her quarrel with Cory. Something had to be done to cut him down to size, she decided. He was too arrogant, too sure of himself and too overbearing. She paused. If she was so good at drawing and Cory was so reticent at posing for Lady Sally’s watercolour booklet, why could she not show him up neatly by sketching him without his knowledge? She could do a rough sketch for Mr Daubenay to work from.

The thought gripped her with sudden excitement. That would put Cory finely in his place and it would go a little way to paying him back for his unchivalrous conduct. She liked that idea. She watched Cory guide Lily Benedict towards the refreshment room, one hand in the small of her back. They were talking, Lady Benedict’s dark curls brushing Cory’s shoulder as she looked up at him confidingly. Rachel saw Lily give Cory a vivid smile and she felt quite out of proportion feverish with anger. It was not that she wanted Cory for herself. That was a ridiculous idea. It was simply that she was angry with him. Oh, yes, she would like to get even with Cory…

She became aware that Sir John was addressing her, inviting her to go driving with him the following afternoon. He was a decidedly more attractive prospect than James Kestrel, but she smiled sweetly and declined. ‘I am sorry, sir, but I am already engaged. Some other time, perhaps?’

She saw the leap of interest in Sir John’s eyes and reflected that men were strange creatures to be encouraged by a lady’s lack of availability. Sir John was now looking positively determined.

‘Friday, then,’ he said promptly. ‘I shall drive you into Woodbridge, Miss Odell, and I shall not take no for an answer.’

Rachel smiled back. ‘Thank you, sir. That would be very pleasant. And now you must tell me about your encounter with the polar bear. I hear it is a truly terrifying tale.’

Sir John laughed and started to recount his story, utterly unaware that she had been teasing him. He was a man whose opinion of himself was evidently very good, Rachel thought, and that sense of importance was no doubt bolstered by the appreciation of the ladies who fawned on him. Just for a moment she longed for Cory’s self-deprecating humour. Cory always knew when she was making fun of him and never took himself too seriously. Not that she felt comfortable teasing him any more.

The thought was depressing to her spirits. Nor did her marriage prospects in the Midwinter villages seem very great. There was James Kestrel, who was vain and lacking a sense of humour, and there was John Norton, who was full of his own importance and probably another rake to boot. Rachel sighed. She was not enjoying herself, despite Lady Sally’s lavish entertainment, and the sight of Lily Benedict persuading Cory into yet another dance merely completed her bad humour.

After another hour, Rachel was tempted to change her mind about the ball. She had danced with Lucas and Richard Kestrel and with the Duke himself, and it was impossible not to enjoy oneself under the combined onslaught of Kestrel charm. There was a gravity about Justin Kestrel that was most appropriate to a Duke, but it was lightened by a pleasing good humour; Lucas Kestrel had a boyish insouciance that reminded Rachel heart-breakingly of Cory, and Richard Kestrel was simply the most dangerous rake she had ever met, with his outrageous flattery and his expressive dark eyes. Rachel danced and ate and drank and chatted, and on the edge of her vision Cory danced with Deborah Stratton and Helena Lang and Lily Benedict, and spared her not a single glance.

It was much later, when the carriages were being called and the guests were starting to leave, that Rachel went out onto the patio for some fresh air. The air was heavy with residual heat and the smell of night-scented stock and honeysuckle. She rested her hands on the stone parapet and looked out over the gardens of Saltires. All was in darkness, and yet she thought that she saw movement down on the lawn where the fountain splashed between the yew hedges. A faint, feminine giggle floated towards her on the still night air. Rachel raised her brows. So she was not alone in the gardens. Someone was indulging in amorous dalliance in the privacy of the yew walk and she did not wish to spy on their activities. She turned to go back into the ballroom, but as she did so another flicker of movement caught her eye. The door of the card room was also open, the candlelight spilling over the mossy stones of the terrace. Rachel saw the shadows shift as a couple of people moved through the doors and out into the night. A breath of cigar smoke reached her, mingling with the musky smell of the stocks. No amorous couple this, then, but a pair of gentlemen, deep in conversation. Rachel started to walk away, for she did not wish to eavesdrop, but then she realised that she could not retreat without being seen. She kept still.

‘Damn it, Richard,’ she heard Cory Newlyn say, ‘when Justin said that this would involve a spirit of self-sacrifice I had no idea that it would be so bad! Just how much flirtation is one expected to undertake for the sake of the enterprise…’

Rachel heard Richard laugh, and then the voices faded away as they turned their backs and strolled down the terrace.

A tickle of pollen took Rachel unawares. She grabbed her handkerchief and raised it to her nose just in time to stifle the huge sneeze that erupted. Even so, it was not enough. She heard one of the men give an exclamation and did not wait for more. She dived through the door to the ballroom, the handkerchief discarded on the terrace behind her.

No one appeared to have noticed her hasty entrance. She hid behind a pillar, breathing deeply and trying to calm her racing pulse. She was not quite sure why she was so shaken, but she felt as though she had been caught prying into something that did not concern her She watched the ballroom doors, but the only person who came in was Helena Lang, looking flushed and bright eyed. Helena did not see Rachel, for she was too busy scouring the ballroom for someone completely different. A moment later Rachel realised whom she sought. James Kestrel had entered the great hall from the direction of the refreshment room. He was dusting down his sleeves and adjusting the set of his jacket and looking rather pleased with himself. Rachel turned away.

She leaned one hand against the cool stone wall and pressed the other to her suddenly aching forehead. She could pretend ignorance of Miss Lang’s flirtations, but she could not ignore what she had overheard and it disturbed her. Could Cory have had some sort of wager with the Kestrel brothers to flirt with the ladies of Midwinter for their own entertainment? She remembered the occasion on which Richard Kestrel and Cory had come into the teashop in Woodbridge. Cory had been most attentive to Deborah Stratton whilst Richard had made himself agreeable to her. And tonight Cory and Richard and Justin and Lucas had flirted with a great many ladies, damn them…

‘I think you must have dropped something, Rachel.’

Cold dread clutched at Rachel’s stomach, to be followed by a prickly heat running down her neck. She turned slowly. Cory was standing directly behind her, her handkerchief hanging limply in his hand. It had the letter ‘R’ embroidered on it, and the way Cory was holding it made this quite visible. Both of them knew that there was no point in her denying that it belonged to her.

Rachel licked her dry lips. Now was the moment to challenge him on what he and the Kestrels were up to. Now was the moment to speak, to be as open and honest as she had always been with him. She looked into his silver grey eyes and he looked back at her. His gaze was hard. Their earlier quarrel seemed to hang heavily between them.

‘Thank you,’ Rachel said. She took the handkerchief from his grip and tucked it into her reticule, hoping that her hands were not shaking too much. She had no idea why she felt so nervous. Perhaps it was guilt, or anger, or disappointment, or a mixture of all three.

‘I must have dropped it when I went outside for some air,’ she said.

There was a sceptical lift to Cory’s brows. ‘I did not see you when I was out there just now. Did you see me?’

Rachel hesitated. She had never told Cory a direct lie in her life. She took a deep breath.

‘No,’ she said, adding with deliberate flippancy, ‘were you taking a young lady outside to look at the stars?’

Cory did not smile. ‘No, I was not,’ he said.

‘Oh.’ Rachel felt slightly at a loss. ‘Well…thank you…’ she gestured vaguely towards her bag ‘…and goodnight. I believe that Mama and Papa are ready to leave now.’

Cory bowed slightly, his handsome face as still as carved stone. Rachel was uncomfortably aware that he watched her progress across the room to Lady Odell’s side. When she was almost there she could not help half-turning to look back at him, and saw that Richard Kestrel had come across to engage Cory in urgent conversation. She saw Cory shake his head once, decisively, then he looked across the room and met her eyes. His own expression was veiled.

The anger took Rachel again. She had liked the Kestrels and, whilst she had not deluded herself that they had any serious intentions, had at least thought them sincere in their compliments. The idea that they had made some odious wager made her feel quite furious.

She could scarcely exact revenge on the Duke or Richard Kestrel, but Cory at least was within her scope. She had thought earlier that he was too arrogant and needed to be cut down to size. Now she was doubly certain. She would surely take her revenge. And it would be sweet.

‘What a delightful evening,’ Lady Odell said, smothering a yawn as the carriage pulled away from the door of Saltires in the July dawn. ‘I have not enjoyed myself so much since Lord Coate hosted the Egyptian Revue! Lady Sally’s guests were remarkably cultivated and knowledgeable. Why, Lord Richard Kestrel knew all about Barrington’s work in Oxfordshire and spent over a half-hour asking me about our progress on the dig.’

Rachel stifled a yawn of her own.

‘Sound fellah,’ Sir Arthur grunted. ‘Told me he had come across some uncommonly interesting ruins on his travels in Asia. Thought I might look into it one day…’

Rachel felt her heart sink. There she had been trying to persuade Cory from inviting her parents to excavate in Cornwall so that they might be settled in Suffolk for a while, and instead her father was contemplating the deserts of Asia.

‘Are you quite well, my love?’ Lady Odell enquired, patting Rachel’s hand. ‘You seem quite done up and it is not at all like you.’

‘I am a little tired,’ Rachel conceded. ‘I fear I did not enjoy the evening as much as you did, Mama.’

‘Not surprising, quarrelling like that with Cory,’ Sir Arthur said, displaying one of his rare but blinding flashes of perception. ‘You are always miserable when you cut up rough with the boy, Rachel. Remember how matters were that time in Patagonia? You did not eat for three days.’

‘I was only twelve then,’ Rachel said, trying to quell her bad humour, ‘and Cory deserved for me to wrangle with him. He was an odiously self-important young man! And he has not changed much either,’ she added, with sudden bitterness.

‘Best to make up with him,’ Sir Arthur grunted, closing his eyes. ‘You know you are always happier that way.’

Rachel looked out of the carriage window at the pale light streaking the eastern sky. The suggestion to make up with Cory sat ill with her intention of bringing him down a peg or two by sketching him for Lady Sally’s watercolour book. She admitted to herself that such a revenge did seem a little childish. Yet Cory’s discourtesy still rankled; as for the business of the wager, that was outrageous.

‘I think I shall go straight out to the field when we get home,’ Lady Odell said. ‘It will be light enough in an hour or so to get an early start, and we wanted to open up the largest burial mound today, did we not, Arthur?’

‘Good idea,’ Sir Arthur concurred. ‘Wake the servants, what, and get digging.’

Rachel wrinkled her brow. ‘Is it really a good idea, papa?’ she besought. ‘You are likely to put a spade through your foot in the half-light.’

Sir Arthur chuckled. ‘By goodness, do you remember when I did that at Jericho? What an outcry that caused! Had to send fifty miles to find a quack to treat me.’

‘Precisely,’ Rachel said. ‘I am persuaded that you would not wish to cause such trouble again, Papa.’

Lady Odell leant forward to peer out of the window. ‘I do not believe there will be any danger. There is a very good doctor in Woodbridge.’

Rachel sighed. ‘At least take the time to change your gown before you go out, Mama. Yes-’ she forestalled Lady Odell’s next remark ‘-I am aware that you excavated the ruins of Delphi in a ball gown, but such eccentricity is not to be encouraged.’

There was a small silence in the coach. ‘Am I truly eccentric?’ Lady Odell sounded rather pleased.

‘Yes, Mama,’ Rachel said, thawing a little. ‘You and Papa both.’

‘Nonsense!’ Sir Arthur rumbled. ‘Just a little unconventional, Lavinia dear. And who would wish to be ordinary anyway?’

I would, Rachel thought, pressing her gloved fingers against the cool pane of the carriage window. That is exactly what I wish to be.

Cory Newlyn walked back to Kestrel Court in the midsummer dawn and this time he walked unmolested. He had dismissed Richard Kestrel’s offer of company a little abruptly, but he wanted to think. Specifically, he wanted to think about Rachel Odell.

It was ridiculous to suspect Rachel of being the Midwinter spy. He had said as much to Richard on the night of the discussion at Kestrel Court and he still thought it. Every instinct that he possessed told him that Rachel would never commit such treachery. And yet there was no denying that she had been out on the terrace that night when he and Richard were talking. Worse-and quite inexplicably-she had denied that she had even seen him. Cory had known she was lying, but he had not known why she should do so. As far as he knew, Rachel had never lied to him before. It disturbed him that she should start now.

It was another clear, moonlit night. Cory pulled his neckcloth free with impatient fingers and screwed it up in his hand. He felt better without the constriction of tight evening dress. He felt better out in the open air, if it came to that. Dancing with the likes of Lily Benedict and Helena Lang had been a sore trial to him. Lily had been surprisingly discreet and whilst gossip had fallen from Helena’s lips with no encouragement from him, he had learned nothing of interest. Instead he had been obliged to endure her prattle whilst watching Rachel being charming to that tailor’s dummy James Kestrel.

He acknowledged to himself that the argument with Rachel had been foolish, but she could be a provocative creature when she chose. Her accusations of insincerity had got under his skin when he had tried so hard to court her gently. But Cory knew the reason for the unresolved tension between them even if Rachel did not. He knew that the kiss in the billiard room, mistake or not, could never be forgotten.

We should pretend that it never happened.

Rachel was trying very hard to make that pretence a reality, Cory thought, but she was not succeeding. Nor could she quite hide her anger when he paid attention to other women. She was jealous and he found that rather encouraging. He was obliged to admit that he was jealous too. Rachel could arouse such an emotion in him without difficulty. It was a new experience for him and one that he acknowledged with rueful recognition. Miss Rachel Odell was his nemesis. He would never escape.