A Tall Dark Stranger by Joan Smith Read Free Book Online Page B

games are for high stakes. Lollie is only eighteen years old, Mr. Renshaw. Not quite ready to tangle with the likes of Beau.”
    Renshaw sighed. “I can see Beau has changed somewhat from the days when I knew him. I had hoped to see him settled down—married—but he seems strangely restless. It’s interesting, renewing acquaintances with old friends after so many years.”
    “I don’t think Beau is in any hurry to settle down.”
    “The more fool he,” Renshaw said.
    I looked to see if he was being ironic. He looked only rueful. Was it possible Renshaw was truly interested in marriage as apart from nabbing an heiress?
    We were talking in the carriage. Before we got away, Addie Lemon spotted us and came forward to meet Renshaw.
    “I can’t expect to cause any fuss at the assembly at this rate,” he complained in mock annoyance after she had left. “I’ll be as well-known as an old ballad.”
    “Do you not improve on longer acquaintance?” I asked.
    My question was greeted with a challenging, confident smile. “You tell me, ma’am. This is the second time we’ve met. Am I even more tedious than the first time?”
    Such self-confidence required a good set-down. “That would be impossible, Mr. Renshaw,” I said demurely.
    “Cut to the quick, wretch!” he exclaimed, clutching a hand to his heart. Then he laughed. “That will teach me to go fishing for compliments in a dry stream.”
    “The stream is not dry, sir. You are merely using the wrong bait.”
    He examined me with interest. “Can you suggest a more successful bait, Miss Talbot?”
    “Surely it is not for the prey to advise the predator, but you must not take the notion I am a gudgeon only because I happen to live in the backwaters of the country.”
    “You’re hard on me. I am only seeking your approval, a kind word ...”
    I found myself becoming intrigued by Renshaw in spite of my aunt’s warning. Everything about the man suggested wealth and privilege. His jackets, the emerald on his finger, the team and sporting carriage—all were of the first stare. His manner, too, was easy without being insinuating. Best of all, he could laugh at himself.
    Yet by his own admission his career in India had not been distinguished. It was not gentlemen of wealth and privilege who were sent to India but younger sons with their way to make in the world. Renshaw must have known he would inherit his papa’s estate. Why had he gone to India at all? Perhaps the hop farm was small. The only other explanation I could think of was that he had been escaping some scandal. That was easy enough to believe of any friend of Beau’s.
    But if there had been a scandal a decade ago I felt Renshaw had changed. He spoke almost wistfully of settling down, marrying. Unless, of course, it was all an act. He had either been acting when I first met him or he was acting now.
    To lead the conversation toward India, I asked, “Was it in India that you became interested in palmistry, Mr. Renshaw?”
    He glanced at me with a perfectly frank expression. “No, Miss Talbot, it was in Hampshire, when Beau told me your aunt is a devotee. I try to make myself agreeable to strangers. Your aunt had read Beau’s palm and he briefed me on a few points. Pity he hadn’t remembered the significance of a fire hand.”
    “You’re very frank!”
    “I am coming to the conclusion that there is no point in trying to con you, ma’am. Those green eyes see too much.”
    “Why should you want to con me or, indeed, anyone? Surely that is not the way to make yourself agreeable to new acquaintances.”
    “That is a perfect example of what I mean. Here are we, a fairly handsome young couple, driving in a new curricle with a spirited team on a lovely spring day and you refuse to feel romantic. You insist on talking common sense.”
    “It takes two to talk sense, Mr. Renshaw. Why should you want to con me?”
    “It also takes two to flirt, Miss Talbot. Why do you refuse to flirt? I am eligible—by