Smuggler's Lady by Jane Feather Read Free Book Online Page A

imagine what you can mean, sir,” Lady Blake whispered. The note of distress sounded appallingly genuine. His lordship released her chin instantly, suddenly afraid she was about to weep. What the devil was happening? He seemed to be losing his senses—one minute convinced that he was being made mock of by a consummate actress, the next convinced that he must have been mistaken. Either Merrie Trelawney, sister of Rob Trelawney, alias Lady Meredith Blake, was a most complete fraud, or Lord Rutherford had windmills in his head.
    â€œLet us abandon this repellent pastry and take a turn about the terrace,” he suggested in a tone of voice that did not lend itself to suggestion.
    â€œPasty,” Meredith corrected automatically. “I have no desire to leave this room, my lord.”
    â€œFustian! You are in need of a little air. It is abominably stuffy in here.” He held out his hand, a polite smile on his lips. “If you argue with me, Lady Blake, it will appear most singular—much more so than a sedate stroll in full view of any interested persons.”
    â€œOh, but my lord, I would never presume to argue with you,” she murmured in horror. “But I am at a loss to understand why you should seek out my company in this particular fashion. There are many more interesting persons in the room.” Her eyelashes fluttered; her hands twisted in her lap.
    â€œIf you say so, ma’am” he concurred equably. “You would know much better than I, of course.” His hand remained outstretched in invitation. Meredith looked around them. She could not continue to ignore that invitation without drawing the most unwelcome notice. Except that it was not an invitation—it was an order. Barely controlling a grimace of angry frustration, Meredith laid her mittened fingers in his palm. His own closed over hers, and there was no mistaking the iron grasp that declared her captivity.
    The terrace was not deserted, for which Meredith was initially grateful, but their companions were the young and giddy, escaping the eyes of chaperones for a brief interval. Muted giggles came from the shadows, an occasional, hastily suppressed squeal of delighted outrage. It was no suitable place for a respectable widow, Merrie reflected, however sedate their progression.
    â€œI begin to feel a little de trop ,” her companion observed as a young couple separated hastily on seeing them.
    â€œWe are certainly spoiling their fun.” Meredith, still struggling with her annoyance, was betrayed into tart agreement. Recollecting herself hastily, she tittered again, continuing in a tone of hesitant apology, “You, perhaps, find our country ways a little shocking, sir, but these youngsters have grown up together, and there is little harm in a few minutes of unchaperoned high spirits. They are not often granted the opportunity.”
    â€œI have no wish to be a kill-joy. We shall walk on the lawn.” Before Merrie could demur, he had grasped her elbow firmly and proceeded to escort her down the flight of stone steps to the garden where lanterns swung from the trees, casting a soft, enticing glow.
    Meredith felt a flicker of panic at the impression the sight of them, strolling in such a romantic setting, would create. “Please, sir, I do not wish to be here,” she whispered beseechingly, taking her hand from his arm.
    â€œOh, but I find it most pleasant,” he returned, retrieving her hand and, holding it tightly, guiding her onto a darkened path out of sight of the house. “It is a delightful night. Let us walk in the shrubbery.”
    â€œNo! ” Merrie squeaked, pulling at her hand. “I do not wish to.”
    â€œBut I do,” he replied evenly. “What are you afraid of, Lady Blake? That someone might get the wrong idea about you?”
    She would have to be deaf, Meredith decided, to miss the sardonic emphasis to the question. If ever there was a moment for