Page 28 of To Break the Rules

Yet, whatever the truth, he needed to know. The knowledge that he would protect her, no matter her motivation, was a truth on which he refused to dwell. Silas only knew he could not condemn her for being driven by avarice or revenge, or anything of the sort. He knew the power of such an ambition himself, and he understood it all too well.

Once he’d helped the earl to a quiet room and a doctor had been summoned, he searched in vain for Lucia, only to discover she had long gone. Well, she would not escape him. Not now. He’d have the truth from her, one way or another.

***

“Where did Lucia go?” Matilda looked around to see Harriet at her side. St Clair had just moved away from her to speak to guests on the other side of the garden. She doubted that was a coincidence.

“She left about ten minutes ago. Too much sun, by all accounts.”

“Oh, that’s a shame,” Harriet replied, pushing her glasses up her nose. She looked flushed and overheated herself, her light brown hair escaping its pins and her muslin gown clinging to her.

“I’m surprised you haven’t escaped too,” Matilda said, seeing a flash of guilt in Harriet’s eyes. “You’ve hardly hidden your animosity for St Clair.”

Harriet shrugged. “I can’t be rude to Lady St Clair. She’s always been so kind to me, so… I’ll endure,” she said, blowing an errant curl from her face with irritation. “How do you always look so cool and elegant, Tilda?”

Matilda smiled. “Stay in the shade.”

“Too late for that,” Harriet grumbled, peeling her skirts away from her legs with a grimace. “There was the most fascinating specimen over there. A new variety of rose that the countess propagated herself. She’s promised to show me how she did it.”

Matilda smiled at Harriet’s enthusiasm. The young woman was often too serious, a little distant from the other girls, but she lit up at any new discovery. “Why do you hate him so?”

A guarded look entered Harriet’s eyes, but she didn’t bother asking who Matilda was speaking of.

“I wouldn’t say I hate him exactly,” she began, only to encounter Matilda’s arched eyebrow. She blew out a breath, hesitating, and then the words tumbled out all at once. “Because he revels in his own stupidity and despises learning, he mocks anyone he feels is cleverer than him, and makes them feel foolish.”

Matilda regarded her in surprise. Harriet had folded her arms, her brown eyes hard and angry.

“I don’t find him the least bit stupid, Harriet,” she said gently, aware that there was a deal more to her animosity than this, but knowing she must tread with care. “He’s very entertaining, and stupid men simply aren’t, you know.”

Harriet’s mouth compressed for a moment. “He’s frivolous and a spendthrift, a flirt and a womaniser, and I doubt he’s had an original thought in his head since the day he was born, but everyone thinks he’s marvellous because he’s so bloody handsome and he makes everyone laugh, usually at someone else’s expense.” The young woman blushed, apparently realising her outburst had been somewhat impassioned. “I… I think perhaps Lucia was right. It’s dreadfully hot and I’ve had too much sun. Excuse me, Matilda.”

Startled and a little nonplussed, Matilda watched Harriet go. Perhaps she should ask St Clair what was going on, she mused, toying with the idea. No, not today at least. She was too lethargic to meddle today. The heat of the afternoon was making her feel a drowsy and she moved further into the shade, drawn by the lure of a dappled walkway. A bench was visible, overlooking a small ornamental pond, and Matilda moved towards it.

She sat down with a sigh of relief and took a moment to check her hair hadn’t all tumbled down before leaning back and closing her eyes for a moment.

Her thoughts drifted back to the Earl of Ulceby’s ball, and more precisely her dance with Montagu. He’d been scrupulously polite, a perfect gentleman in fact, which had rather unnerved her. She thought perhaps she preferred it when they were sniping back and forth.

Yet the dance had been magical. They’d not spoken a word to each other; she couldn’t have done so if she’d tried. She hadn’t wanted to break the spell of the moment by saying something that would lead to one of them insulting the other. There had been something between them, though, some strange sense of connection, of….

She had no idea what, but Montagu’s words came back to her.

He had come upon her the afternoon after her brother had married Alice, and she’d only just recovered from a bout of sobbing and self-pity as she was still—and would likely always be—alone. The marquess had been the last man on earth she’d wanted to see that day, the day he’d offered to make her his mistress. Anger sparked again as she remembered, but now she realised he’d been right in what he’d said.

“There is something between us. I should like to discover what it is.”

He’d sounded mystified when he’d said it, and Matilda had sneered and laughed at the idea, of course, but now she wasn’t so sure. He’d berated her for denying the truth, accusing her of cowardice. A prickle of unease worked its way down her spine as she wondered if he’d not been right.

Something out the corner of her eye made her turn, and she didn’t even blink as she saw the man himself appear. Somehow, she’d known he would. He’d avoided her all day, so far, keeping his distance, never looking in her direction. It was all a game to him, she suspected. He was simply toying with her. The idea irritated her.

“Yes, yes, alone again, etcetera, etcetera,” she said, waving an impatient hand before he could make the inevitable comment as he usually did. “Anyone would think you watch me, waiting for the moment I am all by myself.”

He said nothing, but approached her holding out a glass which chinked slightly at the movement.

“I thought you might like this,” he said, as unreadable as ever.

Matilda opened her mouth in surprise and reached for the glass, suddenly parched. “What is it?” she asked, suspicious all at once.

His mouth quirked a little. “My, my,” he murmured. “You do believe me a villain.”