Page 54 of The Smuggler’s Escape

Chapter 13

Noelle didn’t believe it. She hadn’t dared to believe Richard would accept her offer, even though she had meant it in earnest. And now that he had . . .

She stared up at him, aghast.

And as she did so, something about Richard changed. Something in his stance, something in his face.

Oh, and something in his eyes.

A knowing leer, rife with innuendo.

More than that, though. His was a proprietary leer.

As if he owned her.

Anger stirred within her, but she stifled it, because in a way he did own her, if only for a night. She forced herself to return the look, if not boldly, with self-possession and calm. She accepted the box containing the necklace, stowed it in her reticule, and offered her hand to Lord Harry. Since she refused to be owned in any other way, she gave him her best of welcoming smiles. “Lord Harry, how enchanting to see you. How is Mr. Tunbridge doing?”

“Splinted and bandaged and sick as a dog.” He bowed over Noelle’s hand, but his gaze wandered along the street. “Devil of a head this morning on top of it.”

“Poor Mr. Tunbridge.” Noelle put a peremptory hand on Lord Harry’s arm. “Do say you’ll join us for refreshments. Lady Boltwood is treating us at the Crown, and she was only just saying she wished the numbers were more evenly matched. Are you acquainted with Dorothea Darsington?”

Lord Harry had developed a fascination with a pair of pigeons squabbling over a crumb, but now he turned startled eyes to Noelle. “Yes, we move in some of the same circles in Town, when she comes out at all, that is. Bit of a recluse, is Miss Darsington.” He glanced at Richard and returned again to Noelle. “You mean to say she’s here in Chichester?”

“Yes, isn’t it splendid? She and her mother have come to visit Lady Boltwood. She seems a charming girl.” She tucked one hand in Richard’s arm and the other in Lord Harry’s. “I’m so glad you can join us.”

On her other side, Richard said nothing at all. She resisted the temptation to look at him and stepped blithely forward, chatting with Lord Harry.

She felt Richard’s eyes upon her, risked a quick glance, and hurriedly turned away again. He didn’t look like a fiancé anymore. He looked like a rake. By the way his eyes assessed her, she might as well have been naked.

A little shiver went through her. She was his mistress now. All too soon, he would be assessing her nakedness. Feasting on it, judging by the look on his face.

His expression had often been seductive, but not this hot.

Not this coolly calculating.

Never this cold.

She felt his lust. She didn’t feel his . . . love anymore.

Love? What was she thinking? His feelings for her had never, ever been love.

They continued to the Crown Inn. To her dismay, she found that Sir Matthew, unable to resist the chance to hobnob with Lady Boltwood, had ridden into Chichester. When he learned that Lady Darsington was the wife of a government official, he was well-nigh ecstatic.

Lady Boltwood directed them to their places. Noelle and Dorothea flanked Richard at one end of the table, with Lord Harry on Noelle’s other hand. Lucretia sat across from Harry, while Uncle Matthew and Lady Darsington were on either side of Lady Boltwood at the other end.

If Lord Harry had hoped to flirt with Dorothea, he was disappointed. He greeted her with evident admiration, but Dorothea blushed and let Richard monopolize her. He could exert plenty of charm if he chose—not that she seemed to enjoy his attention. No, she seemed ill-at-ease.

Which was easily explained. She had a tendre for Richard, who was betrothed to Noelle. Despite her obvious disappointment, Dorothea was the soul of good manners. She tried politely to include Noelle, and Noelle did her best to respond, but Richard ignored her completely, never once looking her way.

Noelle toyed with her tea, but managed to swallow only a mouthful or two. Was this how a man treated his mistress?

Maybe it was just Richard’s way of showing his disgust. She feigned disinterest. They discussed the work of a poet called Blake. When Dorothea asked Noelle’s opinion, she was obliged to confess that she had not read Mr. Blake’s work. Dorothea, all kind consideration, offered to loan her a copy of his poems. Richard sneered.

She found that she wasn’t looking forward to coupling with him. That was how she’d convinced herself to become his mistress—so that she would, if only for a short time, taste the delights of intimacy with him.

Her stomach heaved. She set down her cup.

Richard took her plate, served a slice of pound cake and an apple, and set it in front of her. “Eat, for God’s sake. Can’t have you wasting away to nothing.”