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‘That’ll be fourpence.’
The waiter plucked the coins Blade tossed him out of the air and sauntered back to the bar. Blade finished the ale and pushed the food aside. He had no stomach for it this morning.
Time to check on his horses. With studied movements born of hours of practice, he carefully folded the newspaper and tucked it under his left arm. It never failed to irritate how the simplest things required the utmost concentration. He donned his hat and walked out into the sharp wind of a typically grey Yorkshire spring morning.
He strolled through the winding lanes, heading for the livery.
As he turned onto the main street, the walk of a woman ahead of him caught his eye. A brisk, businesslike walk that did nothing to disguise the lush sensuality of her figure, even though it was wrapped in a warm woollen cloak. In his salad days, before Waterloo, he might have offered to carry her basket. Women, young and old, loved the dash of an officer in uniform.
Well, he was no longer entitled to wear a uniform. He’d retired. Hah!
The woman stopped at a milliner’s window, revealing her profile.
Caro Falkner. Pleasure rippled through him. Desire was certainly a part of it, a hot lick deep in his gut, but there was also a lightness, a simple gladness at the sight of her. Not that the gladness would be reciprocated. She had made it quite clear she wanted no remembrances of the past. Of youthful folly, before the carnage of war had taken his hand and killed her soldier husband.
He’d met her in a small village not far from Worthing, where his regiment had been stationed, but had been far too tongue-tied at her beauty to utter a word. How he had hoped, with the desperation of the very young, to ask her to stand up with him when he and his fellow officers had been invited to the village assembly. Naturally, she’d only had eyes for the older and far more charming Carothers. She’d been a delight to watch, though, as she danced and flirted her way through his more experienced companions.
These days the woman was far too prim and proper for her own good. And that made her a challenge to a man who had enjoyed the intimate company of several willing widows over the years. A challenge he had no intention of taking up because, for some reason, his very presence in a room made her uncomfortable. At Charlie and Merry’s wedding, good friends of them both, she’d been far from friendly. Tales of his rakish ways passed on by Tonbridge, no doubt. And as the daughter of a vicar, she would likely be shocked by his antecedents. Horrified. Not even a smart new uniform would make up for such a background with a respectable woman.
He forced himself to pretend not to see her, as she had made it so obvious she would prefer. Never had he even hinted to Charlie of their past meeting. He could still see her, though, in his mind’s eye, the sparkle in her eyes as she spun with her partners through the steps of every country dance that night. He’d been fascinated.
Not that he was about to force these memories upon a woman who shied away at the sight of him.
Besides, these days he preferred the kind of woman who enjoyed a bit of danger along with her dalliance. Widows or members of the demi-monde who were not looking for any sort of permanent relationship and were honest about it. Oh, his adoptive mother had forced him into a semblance of civility, given him polish and manners, and a degree of charm to go with it, but the ladies of the ton had no trouble sensing the ruffian who lurked within. Naturally, decent ladies avoided him like the plague. As did Mrs Falkner.
He stepped clear of her at the same moment she turned away from the window. Their gazes clashed. Her eyes widened in recognition. The flicker of anxiety in her eyes sent a chill down his spine, though she quickly schooled her expression into one of reserved politeness. Was it merely the response of a sensible respectable woman when faced with a man who could ruin her reputation if she wasn’t careful? Or something else? Her reaction wasn’t a shock; he was used to respectable women distancing themselves. It was his hurt that she would do so that momentarily stole his breath.
He buried the pointless feeling of rejection and flashed her his most seductive smile. The devilment of anger taking possession of reason. He was, after all, a good friend of her employer. He lifted his hat and bowed. ‘Mrs Falkner, what an unexpected pleasure.’ The purr of seduction in his voice caused her to stiffen.
‘Captain Read?’ There was something about her soft and low voice that affected him in a very visceral way.
Blast it, he really should have pretended he had not seen her. He did not need desire for a woman he could not have to make his day any worse. ‘Just plain Mr these days, ma’am. I hope you are well?’
