CHAPTER 2

She wondered when he might call. Then she was struck by the thought that perhaps he might not call at all. Given that they had parted on the worst possible terms eighteen months before, she supposed it was quite possible he would not wish to see her again. She fidgeted with the material of her skirt, smoothing away imaginary creases. Seb Fleet was a rogue, but on this occasion that was what she needed. A gentleman simply would not do.

Clara wrinkled her nose slightly as she recalled their last meeting. She had called Fleet a callous, coldhearted scoundrel when he had rejected her admittedly unconventional but honest offer of marriage. It had taken all her courage to propose in the first place, and to be turned down had been a dreadful blow. In her pride and unhappiness she had told him that she never wished to see him again so she could understand if he chose not to respond to her plea now.

“The Duke of Fleet, ma’am.” Segsbury, the Davencourt butler, was bowing in the doorway. Clara jumped. Despite the fact that she had been half-expecting him, she felt shock skitter along her nerves. Mrs. Boyce jumped, too. She dropped the newspaper and her hand fluttered to her throat. Clara noted the pink color that swept up her companion’s neck to stain her cheeks, and the brightness that lit Mrs. Boyce’s eyes. She bit her lip, hiding a smile. She had seen Sebastian Fleet have this effect on many ladies, no matter their age.

The Duke was bowing to Mrs. Boyce and smiling at her in a way that made the woman’s hands flutter like nervous moths. Clara watched with a certain cynicism. Charm was as effortless to Fleet as breathing.

Nevertheless, as he turned towards her she could not quite repress the flicker of awareness that he kindled inside her. She had assured herself that the previous eighteen months had taught her indifference where the Duke of Fleet was concerned. Now she knew that she lied.

It was impossible to be indifferent to Sebastian Fleet. He was a big man, both tall and broad, and his command of any room and any situation appeared natural. Despite his size he moved with a nonchalant grace that compelled the gaze. Clara reminded herself not to stare. She dropped her eyes to the embroidery that rested in her lap. She hated embroidery and would leave the material sitting around for months with absolutely no work done on it at all, but at a time like this it was a useful subterfuge.

Fleet was standing before her now. She could see the high polish of his boots. She resisted the urge to look up sharply. Instead she raised her chin slowly, composedly, every inch a lady of quality.

His eyes were very blue and lit with a devilry that told her more clearly than words that he was remembering their last meeting. Her heart thumped once with a mixture of nostalgia and relief. Now, she was sure, they could behave as mere acquaintances.

She saw the look in his eyes and amended the thought. She was far too aware of his physical presence to be comfortable with him. She felt her color rise and silently cursed him. He had taken her hand although she had not offered it. Neither of them were wearing gloves, and his fingers were warm and strong against hers, sending a shiver along her nerves.

“It is a great pleasure to see you again, Miss Davencourt.” He held her hand for a moment longer than was quite respectable. A rakish smile curved his firm mouth. “I was afraid we might never meet again.”

Clara cast her gaze down. “I regret there was no other course open to me, your grace.”

The Duke’s smile grew. He turned to Mrs. Boyce. “I wondered whether I might have a little time alone with Miss Davencourt, ma’am? We are old friends.”

For a moment Clara thought her companion was so swept away by Fleet’s charm that she was actually going to agree. Then the happy light died from Mrs. Boyce’s eyes. Clara had impressed upon her many times that she was not to leave her alone with any gentleman, least of all a certified scoundrel. This, the one time Clara did wish to be left alone, was the first occasion on which Mrs. Boyce had remembered what her duty entailed.

“I am sorry, your grace, but that would not be in the least proper of me.”

Mrs. Boyce sat up straighter, looking fully prepared to take up residence on the gold sofa until the Duke had departed.

It took more than a mere refusal to stop Seb Fleet. “I had actually intended to take Miss Davencourt driving, ma’am,” he said. “It is such a beautiful day.”

Mrs. Boyce’s face cleared. “Driving! Oh, I see. Well, in that case there can be no objection. Nothing untoward could possibly take place in a curricle.”

Fleet smiled broadly. Clara knew with an instant’s insight that he was thinking of all the disreputable things that could happen in a curricle. No doubt he had indulged in them all at one time or another. But he spoke quite gravely.

“I assure you that Miss Davencourt will be completely safe with me, ma’am. I view her in a strictly paternal fashion.”

Clara cast him a demure, sideways glance, which he met with his bland blue gaze. She had hoped that her reference to his paternal advice in the letter would vex him, since he had spent so much time at their last meeting telling her that he was too old for her.

“Then I shall fetch my cloak,” she said, dropping a slight curtsey. “Thank you, your grace.”

The flash of amusement in Fleet’s eyes told her that he was not fooled by this show of meekness. She felt his gaze follow her out and almost shivered under the cool blue intensity of it.

She kept him waiting only a few minutes and he was openly appreciative when she rejoined him in the hall.

“It is a rare woman who does not take an hour over her preparations, Miss Davencourt.”

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