see you. I think he wants to plot a surprise birthday party for your father next month. He got back this morning saying that you were not there and had left mysteriously and that Mr Makepeace told him some cock-and-bull story about being worried because you left town with a Mr Dunton.’ She shrugged. ‘Well, you know what he and Nicholas are like, so primitive about that sort of thing, which when you consider that your father and I hardly had a conventional courtship and if you can convince me that Ashe was exactly as pure as the driven snow—although I am sure he would die if he heard his mother say so—is most unreasonable of them.’
‘Lady Eldonstone.’ Marguerite had stopped, too, and was listening, white-faced. ‘You have discovered that Sara is helping me to cover up my disgrace and, of course, you do not approve. I apologise, I will tell Lucian that we must leave immediately.’
‘Goodness, child, this is not about you at all. My ridiculous menfolk have come over all male and protective of Sara. I can only hope that your brother is impervious to insult or we may have a very exciting day in front of us.’
‘I believe you will find that the Marquess of Cannock is about as impervious to insult as Papa or Ashe are,’ Sara said, looking round. Yes, there they were, grim-faced on the terrace. She picked up her skirts and ran across the gravel to put herself between them and her lover.
‘Papa.’ She kissed his cheek and received a fierce hug in return. ‘Ashe. Where is Phyllida?’
‘I asked her to stay inside and distract the other guests,’ her brother said, glaring over her shoulder. ‘They are all round at the garden front.’
‘Distract them from what?’ Sara demanded. Out of the corner of her eye she saw that Lucian had handed over the reins of the curricle to a groom and that he and Gregory were walking across to them.
‘Us dealing with Cannock.’
‘Lucian does not require dealing with. He is a guest and my friend, as is his sister, and—Ashe!’
* * *
‘Farnsworth, I believe we might be in for a somewhat cool welcome.’ Lucian began to stroll across the gravel towards the steps, assessing the two men standing there with Sara in front of them. He was too far away to hear what was being said, but from the rigid set of her shoulders and the vehement hand gestures, he suspected not all was well. Gregory’s head turned as he looked for Marguerite. ‘Do not react, whatever the provocation,’ Lucian added. ‘Leave this to me.’
This was Sara’s home and he owed her a great deal, too much to cause a rift with her family. Her brother brushed past her, took the steps down two at a time and strode towards them. Instinctively Lucian shifted his stance, but kept his hands down when every ounce of instinct and training told him to lift his fists in the face of the Viscount’s evident hostility. Even so, he had expected some preliminaries, some insults at least, not that Clere would aim a right hook squarely at his jaw. He rocked back three paces, riding the punch, but stayed on his feet.
He ran one hand over his chin and contemplated throwing manners, caution and common sense to the wind and taking out the frustrations of the past few months on the man in front of him. Then he saw Sara run across the carriage drive towards them and gave her the faintest shake of his head. She stopped, then walked forward warily to stand beside him, facing her brother. Her loyalties would be torn between them both and he admired her for even attempting the balancing act.
‘An unusual welcome,’ Lucian drawled, ignoring the pain. Damn, but the man has a punch like a blacksmith’s hammer. It was a miracle his teeth were not all over the drive. ‘Farnsworth, this is Viscount Clere. I suggest you stay out of his way until we establish whether this is his normal greeting to guests or if I am uniquely honoured by a display of pugilism.’ He should be diplomatic, soothing, make a joke of it, perhaps. He needed this family’s help. But he was not going to act the punching bag for anyone, not even this man whom he had always liked and who was reacting as he strongly suspected he would have himself if he was in Clere’s shoes.
‘You have seduced my sister,’ the other man snarled. ‘And—’
‘Why not wait until you can find a speaking trumpet, Clere? I am sure there must be one or two of our audience who did not quite catch that announcement. Look, the men scything the grass over there must have missed it.’ The truth was, a fight would be welcome. More than welcome. Some mindless violence... His hands curled into fists as Clere took another step forward.
‘Stop it, both of you.’ Sara managed to wriggle between the two of them when they were almost toe to toe. ‘No one has seduced anyone.’
‘It was ravishment, then?’ her brother snarled.
‘It was no such thing and none of your business whatever it was, Ashe Herriard,’ Sara snapped. ‘I am a grown woman, an independent widow, and you have absolutely no right interfering. And, might I remind you, this is not your house and if Mata is happy to welcome my guests—which she is—what have you to say to it?’
God, she is magnificent. Ashe folded his arms and prepared to leap to Sara’s defence if she showed the slightest sign of needing him. At the moment, though, she appeared to have her brother on the back foot.
‘Father is not—’
‘Good day, Cannock.’
Lucian looked away from the seething Viscount to the tall figure of Sara’s father standing behind him. ‘Eldonstone.’ He inclined his head a trifle, as much courtesy as he was prepared to offer the older man in the midst of this crackling hostility. ‘We came at the invitation of Lady Sara. If we are not welcome we will, naturally, remove ourselves.’ He locked gazes with Clere again. Unfinished business, he promised. You will not provoke me into a fist fight on your mother’s doorstep, but later...
‘Do come in.’ The older man regarded him, unsmiling, his grey eyes uncannily like Sara’s. ‘I feel you and I have matters to discuss.’
One thing, and one thing only, kept him from turning round and driving out of there and that was Marguerite. For her sake he would swallow his pride, shackle his temper and deal with these two angry men. But he was damned if he was explaining himself or discussing his relationship with Sara.
He sent her a quick smile and strolled across the expanse of gravel beside Eldonstone. The colour was up on Sara’s cheekbones and she was bristling at her much taller brother like a she-cat confronting a mastiff. As he passed her, Lucian heard her snap, ‘Don’t you dare,’ presumably at her brother. The Marchioness was already leading Marguerite inside, gesticulating with her hands as she talked. It seemed she had prevented his sister from seeing what had just occurred, thank goodness.
‘My study.’ Eldonstone opened a panelled door at the end of the hallway and gestured for him to enter. ‘Have a seat, Cannock. Brandy?’
‘Thank you, no.’ Not when he was an unwelcome intruder in this place.
‘My son went down to Sandbay to visit his sister and found that she had left early that morning, alone with you. And yet you would have us believe that you, and your entourage, have come direct from there. The rumours were already spreading. Something clandestine is going on.’
‘Not under your roof,’ Lucian said coolly. ‘I do not discuss my private affairs with anyone and if you wish to know about Lady Sarisa’s, then I suggest you discuss them with her. My sister and I owe her a great deal and, she is, as she pointed out to her brother, an independent woman.’
‘She
