me with information and trust my own skills when it comes to assessing the value of what they’ve told me. I have no reason to doubt the source of this particular piece of information.’
‘Yet who is to say that your source is any more honest than Peregrine?’ she parried. ‘He is as much a stranger to you as your source is to us. Does he even know Mr Rand?’
‘By sight, and that is all that matters,’ Barrington said. ‘I deal in facts, Lady Annabelle. Not emotion. One dilutes the other to such an extent that the truth is often unrecognisable.’
She shook her head. ‘I’m not sure I like your truths, Sir Barrington. You presume a great deal without being personally involved.’
‘It is because I am not personally involved that I am able to reach the conclusions I do.’
‘Then I sincerely hope that when we come to you with proof of Peregrine’s innocence, you will offer him as sincere an apology as he deserves,’ she said.
Barrington inclined his head. ‘I will be happy to offer an apology if such is warranted. But if he is guilty, I expect the same courtesy from you. I’m good at what I do, Lady Annabelle—and I haven’t been wrong yet.’
Her chin rose and he saw a flash of defiance in her eyes. ‘There is a first time for everything, Sir Barrington. And in this instance, I will enjoy being the one who points it out to you.’
Barrington stared down at her, aware that while she frustrated him to the point of distraction, she also aroused in him feelings of an entirely different nature. In fact, he was finding it harder and harder to look at her and not imagine how she would feel in his arms. How the softness of her body would fit into the hard angles of his and how sweet the taste of her lips would be.
And that was the problem. While he admired her more than any woman he’d ever met, the fact that he wanted her in his bed was an unforeseen and unwelcome complication.
‘I expect time will provide the answer to that,’ he said, offering her a bow. ‘My lord,’ he said, turning to her father, ‘I look forward to your visit on the morrow.’
‘I will be there, Sir Barrington.’ The earl’s face was set in grim lines. ‘Of that you can be sure.’
In the weighted silence that followed, Anna restlessly began to pace.
‘You don’t like Sir Barrington,’ her father said flatly.
‘It is not so much the man I dislike as his attitude,’ Anna muttered, her eyes on the faded pattern of the carpet. ‘I am as deeply convinced of his error as he is of mine, yet he is intractable.’
‘And you are not?’ her father retorted. When she said nothing, he continued, ‘What of his claim that he has never been wrong?’
‘A man may make whatever claim he likes, but we have only his word that it is the truth. And regardless of what he says, I will not believe Peregrine guilty of this.’ Anna stopped and looked at her father. ‘You know what kind of man he is, Papa. You’ve spent time with him. Talked with him at length.’
‘Yes, I have, but women can make fools of us all. And sometimes circumstances compel us to do things … to be things … we would not normally do or be,’ her father said.
Anna shook her head. ‘That may hold true for some men, but not Peregrine. He is a good and honest man. I would stake everything I own on that.’
‘Then I would advise you to be careful, my dear. Sometimes what we believe in our hearts is as far from the truth as it is possible to be. And that which we say will never happen, happens with alarming regularity.’
‘You’re speaking in generalities,’ Anna said. ‘I’m talking about Peregrine, and I know him a damned sight better than—’
‘Annabelle!’
Anna sighed. ‘A great deal better than does Sir Barrington Parker. Besides, if Lady Yew is having an affair, it is only what her husband deserves, cold, unfeeling man that he is.’
‘Nevertheless, she is his wife and it is her duty to remain faithful to him,’ the earl said.
‘Even though he has kept a score of mistresses since the day they were married?’
The earl’s face flushed. ‘You should not be speaking of such things!’
‘Why not? It isn’t as though Lord Yew makes an effort to conceal his activities. He is constantly seen at the theatre with one or other of his mistresses. I’m surprised he hasn’t invited them home to dine—’
‘Enough! I will not hear you speak of such things, Anna,’ the earl said harshly. ‘Go back to the drawing room and continue with your needlework. I shall deal with Peregrine when he comes home and then we will settle this matter once and for all!’
It was well past midnight by the time Peregrine finally came home. Lying awake in bed, Anna heard the front door open, followed by the sound of muffled conversation. No doubt Milford telling Peregrine that the earl wished to see him. She heard footsteps, the sound of another door opening and closing, and then silence.
How long would the interview take? Would her father give Peregrine a chance to explain himself? Or would he assume, as Sir Barrington had, that Peregrine was guilty and demand that he make amends at once?
It did not make for pleasant contemplation and, irrationally, Anna wished it had been anyone but Sir Barrington Parker who had brought forward the accusation. Because despite what she’d said to him tonight, she was attracted to him, more than to any man she’d ever met. She felt surprisingly at ease in his company, even though the sight of him set her pulse racing and her thoughts whirling. She enjoyed his sense of humour, admired his intellect and sensed that beneath that cool and controlled exterior beat the heart of a strong and passionate man.
But how could she be attracted to any man who wilfully intended to persecute a man whom she considered as practically a member of her family? Their formal introduction had been made as the result of his coming here to investigate Peregrine’s behaviour. An erroneous investigation, Anna assured herself. Because if she allowed herself to believe that Peregrine would indulge in such a pastime, it could only mean that she didn’t know him as well as she’d thought—and she liked to believe that being able to read people on an intuitive level was something she did well.
It was what enabled her to offer advice to confused young women who came to her, and to their equally confused mothers. By cutting through the layers of emotion, she was able to see down to the bones of the situation. And yet, was that not the very justification Sir Barrington Parker had used for his conduct tonight?
‘… I deal in facts, Lady Annabelle. Not emotion. One dilutes the other to such a degree that the truth is often unrecognisable …’
Perhaps, but in this case, emotion was all Anna had to go on. Emotion and trust. She had to believe in the integrity of her family and all they stood for. For where would she be—indeed, where would any of them be—if she could not?
Anna awoke to the first rays of sunshine slanting in through her bedroom window and realised that she had fallen asleep without ever having heard Peregrine come upstairs. Bother! Now she had no way of knowing what the result of his conversation with
