to hurry and she had constantly to spur him forward. After her whirlwind ride last night, it felt unbearably slow. Once on the Downs, though, her mount grudgingly picked up speed until she was riding at full gallop along one of the highest ridges. In the translucent light of early morning, she could see in the far distance the smudge of coast and the sea, calm as a fathomless mirror.
She galloped on until her breath was all but spent. Slowing to manoeuvre her way around a thicket of bushes, she heard hooves coming from the opposite direction. It was unusual to meet another rider on this vast expanse of downland, and particularly so early in the day. She dropped to a walk and rounded the bushes cautiously. Not cautiously enough, for almost before she knew it, she had met the other rider head-on. She began to apologise for her clumsiness but then found herself looking into the sardonic face of Jack Beaufort. Her apologies stuttered to a close.
‘You,’ she exclaimed ungraciously. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Good morning, Miss Lacey. How delightful to meet you once more.’ The irony was unmistakable. ‘You must forgive me for not realising that I was trespassing. I apologise for my ignorance.’
Her face turned red. ‘I am sure you know, Lord Frensham, that downland is rarely private. You startled me—I had not expected to see you here and so early.’
He sat back on his horse, perfectly at ease. Arrogantly at ease, she thought. The firm chin and the set mouth spoke of a man who would not easily yield.
‘There is a simple explanation for my early ride. I could not sleep. I trust this is not an indelicate question, but does Verney Towers by chance play host to the spirit world?’
‘There are no ghosts, if that is what you mean.’
‘No murdered husbands or wives for ever immured within its walls?’
‘The house has led a blameless life.’
‘Then the noises …?’
‘It creaks and groans with changes in the weather.’
‘How very disappointing! I have been imagining a hundred different tales, each of them more bloodcurdling than the one before.’
‘The only death at the Towers is like to be from boredom,’ she said tartly.
He could not prevent a grin lighting his face. ‘And is that your opinion of Sussex society in general?’
‘I imagine that society is much the same everywhere.’ Her tone was dismissive.
‘Where else have you known?’ It was a sly question.
‘I have lived a narrow and entirely parochial life, your lordship, as I am sure you are aware. But I doubt that I would go on in London any differently than I do here.’
His eyes gleamed with mischief. ‘But if you have never partaken of London’s attractions, how can you be sure that you do not undervalue them?’
‘I cannot be sure, of course, but it is inevitable that given time they would pall.’
‘In that case, let us do our small best to keep life’s boredom at bay. I wonder if you would care to walk. The day is splendid and we ought not to waste it.’
She should ride on. Walking with him was dangerous, the last thing she should do, but the grin had metamorphosed into the sweetest of smiles and she found herself acquiescing. He slid from his saddle and in seconds was at her side, helping her dismount. She was aware of the strong arm beneath her elbow, the strong fingers on hers, but she winced as his hand brushed against her wrist.
‘You are hurt, Miss Lacey?’
There was a momentary pause before she replied. ‘I was in the garden yesterday and foolishly attempted to unearth a small bush without tools.’
‘And what had the bush done to earn your displeasure?’
‘It was in the wrong place,’ she said shortly.
He gave a mock sigh. ‘So often our troubles are down to that one small fact, don’t you find—being in the wrong place?’
She gazed sharply towards him, but his face was innocent of suspicion. She was tense, agitated: that was the trouble, she chided herself, jumping at words that meant nothing.
They tethered the horses to the largest of the bushes and began to stroll towards the sun. She kept a clear distance from him, following a separate but parallel path.
He ignored her deliberate aloofness, but his words when he spoke sounded a challenge. ‘I hope that my visit has not incommoded you.’
‘My uncle’s guests rarely disturb me,’ she hit back. That was true since visitors were unknown at Verney Towers, but she had not meant to speak so rudely; she felt flustered and uncomfortable and had no idea why.
‘I am greatly relieved,’ he was saying, the wry pull of his mouth undermining the sentiment. ‘My stay is to be brief, but I would not wish you to be inconvenienced.’
‘How brief?’
The bald question left him unfazed. ‘If I had not had the misfortune to meet with some desperado on the road, I would even now be in the next county, enjoying the company of Lord Merrington and his friends.’
Was his mention of a desperado a tease? Had he guessed? Her heart was in her mouth and she dared not look at him, dared not speak, for she knew she would be unable to keep the tremble from her voice. The only sound was the soft swishing of her skirts against the tufted grass. If only she had not chosen him of all people to rob … but she must give nothing away.
‘I am sorry your plans have gone awry,’ she managed at last, ‘but if your intention was to stay only one night with us, it seems hardly worth your while to call.’ Once more she was sounding ungracious, she thought, little better than a badly brought-up schoolgirl.
‘I would not be so harsh, Miss Lacey. If I had not found my way to Verney Towers, I would never have had the pleasure of meeting you or your esteemed uncle.’ His voice was bland, but when she shot a glance at him she saw that his eyes sparkled with enjoyment.
He continued to talk, as smooth as caramel. ‘My sisters will be delighted, too, for I came at their behest. They wished me to make your acquaintance and, since I planned to travel to Hampshire, it needed only a small diversion to find my way here.’
‘I do not know your sisters, Lord Frensham, and cannot imagine why they were so eager that you should meet me.’
‘It is hard to credit, is it not, but their eagerness sprang from some ridiculous story they were told. They got it from a very old aunt who died quite recently. I wonder if you have heard the same tale.’
‘Are you referring to our grandfathers and the promise they made each other?’
‘Precisely. It is a fantasy and maudlin beyond belief. But for some reason the story has taken hold of their imaginations and they will not let it go.’
The story was maudlin and should be buried as quickly as possible. For the first time since they met, she felt in charity with him. ‘I fear that Uncle Francis is as enthusiastic as your sisters,’ she was
