hair into a French braid which hung down her back.
No wonder he had looked disapprovingly at her as though she were a schoolgirl, barely older than sixteen-year-old Freddie, instead of the twenty-three-year-old woman that she was.
He was probably accustomed to a quite different type of woman. Even looking at him, any fool would know that he moved in that rarified world of the wealthy and powerful. The women who inhabited that world were no doubt as sophisticated and urbane as he was, leggy blondes with impeccably made-up faces and smiles that never quite reached their eyes.
Leigh pursed her lips defensively, determined not to try and pretend to be anything other than what she was.
He was chatting amiably to Mrs Evans, and the older woman was responding to his charm with blushing smiles and coy motions of protestation when he told her that he remembered her well from his youth, and that she hadn’t aged a bit.
‘Isn’t he terrible?’ she said, turning to Leigh. ‘Hasn’t he grown up into a fine-looking young man, and such a charmer!’
Leigh hoped that Mrs Evans was not expecting any sort of response to her observations, but just in case she was she said succinctly, ‘He seems pretty much the same to me. Just older. As for his charm, I’m immune to it. I remember too clearly when he used to tease me.’
‘I don’t remember teasing you,’ Nicholas murmured to her, after Mrs Evans had left.
‘You used to derive a great deal of pleasure from pulling my hair.’
‘Well, it doesn’t seem to have done it any harm. It’s still as long and silky as I remember.’
Leigh blushed bright red and told herself to get her act together. He might have some kind of charm, but he could forget it if he thought that he could use it on her. She might be a country girl, but that didn’t mean that she was a gullible idiot.
She led him towards the coffee-shop, waiting impatiently while Mr Baird, who owned it, accosted her in a very similar manner to Mrs Evans. He too regarded Nicholas with undisguised interest, and Leigh fervently hoped that the scrutiny went some way to making him feel out of place. Though, she thought, eyeing him from under her lashes, it didn’t seem to. He seemed as at home with these rugged, kindly people as she herself was.
She childishly thought it wasn’t fair.
‘I’m glad we’re here alone,’ he said, as they waited for their coffee and cakes. Mr Baird’s wife baked all the cakes herself and Leigh could never resist the opportunity of having one. ‘There’s something I want to talk to you about, and it’ll be easier without Freddie around.’ Something in his voice made her look at him warily.
‘If you’re going to lecture me about Freddie’s brush with the law,’ she began haughtily, ‘then you might as well forget it. I’m fully aware that what he did was wrong, and, believe it or not, so is he. He’s never done anything like this before, and he won’t again. He’s just gone off the rails a bit since Grandad died. They were very close. You don’t have to tell me that I’m going to need to take a firm hand with him, because that’s exactly what I intend to do. In fact, I’d be doing it now if I weren’t here instead, taking a trip with you down memory lane.’
So there, she implied.
Nicholas leaned back in the small chair, his broad frame looking absurdly out of place on the fragile wooden structure, and watched her impassively.
‘Quite a speech,’ he drawled with infuriating calm, not in the least put out by her insinuation that he was somehow wasting her time, ‘but as a barrister I’ve seen all too well how young boys like Freddie can wind up in gaol, and, believe me, speeches and good intentions can get lost in the wind very easily.’
He looked at her thoughtfully, and when he spoke his voice was polite but hard. ‘I fully appreciate that it must be difficult for you—you’re scarcely out of childhood yourself—but don’t lull yourself into believing that things like this can get swept under the carpet after a strong talking-to.’
Leigh looked at him speechlessly. How dared he waltz into their lives and start preaching to her about Freddie’s upbringing?
‘Are you suggesting that I’m not competent enough to look after my brother?’
‘Did I say that?’
‘Please don’t play these verbal games with me,’ she said, making an effort to modulate her voice.
‘All right,’ he replied smoothly, ‘then let me ask you this; what do you intend to do with him now?’
Leigh frowned and had an uneasy feeling that she was being ushered into a trap. ‘I have no idea what you mean,’ she said at last. ‘I intend to give him a sound ticking off, and keep my eye on him to make sure that he doesn’t get into any more trouble. Although, as I said, I think he’s learnt a lesson from this. Freddie’s no fool. I can’t see him doing this sort of thing again in a hurry. He’ll listen to me. He won’t end up in gaol!’
‘You mean, that’s what you hope. Tell me something; did you have any idea that he would be involved in this sort of incident?’
‘Well, I know that he hadn’t exactly been disciplined since Grandad died, but—’
‘And you really think that you can remedy that problem?’
‘Yes, I do!’ Her cheeks were flaming, and she stood up, quite prepared to walk out of the shop and to hell with any need to be grateful and polite.
‘Sit back down,’ he grated, and his words held enough of a command in them for her to reluctantly obey.
‘You can’t tell me how to run my life,’ she muttered mutinously.
‘I don’t need to,’ he said smoothly. ‘The mere fact that I’m here says it all, don’t you agree?’
There was very little that she could say to that, but the sheer logic of what he had just said didn’t stop her from feeling furiously angry. Angry at his arrogance, at his assumption that he could write off all her efforts with her brother without so much as an apology, and particularly angry at the way that he had somehow found precisely the right crack in her armour to render her defenceless.
Ever since Freddie’s arrest she had been plagued by self-doubts and by her anxiety at realising that her attempts to stabilise him after their grandfather’s death had clearly failed.
But the last thing she needed was Nicholas Reynolds reminding her of the fact in that patronising tone of voice.
‘Well, then,’ she said frozenly, ‘what do you suggest I do? Keep him chained to his bed as a lesson in discipline?’
‘I suggest,’ he said in measured tones, ‘that you leave Yorkshire.’
Mr Baird had brought them a plateful of home-made cakes, and she bit into one, eyeing him defensively over the pink icing.
‘What?’ she asked, not sure that she had heard correctly.
‘Leave Yorkshire.’
‘What a good idea,’ she bit out sarcastically, ‘perhaps we could rob a bank and spend the proceeds recuperating
