have done nothing that requires an apology.’ To her shame Joan knew that was far from the truth. She’d just been horribly pompous and arrogant and her bewilderment at having allowed him to taunt her to act out of character simply added to her inner turmoil.
‘You need not apologise?’ he paraphrased silkily. ‘I seem to recall having heard that from you before. It was no truer then than now.’
Heat seeped into Joan’s cheeks. She had indeed said something similar to him following her outrageous visit to his hunting lodge. With Pip driving the trap, she’d journeyed late at night, seeking Luke Wolfson, but her future brother-in-law had not been there. Rockleigh had found himself in the unenviable position of having compromised a duke’s daughter while minding his own business in his own home. Joan had felt ashamed to have caused him trouble, but even when he delivered her safely home and prevented her father chastising her with a slap, a simple ‘sorry’ had refused to roll off her tongue. Neither had she graciously thanked her escort. She had thought of writing to him and humbling herself...until her father recounted that Drew Rockleigh had refused point blank to salvage her reputation and marry her, even with great financial inducement to do so.
No doubt he would have her like a shot now, Joan thought sourly. The jibe withered on her tongue as she saw his sardonic expression and knew he’d read her thoughts.
‘Nothing’s changed for me...’ he drawled.
‘Oh, but I think it has,’ Joan replied, bristling with indignation. ‘Once you displayed a modicum of gentility and good breeding—now you appear to be just a violent heathen.’
Drew smiled, glanced over her head to where her aunt and Vincent Walters were pretending not to gawp too obviously. ‘The vicar told you he wants to save my soul and get me to attend church, did he?’
‘Reverend Walters told me more besides about you,’ Joan blurted before she could stop herself.
‘He told you what about me?’ Drew’s demand was speciously soft.
‘Nothing I want to repeat.’ Joan knew she would never explain her comment so spun about, preparing to retreat. She’d discovered he was a womaniser and, tempted though she was to fling it in his face, there were certain breaches of etiquette she baulked at committing. Hot-headed she might be, but Joan hoped she was never vulgar.
‘Come...we both know I’m not decent and the vicar’s put some embellishment to the fact.’ With a single stride Drew strategically repositioned himself in her path. ‘We’re also both aware that you’re no shrinking violet and your reputation won’t stand scrutiny,’ he purred. ‘So tell me what Walters said.’
‘What do you mean by that?’ Joan demanded.
‘I’m guessing he told you I’m an incurable reprobate, best avoided.’
‘I’m guessing that you have deliberately misconstrued my meaning.’ Joan eyed him warily. ‘You commented on my reputation and I’d like to know why.’
‘You know why. I compromised you two years ago. Or rather you compromised me. Your father attempted to make me pay for your mistake.’
‘Perhaps he did, but you were never in any danger of having to do so, sir. I made it clear from the outset that I’d sooner enter a nunnery than become your wife.’
Drew’s amusement turned to silent laughter. ‘So you did...but, capital fellow that I am, I saved you from a life of vows and celibacy by rejecting your hand and your father’s bribe of lands and riches to go with it.’
‘Very noble...’ Joan scoffed croakily. ‘I trust, despite your unfortunate position, that I can count on you still being a capital fellow?’
‘Your secret’s safe with me, my lady.’ Drew’s voice was rich with humour as his honey-coloured eyes flowed with insolent leisure over her figure. ‘But that might be all that is...so stay in Mayfair and do your good works there.’
Mingling thrill and alarm streaked through Joan. She knew if she pushed this man too far she might bitterly regret it...so flight was now the sensible option. Indeed, it was the only option because her aunt was marching towards her. Lady Regan was also staring at them and passing carriages were slowing down so the occupants could covertly watch the Duke of Thornley’s daughter conversing with a handsome, if ill-matched, stranger. Joan wondered whether any of them had recognised her modestly attired companion as Drew Rockleigh.
‘Move aside,’ Joan commanded. Chin elevating, she attempted to step past him, but was again thwarted. ‘Should my father find out about this he will punish you for your insolence.’
‘I should have let him punish you. God knows you’re in need of some sense and discipline instilled in you.’
‘Why did you not, then?’ Joan challenged. She held her breath, unsure why his answer was of vital importance to her.
‘Damned if I know...’ Drew sauntered off with a low, throaty chuckle.
Joan pressed together her lips, preventing herself again succumbing to an urge to order him back. She was furious that he’d had the last word—blasphemous, too!—and then walked away from her before she could quit his presence. But she was also hurt by his final remark. She’d hoped he’d say he’d wanted to protect her from her father’s wrath, but perhaps she’d played a minor role in the incident and it had really been a contest of egos between two antagonistic gentlemen.
‘You must accompany me to Pall Mall and speak to Lady Regan.’ Dorothea’s small fierce eyes fastened on her niece’s profile. ‘Everybody suspected that more than how the Wolfsons do was occupying the two of you. I fielded questions as best I could, so make sure you tell your papa how I tried to protect you from gossip.’
‘Mr Rockleigh and I also talked about the beggars who stopped our coach,’ Joan offered up one truthful titbit.
‘It’s your duty to come with me to explain yourself.’ Dorothea snorted as a blush spread on Joan’s cheeks. ‘If you colour up, Lady Regan will know you’re guilty of something. And never mention those atrocious vagabonds, I implore you.’ Dorothea’s nose wrinkled in disgust as she fingered the mourning brooch on her shoulder. ‘I thank the Lord that this precious memento of my dear departed husband didn’t fall into the clutches of that avaricious wretch.’
‘It is not avarice, but cold and hunger that makes the poor act so.’
‘You defend them?’ Dorothea barked, eyes popping in shock.
‘No...theft is theft, but I understand how such an environment might corrode a person’s honesty and dignity. I know, too, that the rot could be stopped if the disadvantaged were able to share a few of the things that we take for granted.’ Joan cast a damning eye on her aunt. ‘Helping slum urchins to better themselves through learning to read and write is surely a step in the right direction; I find it inconceivable that any decent person would ignore the need for children to be given a basic education.’
Dorothea gulped indignantly at the pointed reminder of how she’d sat sulking in the vicar’s parlour rather than assist with the lessons that day. ‘Those vile people would have robbed and murdered us but for Mr Rockleigh’s intervention.
