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Hugo was puzzled.
The impulse to kiss Deborah Staunton had taken him by surprise. She had looked so forlorn, and he had frequently comforted her in the past. What astonished him most was that once she was in his arms the simple desire to comfort had changed into something much more dangerous. The feel of her beneath his hands, the look of helplessness in those dark, indigo eyes had been unexpectedly seductive. He had been within a hairbreadth of kissing her in real earnest. Kissing penniless hopelessly disorganized Deborah Staunton! And then she had pulled away, and the moment had passed. He shook his head. Midsummer madness! It would not be repeated, would it?
An Inescapable Match
Sylvia Andrew
MILLS & BOON
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SYLVIA ANDREW
taught modern languages for years, ending up as a vice principal of a sixth-form college. She lives in Somerset with two cats, a dog and a husband who has a very necessary sense of humor and a stern approach to punctuation. Sylvia has one daughter living in London, and they share a lively interest in the theater. She describes herself as an “unrepentant romantic.”
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter One
July 1812
The curricle hardly slowed down at all as it swept off the main London highway into the narrow road leading to Abbot Quincey. But the driver judged to a nicety the difficult angle of the turn, controlling his two spirited horses with confident hands. Though it was obvious that he knew the road well, it was nevertheless an impressive demonstration of skill and strength. It was an attractive picture, too—a pair of perfectly matched bays, the tall blond young driver, and behind him his groom sitting stiffly upright—all in a verdant countryside under a cobalt blue sky. Hugo Perceval, heir to Sir James Perceval of Perceval Hall, was on his way back to the village of Abbot Quincey after a morning visit to Northampton.
Timothy Potts, the groom, allowed himself a rare nod of approval at the expert negotiation of the turn. Then, as the road straightened out ahead, empty except for a tiny figure in the distance, he relaxed and allowed his thoughts to wander… He was very fortunate in his master. The guv’nor was a nonpareil, no doubt about that! Whether in the town or in the country he always seemed to know what he was about. Of course, some would say he had been luckier than most, Nature having been very generous in her gifts. A fine, strong, handsome young fellow, he was, and good at everything he did. A proper gentleman and a very fair master. No showy exhibitions, no excesses, no sudden starts or tantrums. Always reasonable, but he wouldn’t stand any nonsense, not from anyone! Though he seldom raised his voice, when the guv’nor spoke in a certain tone they all jumped to it…
Timothy Potts’s musings were brought to a sudden halt when Hugo gave an exclamation and drew the horses up level with the slight figure of a girl, who stood by the milestone on the verge waiting for them to pass. Her face was pale, and dominated by a pointed chin and huge, shadowed eyes. She wore a white muslin dress which was creased and dirty, and a straw hat one side of which was badly tattered. But what made the ensemble really remarkable was the presence of a tall cage covered in a duster on the ground at her side, and a large animal, something like a dog, which was at the end of a piece of rope she was holding in her hand.
With a quick command to the groom to go to the horses’ heads, Hugo jumped down from the curricle. ‘Deborah? Deborah Staunton? What the devil are you doing here?’ The dog, taking exception to Hugo’s tone, growled ominously. ‘And what in the name of heaven is that ill-tempered animal?’
Miss Staunton eyed him resentfully. Fate was really very unkind. She was tired, dirty and hot. The dog had chewed her best straw hat, and her arms and fingers were sore from carrying that wretched cage. The ill-luck that had dogged her for the past week didn’t seem to have changed. When she had last seen Hugo Perceval he had been expressing—forcibly—his desire never to have anything more to do with her, and he didn’t appear to have changed his mind. She had hoped to encounter some kindly soul, a farmer or one of the villagers, who would help her on the road to Abbot Quincey, but this was the first vehicle she had seen. Why did it have to belong to the last man in Northamptonshire she wanted to meet like this?
‘Well?’ said Hugo impatiently.
Miss Staunton straightened her shoulders and rallied. Four years had passed since Hugo’s harsh words to her—four years in which she had learned that life was seldom fair, and that the weak usually went to the wall. She was no longer a tender-hearted sixteen-year-old, and she wasn’t about to let Hugo Perceval treat her in his usual high-handed fashion!
‘Really, Hugo! It’s a dog, of course! And Autolycus isn’t at all ill-tempered—he just didn’t like the way you spoke to me. To tell the truth, nor did I!’
The groom turned and regarded her with astonishment. Not many people—least of all little dabs of females—spoke to the guv’nor in this manner!
Hugo took a breath, then said carefully, ‘I’m sorry. It was a surprise. I didn’t know you were in the district.’
‘I haven’t been. I’m just arriving.’
‘And this is your luggage?’ Hugo said with an expressive glance at the cage and the dog. ‘All of it?’
Miss Staunton bit her lip. ‘N…not all of it. I had to leave the rest in the inn at the crossroads. Nanny Humble stayed with it. I was hoping that Aunt Elizabeth would send someone to collect her.’
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