Verney turned out to be very neat and very small: a cluster of whitewashed cottages around the village green, a solitary shop which sold everything from shepherds’ smocks to a side of ham, and a church. It was Norman in design, its square tower looking proudly over the Sussex countryside, and its flint walls cradling several vividly stained-glass windows. Once through its huge oak door, the contrast in light was stark and for a moment he was blinded by the gloom. But as they walked towards the altar, pools of coloured light lit their way and the scent of flowers filled the air. He slid into a pew and watched as she arranged the blooms.
‘Do all the flowers come from the house?’
‘The cottagers provide them when they can, but it is more important for them to grow vegetables that they can eat.’
‘And you do this regularly? The church flowers, I mean.’
She straightened up, having put the last vase to rights. ‘When you live in a village, Lord Frensham, there are obligations.’ Her tone was crisp and he knew that she considered him incurably selfish.
‘It is a very attractive village, a very attractive part of the country,’ he said placatingly.
‘There is a splendid view from the church tower. If you have a head for heights, that is. When the air is as clear as it is today, it’s possible to see to Climping and the coast.’
The last thing he wanted to do was to climb the tower’s steep stairs, but he responded gallantly to the invitation. ‘What an excellent suggestion. Will you accompany me?’
If he were sensible, he would cut their walk as short as possible. Her uncle had thrown them together but that did not mean he had to go along with it. It would be better by far if he did not. But the sight of her slender, young figure in the simple sprig muslin, concentrating so hard on her task, had filled him with an unknown pleasure. He found that he did not want to be separated from her so soon.
She led the way up the spiral stone staircase. It was a climb of at least two hundred steps and by the time they finally reached the square turret, her eyes were sparkling with the effort. He clambered up the last few stairs and joined her on the tower. Despite the steep climb, neither was out of breath and they looked at one another with respect.
‘You did well, Lord Frensham. Normally visitors to the church need reviving by the time they make the tower roof.’
‘I do my best. But after sharing such a punishing experience, do you not think you could call me Jack?’
‘Jack,’ she said experimentally. ‘Is your name not James?’
‘It is—James Mountford Gillespie Beaufort. But I answer to Jack.’
She looked at his slim but powerful form, the glint in his eyes, the scar which enhanced rather than marred his face. ‘I can see why,’ she decided.
They walked to one side of the tower and looked out over the crenellated wall towards a distant sea.
‘It’s a perfect day.’
‘Yes,’ she agreed, ‘perfect.’ And for that moment it was.
‘And you are right, you can see all the way to the coast. Every detail is clear—see that convoy of wagons to the right, making their way northwards. They are travelling very slowly. Weighed down with treasure, no doubt,’ he joked.
‘Do your sisters call you Jack?’
‘When I was small I believe they did, but I am always James to them now.’
‘You are the youngest of the family?’
‘I am the long-desired heir.’
‘And did they spoil you—your sisters?’
‘I can’t recall they ever did.’
‘But your parents must have, if they waited so long for an heir.’
‘I hardly knew my parents,’ he mused. ‘They died when I was ten and, before that, I rarely saw them. From an early age I had my own quarters, my own staff. They came to see me on occasions and I visited the main house, but it was hardly an intimate family life.’
He had never been loved, but he was not about to confide that. He had been born to a role and that was his value. As a child he was uninteresting to his parents; as a future earl, he was cherished. He understood that now, but as a small boy, he had longed for a kind word, an affectionate hug, a loving smile. They had not been entirely absent—a succession of nurses had done their best—but he had looked in vain for a similar reward from his parents.
She looked aghast. ‘It sounds horrible.’
‘Not so horrible. I had the best of everything—the best clothes, the best food, the best tutors. Every wish was granted.’
‘That cannot have been good for you.’
‘Alas, no. As you see…’
‘And when did you become the earl?’
‘That, too, was not good for me. My godfather held the reins until I reached eighteen and then it was all mine—the title, the houses, the estates. No wonder I am deplorable.’
‘No wonder.’ But she was smiling as she said it.
He touched her arm. ‘Let us go down, Lucinda. I may call you that? I have a mournful fear that my boots will begin to pinch if I do not soon start back to the house.’
She turned to go, but then without warning dashed to the far wall and almost threw herself over the small parapet, or so it seemed to him. She was leaning at an acute angle, hanging dizzyingly in the air. ‘It’s still there. Look, Jack! That is where Rupert and I climbed and placed a little red banner we had made—my goodness, we must have been mad for there are no sure footholds on the tower.’
He raced across to the wall and grabbed hold of the folds of her muslin dress. ‘You seem to have changed little,’ he panted, clinging hold of her while straining to keep his footing. ‘Move back, Lucinda. We are both in danger.’
Gradually he managed to shuffle his arms until he could clasp her firmly around the waist and return her to an upright position.
‘Did I worry you? I was quite safe, you know. The parapet is high enough.’ She was laughing at him and he felt a ripple of anger.
He tightened his arms around her, holding her close to his body. ‘I know no such thing. Never do that again!’
He looked down at her upturned face and was met by a pair of blue eyes glimmering with mischief. He could drown in those eyes, he thought, and for a moment he stood motionless, lost in their gaze. He felt her body warm against his, her soft curls tickling his chin. Her lips were close; he had only to bend his head a fraction and he could taste that full, smiling mouth. He wanted to with an urgency that took his breath away. Somehow he resisted and gave a light brush of his lips to her cheek.
Her carelessness had vanished and her breath seemed to be coming in short spurts. She was looking flushed and flustered and he could feel her body trembling beneath his touch. She was finding his closeness unsettling and that pleased him—it would teach her not to play games. He hadn’t enjoyed the sensation of being out of control. When he took his arms from around her, she turned away and walked to the stairs without another word.
In silence, they found their way back to the nave. ‘Will you walk with me to the house?’ It was courtesy that made him ask. He wanted to be alone and he thought she did, too: he sensed relief when she refused the invitation.
‘You will have to excuse me. I have calls to make in the village.’
‘I am impressed. I had not imagined you such a diligent worker.’ His voice was deliberately teasing.
‘When you live in a small community, it