‘Your father offered fifty.’
Joan’s astonishment caused her full pink lips to part. She moistened them with a tongue flick that drew a pair of lupine eyes.
‘So...you were a moment ago conversing with your banker, were you?’ Joan asked mellifluously, nodding at the wooded area into which the fellow had disappeared. ‘Is he to invest the cash, or pay off your duns with it, Mr Rockleigh?’ When Drew remained infuriatingly silent and unperturbed by her barb, Joan prodded, ‘Is that sufficient a sum to get you back on your feet or would you like me to play the damsel in distress one more time so you might again test my father’s generosity?’
‘You know nothing about me,’ Drew said quietly. ‘And I’m not about to satisfy your curiosity. Go back to your vicar friend and enjoy your promenade, but stay away from Ratcliffe Highway and me. Don’t test my generosity, my lady, or my patience, because you’ll find both lacking next time.’
Joan gasped in astonishment and outrage as he made to walk away from her. Nobody, apart from her papa, spoke to her in that tone of voice. Imperiously she retorted, ‘You may halt this instant. I have not finished speaking to you, sir.’
‘But I have finished with you...’ was sent casually over a shoulder as he strolled away.
‘Come here this instant, you impertinent lout.’
He pivoted about and returned so swiftly that Joan skittered back some steps, her heart pulsing in her throat.
‘Well? What do you want?’ Drew enquired with silky softness.
Joan could think of nothing to say and neither could she raise her eyes to meet those that were singeing the top of her head. His muscled thighs were in her lowered line of vision, encased today in black breeches that seemed as closely moulded to his powerful physique as the charcoal-grey tailcoat he wore. Had she not known what Drew Rockleigh did for a living she might have mistaken him for a businessman rather than a barbarian. Only the faint healing marks on his face and knuckles gave the game away that he was a street fighter.
‘You’re finding it hard to apologise for your rudeness, are you?’ Drew suggested, mockery in his tone, as she continued to glower at the small space of grass that separated them.
‘I 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.