‘Why should a woman need protecting in her own garden, my lord?’
‘Why? Because you appear to employ untrustworthy servants. That’s why.’
‘I don’t employ him. He’s the gardener’s son, helping out.’
‘Helping himself, more like. How many others has he helped out?’
Immediately, she remembered the long curling blonde hair that could have belonged to at least three of her seven pupils, or one of the maids. Surely that young lout had not forced himself upon one of them there, in the potting shed? There was a path that connected her garden with Mrs Quayle’s next door along which the three boarders came to lessons each day. But could they also have used it at night to meet that dreadful man? It was unthinkable. They were all highly respectable young women. Like herself. Like the young heroines in her novels. Highly respectable, but eager for adventure, and very vulnerable. Were these young creatures simply more audacious than her, or more foolhardy?
‘I don’t know,’ she said, ‘but I intend to find out. If this incident has served no other purpose, my lord, it’s certainly alerted me to the danger of—’
‘Of not being protected sufficiently and of not being able to see what you’re doing half the time. There’s an easy remedy for both those problems, Miss Boyce.’
‘That’s not what I was about to say. You are determined to put me in the wrong. Very well, allow me to turn the tables, for once. In future, kindly refrain from organising my pupils’ riding lessons while they’re still in my care. I have first call on their time and I shall not be releasing any of them before the hour of five, unless there’s a very exceptional reason.’
‘So you think I’m free before the hour of five, do you?’
‘You were yesterday, according to Miss Melborough.’
‘Then she was mistaken. I told her father I would bring the new horse over after dinner, which is exactly what I did. I spent an hour or so with them in the paddock while it was still light. Are you jealous, Miss Boyce?’
‘Of what, exactly?’
‘Of me spending time with the Melborough wench?’
‘Oh do rid yourself of that addle-pated notion, Lord Rayne. Spend whatever time you wish with whomever you wish, my sisters included, but don’t expect me to tailor my time to fit yours.’
‘Why not? You’re prepared to accept all the advantages and compliments of having your pupils well mounted and taught by the best riding master while refusing to co-operate in any way. In fact, Miss Boyce, you appear to be hellbent on making it difficult for everyone concerned.’
Letitia was silent. He spoke no more than the truth, placing her yet again at a disadvantage. Fortunately, he did not pursue the matter while there were more side-saddle-trained horses to be acquired for the others. Enough time for her to revise her timetable, if she could swallow her pride.
They stopped just in front of the summerhouse as if by mutual consent, in view of what had happened earlier. So far, her anger had overcome other emotions, but now she felt again the sickly fear as the little shed had darkened and the man’s swaggering presumption told her that she would not be able to hold him off. Was it mere coincidence that she had been made a target three times since placing herself beyond the protection of her family and friends? Had she been less than careful? In London, Uncle Aspinall had taken the place of her father, but now he, too, was miles away, and the only man to offer her his protection, as opposed to being recruited like Mr Waverley, was one of those who had treated her discourteously. And yet, just a moment ago, he had knocked a man down for less.
Rayne was waiting for a sign from her but, having no particular direction in mind, she took his left hand in hers and turned it to look at the knuckles that she was sure would hurt. A grey-blue bruise was already forming.
‘I usually wear gloves,’ he said. ‘It’s nothing.’
Removing her spectacles, she looked more closely. Tears prickled behind her eyelids as she was reminded of her narrow escape and, although she would not submit to pathetic weeping, she was unable to hide the delayed reaction that trembled her hands. Ted had not touched her except with his menace, which had been far worse than the thorough kisses Lord Rayne had given her.
Her shaky breathing was noticed as she struggled to control herself. His hand took possession of hers, with her spectacles, drawing her over the threshold into the shady summerhouse. ‘Shh!’ he said. ‘It’s all right. No harm done. You must tell your gardener that his son is not welcome. There’s no shortage of labour. My brother’s man will find someone for you, if you wish.’
‘I’b dot crying, really I’b dot,’ she sniffed.
‘No, of course not.’
Even so, when he drew her very gently into his arms and held her like a bird against his chest, she stood quietly to absorb the safety and strength of his embrace. ‘Why did you cub?’ she whispered.
‘To take you for a drive in my curricle.’
‘But that would give the impression that we’re good freds, by lord. And we’re dot, are we?’
‘By no stretch of the imagination are we good friends, Miss Boyce.’
‘It would dot look good.’
‘On the contrary, it would send out quite the wrong kind of message. Unless…’
‘Unless what?’
‘Unless I were to be seen taking you to my sister’s house at Mortlake. A social call. That might just disguise any enjoyment we might be tempted to feel.’
She drew herself out of his arms. ‘I should not be allowing this,’ she said, wiping her nose in an unladylike gesture on the back of her hand.
‘Because you may find that you’re enjoying it?’
‘Because I must set an example to my pupils. If they were to see…well, anyway…it won’t do, will it? Young ladies of good birth—’
‘Like yourself.’
‘—like me, do not allow Corinthians to—’
‘Thank you.’
‘—to embrace them—’
‘As they do in novels.’
‘Lord Rayne, would you stop interrupting me for one moment while I try to finish what I’m saying? Please?’
‘Certainly, Miss Boyce. What were you saying?’
‘I don’t know. I can’t remember. You’ve put me off.’
‘Then go and get changed, and we’ll drive up to Mortlake.’
Predictably, she balked at his tone. ‘Do all your female acquaintances promptly do your bidding, my lord?’
‘Yes. All except one. Five minutes?’
‘Multiplied by three. Shall you wait in the parlour?’
‘I shall wait beside my curricle, if it’s still there.’
‘Well, then, try not to look like the cat that’s swallowed the canary, if you please. We cannot have anyone getting ideas.’
‘Put these back on,’he said, holding out her spectacles, ‘and you’ll see that I’m wearing my deepest scowl of discontent.’
‘Thank you,’ she snapped, putting them on as they entered the house. ‘I don’t quite understand why I’m agreeing to this. We have nothing pleasant to say to each other.’
Not in the least put out by her cynicism,