‘Perhaps not, but I thought painting was your passion.’
She managed a tinkling laugh. ‘Oh dear me, no. How unladylike that would be.’
She noted with satisfaction that his hand on her rein tightened, and the little mare side-stepped nervously.
‘What has happened to you, Carlotta? At Malberry you were…different.’
He was watching her intently. Carlotta knew she would have to look at him, but she would die rather than show him her true feelings. He was a rake, everyone told her so. He had been her first love—her only love—and he had broken her fragile young heart. But that was what rakes did; he could not change his nature. It had taken her months to rebuild her life—only the knowledge of how dear she was to her parents and to her aunt and uncle had given her the will to carry on. She could not let him hurt her again. She raised her chin and fixed him with cold, indifferent eyes.
‘At Malberry, my lord, I was a child, ignorant of the world. I thought fortune was not important. Now I know better.’
She forced herself not to look away, praying that he would not see past her icy, supercilious stare to the raw pain in her heart. For a long, treacherous moment he held her eyes; not by the flicker of an eyelid did she betray the anguish that was ripping her apart. She watched as his puzzlement turned to contempt. She had not thought she could feel any more miserable, but the disdain she now read in his eyes was almost unbearable. Almost.
He released her bridle and gathered up his own reins, saying curtly, ‘Then I shall leave you to your fortunehunting, Miss Rivington. Good day to you.’
Luke dug his heels into the bay’s sides and cantered away, ignoring the stares and frowns of those who considered it unseemly to move at more than a snail’s pace. Damn the chit. When he had first seen her at Malberry he had intended nothing more than a little flirtation to pass the time. By heaven, the girl had given him his own again! He scowled; it was his own fault, for he had told her of his financial problems. They had been sitting on the lawns at Malberry on one of those hot, sunny afternoons when he had persuaded her to come down from her high perch for a little while. He had been curious to know why her father was so anxious to have the frescoes finished.
‘It is most important that my father fulfils his obligations, you see,’ said Carlotta, stretching out on the grass and putting her hands behind her head. He tried not to stare at the way her paint-stained shirt settled over the gentle curves of her breast. ‘He must be paid on time.’
‘And why is that?’
‘Because there are bills outstanding, expenses to be met…As a gentleman, perhaps you would not understand.’
He grinned at that. ‘I understand only too well about debts; I have an abundance of them.’
Carlotta wrinkled her brow. ‘It must be very unpleasant to be under such an obligation, I think.’
‘But it is unavoidable,’ he said lightly. ‘Any gentleman living in town will tell you that his expenses are very high. There’s one’s house and stable to be maintained, not to mention one’s tailor.’
‘But surely you could cut back, economise…’ She bit her lip. ‘I can see that I have made you angry, I beg your pardon. The way you live is none of my business.’
‘No.’ He had not meant to sound so cold and he saw the sudden, anxious look Carlotta threw at him. When she did not speak, he said gently, ‘What, Mistress Durini? Have you no riposte for me?’ She shook her head, and looked surprised when he laughed. ‘At last I have found a woman who does not want the last word!’
Carlotta sat up. She said angrily, ‘I think you are making May-game of me, sir.’
‘No, no, pray, Miss Durini, forgive my incivility. I was jesting when I talked of the expense of town life; I have only recently returned from Paris and I have no town house to maintain—and to the best of my knowledge neither do I owe my tailor a penny. The debts I do have relate to my estate, and I plan to address that problem very soon. There, will you cry peace with me now?’
His hand tightened on the reins and the bay skittered, throwing up his head. Damnation, he had never owned as much to any woman before and what good had it done him? He had given her a stick to beat him with. A short, bitter laugh escaped him. He had been within an ace of offering for her—thank Providence it had come to nothing! What a lucky escape—he had no wish to be married to such a shallow, mercenary female.
He brought his horse to a sudden stop.
The only trouble was, he could not bear the thought of anyone else marrying her.
During the following weeks it was inevitable that Carlotta and Lord Darvell would meet frequently, but a polite, distant nod was their only acknowledgement.
‘I am surprised that Darvell does not pay you more attention,’ remarked Lady Broxted, when they saw him in Mrs Price’s drawing room one evening. ‘He is generally very appreciative of a pretty young lady…a little too appreciative in some cases,’ she added reflectively. ‘He is an incorrigible flirt.’
Carlotta glanced across the room. Luke was enjoying a lively dialogue with a very pretty blonde matron and she quickly looked away again.
‘I do not think I am quite to his taste, Aunt. I doubt I am pretty enough to tempt his lordship.’
‘Nonsense, I have received any number of compliments for you, my love,’ replied Lady Broxted. ‘But I suppose we should be thankful for Darvell’s lack of interest; your uncle has settled a generous dowry upon you, and he hopes you will contract an alliance with a gentleman of means.’
Carlotta raised her chin. ‘You need have no fear, Aunt; I shall not throw myself away upon an impoverished fortune-hunter like the Wicked Baron.’
Lady Broxted looked at her closely. ‘Oh dear, what has Lord Darvell done to deserve such vehemence? Perhaps it is his lack of attention that has piqued you. After all, you cannot deny he is very attractive. However, if you showed a partiality for him, I have no doubt Broxted—’
‘Dear ma’am, I have no partiality for him!’ cried Carlotta, an angry flush warming her cheeks. ‘I am quite thankful that he does not notice me.’
‘Well, then, there is no more to be said on the matter.’ reasoned Lady Broxted. ‘You are a very sensible little thing, Carlotta. I have no doubt we can achieve a very creditable match for you. Fairbridge seems to have taken a shine to you.’
Carlotta followed her aunt’s gaze to observe the tall, fair-haired young man standing on the far side of the room.
‘I think the viscount is more interested in our host’s daughter, ma’am. Do you see how he hovers about Miss Price, and how she blushes when he speaks to her?’
‘Perhaps you are right.’ Lady Broxted sighed. ‘Pity, for he would make you an ideal partner. His mama is well disposed towards you, too. Her late husband was a great friend of Broxted’s and I think she would like to strengthen the connection.’
‘Dear ma’am, is it not a little early to be contemplating marriage?’
‘It is never too early,’ said my lady firmly. ‘I am determined to see you well established. However, we must not repine. There is time yet.’
‘I hope so, ma’am,’ replied Carlotta, her eyes twinkling. ‘We have been in town for little more than a month!’
At that moment a young gentleman approached to claim her hand for the next set and she went off, still smiling.
The ballroom grew hotter and more crowded as the evening progressed, and in between dances Carlotta was glad to stand by one of the open windows to cool her heated cheeks. She thought with longing of her parents’ cottage in Malberry village: her mother’s last letter had been full of trifles such as her success