Lady Knightley's Secret. ANNE ASHLEY
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be no denying that Evadne was quite captivatingly lovely.’
The Viscountess lay quietly mulling over what she had learned, then her ever-lively and rather wicked sense of humour came to the fore and she suddenly gurgled with laughter, a delightful tinkling sound which echoed round the room.
‘No wonder Richard looked so dumbfounded earlier, but he should have remembered that plain little cygnets grow into quite regal creatures. I think he’ll consider it most fortuitous that he never married your sister. What a blunder that would have been!’
‘My dear, there was never any question of that. Evadne might have liked him very well, but she was ambitious, and had set her sights high. She wouldn’t have settled for less than a title, and Richard, you must remember, was a younger son…Which reminds me. I must offer my condolences. His brother’s death was—must have come as a bitter blow. They were very close.’
She rose from the bed. ‘And now I really must leave you, otherwise that very doting husband of yours will quite rightly take me roundly to task for keeping you from your sleep,’ and, without giving her friend the chance to argue, whisked herself from the room.
Completely satisfied now that there had been no ulterior motive in Richard’s invitation to this house, Elizabeth smiled to herself as she moved almost soundlessly along the red-carpeted passageway in the direction of her own room. She ought to have known that the darling Viscountess would never do anything so underhanded, nor indeed anything which might cause her old school-friend embarrassment. But this didn’t alter the fact, Elizabeth reminded herself, that she must remain on her mettle throughout the time Richard was here, for just one unguarded look, just one ill-chosen word, might alert the far-from-obtuse Viscountess to the true state of her friend’s rather foolish heart.
Rounding the corner, she stopped dead in her tracks and only just managed to prevent a gasp escaping as her eyes focused on the tall figure standing in the shadows only yards ahead. Her robe had fallen open and she didn’t realise that, with the candles behind her, the nightgown which modestly covered almost every inch of her became virtually transparent. But Richard was instantly aware of the fact.
The gentlemanly thing to do, of course, was to bid a swift good night and retire to his bedchamber. He swiftly discovered, however, that he was first and foremost a man, and couldn’t prevent his eyes from wandering over one of the most perfectly proportioned figures he had ever been privileged to see, dwelling with intense pleasure on the softly rounded curves and, oh, so tantalising shadows before forcing his eyes up to a sweetly curved mouth just begging to be kissed.
Only iron self-control kept him firmly rooted to the spot, but he was powerless to prevent that telltale husky note of desire from creeping into his voice as he said, ‘Miss Beresford, I thought you’d retired long since. I’m sorry if I startled you.’
‘Not at all, sir. It’s entirely my own fault for wandering about the place at this time of night.’ He watched a tentative little smile briefly curl up the corners of that delectable mouth as she glided towards the door leading to the bedchamber almost directly opposite his own. ‘I shall bid you good night, Sir Richard. I dare say we’ll see each other again in the morning.’
‘Oh, yes, Miss Beresford,’ he murmured as she disappeared into the room without another word, ‘you can be very sure of that…very, very sure.’
Chapter Three
Casting a far from appreciative eye round his allotted bedchamber, Richard rose wearily from the bed and went across to the bell-pull. He felt decidedly unrefreshed, but was only too well aware that he couldn’t blame his singular lack of sleep on unfamiliar surroundings, or on the four-poster bed which had proved both comfortable and roomy. Oh, no, the sole culprit for his insomnia lay not in this elegantly appointed room, but in the bedchamber almost directly opposite. And wasn’t that damnably frustrating in itself?
Unable to suppress a crooked half-smile, he seated himself at the dressing-table. Even now, he still found it difficult to accept that the elegantly poised young woman who had introduced herself the evening before, with all the calm self-assurance of some Grand Duchess, was the same Elizabeth Beresford he had known years ago.
Mother Nature, he mused, had wrought nothing short of a miracle there. In the space of a few short years she had transformed an unappealing nonentity into something quite out of the common way. To say that Elizabeth was the most beautiful woman he had ever clapped eyes on would be a gross exaggeration, he knew, but there was no denying that she was quite captivatingly lovely, both face and figure a delightful vista to any gentleman of superior tastes.
He experienced yet again the stirring of desire as his mind’s eye, for perhaps the hundredth time, visualised her as she had rounded the corner of the passageway the night before, seeming to float, not walk, towards him, like some enchanted, ethereal creature well above his touch. But this ought not to be the case, he reminded himself. By rights he ought to be able to touch that young woman whenever he desired; by rights she ought at this point in time to belong to him, body and soul; and he experienced a sense of acute disappointment, not to say resentment, that this was not the case.
Running slightly impatient fingers through his sleep-tousled dark brown hair, he cast his mind back over the years, trying to remember the last time he had set eyes on the young girl whom both his father and godfather had wished him to marry. His memory was hazy, but he vaguely recalled having glimpsed her at Henry Beresford’s funeral, a forlorn and solitary little figure standing quite apart from her mother and vivacious elder sister.
It must have been a year or, maybe, two later, when he had been out in the Peninsula fighting for his country, that he had received that one and only letter from her. She had considered that they were no longer obliged to comply with the wishes of their deceased fathers, and had released him completely from any obligation he might still have been harbouring to marry her.
Honesty prompted him to admit that he had experienced immense relief after reading that missive. After all, what man in his right mind was wishful to tie himself for life to a rather drab and plump female who had seemed incapable of stringing more than half a dozen words together at any one time? Of course he had felt duty-bound to write back suggesting that they wait a year or two before finally coming to a decision. He had received no further communication from her and, truth to tell, he hadn’t given Elizabeth Beresford a single thought during the intervening years…No, not one, until he had unexpectedly come face to face with her again the previous evening.
The bedchamber door opened and his valet entered, breaking into his far from satisfying reflections, and Richard managed with a modicum of success to put thoughts of Elizabeth aside. This relative peace of mind was destined not to last very long, however, for the first person he set eyes on when entering the breakfast parlour a short while later was none other than the sweet torment who had deprived him of so much sleep throughout the night.
As he seated himself at the table he experienced a rather irrational stab of irritation. He wasn’t quite certain whether this stemmed from the fact that Elizabeth, bright-eyed and cheerful, betrayed all too clearly that she hadn’t suffered from lack of sleep, or that she appeared on remarkably friendly terms with their host, who was still looking highly amused at something she had just said.
‘I trust you slept well?’ Brin enquired after a servant had supplied Richard’s needs.
‘Very,’ he lied. ‘You have a remarkably comfortable home here. It was a pleasure to sleep in a bedchamber where the fire didn’t billow out smoke every five minutes. I really must attend to the chimneys at Knightley Hall. Several of the fireplaces there are quite shocking.’
‘I recall a similar problem at my parents’ home,’ Elizabeth remarked, ‘especially when there was an east wind. Thankfully, I’m not plagued by such a nuisance at my home near Bristol.’
Richard frowned slightly at this. He had assumed, quite wrongly it seemed, that she still resided in her childhood home in Wiltshire, although he vaguely recalled learning of her mother’s demise a few years ago.
‘I wasn’t