Lord Ravenscar's Inconvenient Betrothal. Lara Temple
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confused. Was she incapable of a normal conversation?
‘I beg your pardon?’
She cocked her head to one side, walking towards the house, and politeness required he keep pace with her.
‘You do innocent very well for someone who has very little connection to that concept.’
‘I must be very dense, but I have no idea what you are talking about.’
A crease appeared between her brows and she stopped at the foot of the stairs.
‘The broken urn?’
‘The what? Is this some form of biblical charade?’ He had discarded his initial opinion that she was mildly deranged, but he might have to reconsider.
‘The creaking door?’ she tried, her eyes narrowing.
‘Miss Wallace, either you have developed the fever or that rubbish you were reading Nicky is having a dilatory effect on your mind. What the deuce are you talking about?’
‘Have you been back to Hollywell House in the past couple of days?’
‘No, I have not. Why on earth would I?’
The society smile had completely disappeared and she was frowning as she watched him, as if waiting for him to slip up.
‘It appears whoever vandalised the library has been back. That horrid large urn in the hallway was smashed and the effect was embellished with some atmospheric creaking of doors. The latter part might have been accidental, since the latch on one of the doors from the servants’ quarters doesn’t close properly, but the urn was too heavy to topple over merely because of the wind.’
Alan’s fists tightened. The image of her standing in the middle of the mayhem of helmets, breastplates and books returned. With a wary look, Mr Prosper hurried past them up the stairs, a set of keys clinking in his hand. Alan took Miss Wallace’s arm and pulled her slightly to one side. Mr Prosper and the house could wait.
‘I admit I want Hollywell House, but I don’t usually have to resort to such puerile tactics to get what I want and I assure you my taste doesn’t run to the Gothic.’
He spoke casually, matching her lightness, but he felt anything but light-hearted. If she had wreaked havoc to the library the other day and was now breaking urns and hearing noises, she was indeed deranged. If not, someone was actively vandalising the property, which was just as bad.
‘I am not fanciful, Lord Ravenscar,’ she said coolly. ‘When such incidents occur in a house that should be standing empty, I presume someone is up to mischief. I admit I thought that you, rather melodramatically, had decided to add not-so-subtle persuasion to other inducements. If it wasn’t you, it was someone else, and not a ghost. But whoever it is, and for whatever reason they may be doing so, it won’t work.’
‘If you don’t know why they are doing it, how do you know it won’t work?’ he asked, just to annoy her, but his mind was half-focused on other matters. On who indeed might be behind these pranks and on how cold she could look when she chose to; she looked even more the perfect London hostess like that, but then her roguish smile broke through again.
‘Must you ruin it by being clever? I had quite set my mind on you being the villain; it would have been so neat. Maybe you still are being clever. This could still be some devious machination so you could vanquish the ghost and hope to earn my undying gratitude so I would sell you Hollywell House after all. That would be a plot worthy of Radcliffe.’
‘I haven’t the imagination or energy for such nonsense,’ Alan replied, thoroughly exasperated. Her laughing dismissal of the situation was even more annoying than a fit of hysterics would have been. What was wrong with this woman?
‘No, I suppose not. You are not in the least romantic.’
She sounded so dismissive he couldn’t resist mounting a defence.
‘That is not the general consensus, I assure you.’
‘I didn’t mean that kind of romantic. The real kind of romantic.’
‘I won’t ask for the distinction. I haven’t a strong enough stomach.’
‘See? That is precisely what I mean. Well, this is most annoying. If you aren’t my ghost, then who is?’
She frowned at the ground, scuffing at the gravel with the toe of a fine kid slipper. Why couldn’t she act like a normal young woman and be scared? Not that he enjoyed hysterics, but it would be a nice change if she would look at him with something other than disdain or amusement. Those were not the emotions he ordinarily evoked in women. Not that trust or confidence were emotions he tended to evoke in women either, thank the gods, but at the moment he would prefer she not be quite so...unflappable.
‘Aren’t you in the least bit concerned? At the very least you should avoid going there until the source of this vandalism is uncovered.’
‘I have requested that Mr Prosper put it about that the new tenants of the house are moving in, which I hope will discourage any further incidents. Why don’t you go a step further and try to convince me that it is after all in my best interest to sell you the property?’
Alan gritted his teeth against the urge to tell her what she was welcome to do with Hollywell.
‘I admit I want Hollywell, but I am perfectly capable of separating the two issues. Are you?’
She sighed.
‘I don’t know what I’m capable of any more. Come, I’m curious to see this house.’
‘You aren’t invited. Thank you for delivering Mr Prosper, but now you had best return to Lady Jezebel before it begins to rain.’
He wasn’t in the least surprised she ignored him and turned towards the stairs.
‘You are, without doubt, the most aggravating woman of my acquaintance. Barring my grandmother and that only by a very narrow margin.’
She turned on the top stair, her eyes narrowing into slits of gold, but the tantrum he had almost hoped for didn’t materialise. For a moment she didn’t answer, just stood there, her eyes on his dreamily, as if lost in an inner conversation. He couldn’t remember ever being so disconcerted by a female who was doing absolutely nothing. Young women either fled behind their mama’s skirts or used all their wiles to engage his interest, sometimes from behind their mama’s skirts. He didn’t mind either reaction. He very much minded being scolded, threatened, laughed at or ignored, all of which appeared to be this young woman’s repertoire in her dealings with him. If she was doing it on purpose, he might have appreciated her tactics, but though she was clever, she was also peculiarly transparent and it was very clear she was not playing with him, not in that manner at least. Her gaze finally focused and she continued inside.
‘I hadn’t realised I had such power to provoke you, Lord Ravenscar. I am honoured to receive such an epithet from someone who has undoubtedly met more women than he can properly remember. I believe I read an adage somewhere that notoriety is preferable to obscurity.’
‘You misread, then. The phrase is that notoriety should not be mistaken for fame.’
She wrinkled her nose, inspecting the empty drawing room Mr Prosper indicated. They entered and Mr Prosper hovered in the doorway, clearly uncertain whether his role included chaperon services. The maid, surprisingly, merely occupied a chair in the hall and took out a small skein of wool from a bag and began knitting.
‘That sounds very stuffy and English. Was it from a morality play, perhaps? One of your grandfather’s charming tomes?’
‘Greek. Aesop.’
‘Ah, that explains it. Wasn’t he the one with the tale of the vainglorious Raven?’
‘The same. And the crafty fox. How fitting. Your colouring does have a rather...vixenish hue.’
‘Thank you. Most often the references are to lionesses,