Never Trust a Rebel. Sarah Mallory
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away and the stranger turned towards Elyse. Her instinct was to step back, but her thick skirts were already pressing against the balustrade and she was trapped.
‘Keep away from me,’ she said, putting out her hand.
He had his back to the light that spilled out of the drawing room windows, so Elyse could not see his face and she was aware of an unaccountable stirring of alarm. His large frame stood menacingly between her and the safety of the house. She felt a stab of annoyance that her erstwhile suitor had gone off so readily and left her to face this man alone.
He made no move to approach, but his silence was equally unnerving and she said sharply, ‘I have no idea who you are.’
‘Drew Bastion.’ He spoke curtly without even a bow or an ‘at your service’. ‘I wrote to you from France, to inform you of your father’s death and the fact that he had appointed me your guardian.’
‘I do not need a guardian.’
‘From what I have just seen I think you do,’ he retorted. ‘I was surprised to arrive and find the house so full of company.’
‘My aunt arranged this party weeks ago and decided we should not cancel. Once we heard the news about Papa we made it clear there could be no music or dancing.’
‘You should also have made it clear there would be no flirting.’
‘I was not—’
‘From the moment I walked in I have observed you,’ he interrupted. ‘You have been constantly surrounded by gentlemen and your manner, the way you ply your fan, is most unseemly for one in deep mourning for her father.’
Drew paused, reining in his anger. Harry’s loss was still raw and this lack of respect was an outrage. Yet it was hardly Miss Salforde’s fault if men were falling over themselves to win her favour. Her dark beauty was everything that Harry had described to him. Luminescent was the word that came to his mind, despite her bereaved state. She was as covered up as a Jesuit in a bombazine manteau, but its dull black petticoats only enhanced the porcelain delicacy of her fine skin, which was innocent of paint or powder.
She had caught his eye as soon as he walked into the room. In any other circumstances he would have made his way to her and engaged her interest, for there was no denying the sharp tug of attraction he had felt as he took in her excellent figure and those luxuriant curls, the colour of polished ebony. But he had recognised her immediately as Harry’s daughter, and honour would not allow him to trifle with a lady who had been placed under his protection. However, it was clear that the other gentlemen present were equally entranced and they had no such restraint upon them.
No, he could not blame her for attracting any man’s attention, but he could blame her for responding in such a flirtatious manner. And what was Mrs Matthews thinking of, to allow the party to go ahead barely three months after her brother’s death? Of course, this was the thriving spa town of Scarborough and not Paris, but surely the rules of polite society in England had not changed quite so radically while he had been away? As if reading his mind the girl put up her head, a challenge in her dark eyes.
‘We are holding a quiet soirée, sir, as befits a house in mourning. The guests here came only to offer their condolences.’
His lip curled.
‘That may well have been the intention, but the gentlemen crowding around you were certainly doing more than offering their condolences and you were doing nothing to discourage them.’
‘That is outrageous. You have no right to say such things to me!’
He ignored her outburst.
‘Then I come out here to find you flirting so disgracefully in the darkness. By heaven you are as bad as your father.’
‘How dare you malign my sainted papa!’
Her dark eyes sparkled with wrath but he found his own anger diffused by a sudden flash of humour.
He said drily, ‘Your father was many things, including a good friend to me, Miss Salforde, but he was no saint.’
He thought she would fly at him for that, but although her eyes widened and the angry flush on her cheeks deepened, she bit her lip and regarded him in silence. He observed her resentful look, the shadow of doubt in her eyes. So she knew something of her father’s life then. But he was not here to argue with her. He tried to modify his tone when he spoke again.
‘Enough of this, Miss Salforde. Shall we go in and find your aunt?’
* * *
After the briefest hesitation Elyse laid her fingers on his proffered arm. Andrew Bastion. She recalled, now, that her aunt had mentioned his name when she had read out his letter, but Elyse had taken little note of it at the time, nor the fact that he had been appointed her guardian. She had been too shocked by the news of her father’s sudden demise. Since her mother’s death twelve years ago she had only seen Papa occasionally and for very brief periods. He would arrive, boisterous, laughing and bringing with him extravagant presents for them both, then he would disappear again for months, even years. He had become a distant figure, larger than life yet not quite real. That is why it felt so uncomfortable to be in deep mourning for a father she barely knew.
But that did not mean she would forgive this man for upbraiding her in such a brutish manner. A tiny prickle of conscience whispered that she might have deserved his reprimand but she was not accustomed to criticism. Mama had always spoiled her, and Aunt Matthews was of such a complaisant nature that she never made any effort to check her. It was the same with the gentlemen of her acquaintance. As soon as she had left the schoolroom she had been aware of their admiration. Why, even her aunt’s elderly gentlemen friends gazed upon her with approval.
Elyse glanced up at her escort as they stepped back into the light of the drawing room. As a friend of Papa’s she had assumed he would be of a similar age and she was surprised to discover that he was much younger—some years less than thirty, she guessed. As if aware of her scrutiny Bastion glanced down at her and she discovered he was also extremely handsome. Something, a flash, a bolt of attraction shot between them and she quickly averted her gaze, frightened by the sudden inexplicable feeling that came over her, as if she had always known this man. It could not be. She had never seen him before, although now his image was burned into her memory.
His face was lean, with straight dark brows above a pair of searching blue eyes. A coat of dark blue velvet embroidered with silver was moulded to his large frame and threw into sharp relief the snowy lace ruffles at his throat and wrists. His clothes were undoubtedly fashionable and had a distinctly French air. Despite the fact that he wore his own light brown hair unpowdered and caught back with a simple black ribbon she thought him very elegant, much more stylish than any other gentlemen present tonight.
Indignation welled up within Elyse. It would not do to let him know what she thought of him, especially when he so patently disapproved of her. But surely his disapproval would not last for long? He would come round when he knew her better. After all, she had not yet met a man who was impervious to her charms. She took another glance at the unyielding figure of her escort and a tiny doubt shook her. It was true she had never been short of admirers, but she had never before set out to attract a man. She shook her head at her foolishness. She was not trying to attract him, merely to make him like her. She buried her indignation and tried for a friendly tone.
‘Are you truly my guardian, Mr Bastion?’
‘I am. Your father left you to my charge. I have the papers with me, proving my identity, if you would like to see them.’
‘I beg your pardon, I did not mean to question you, but when we read your letter—I expected someone older.’ She flashed him a smile. ‘Why, you cannot be much older than I am.’
‘I am six-and-twenty, and old enough not to be bamboozled by your tricks and stratagems, madam.’
The glint in his blue eyes made the blush deepen in her cheeks. Had he guessed her thoughts? She was tempted to protest, but in truth she had been trying to charm him and decided