Deb sighed. She could see the sense in Clarissa Aintree’s argument, but she knew it was impossible to keep the truth from Richard. That would be deceitful and, in the end, pointless, for she would be obliged to tell him sooner or later that Guy’s wedding was cancelled. A deep feeling of gloom possessed her. It was always better to tackle an unpleasant duty as quickly as possible.

She looked at the clock. ‘I was not intending to attend the theatre with Liv and Ross this evening, but it seems that I must go,’ she said. ‘I know that Lord Richard will be there and I must acquaint him with the truth of the matter, and ask him what he wishes to do now.’

Mrs Aintree shook her head. ‘Never ask a man what he wishes to do,’ she said, ‘or you may receive an answer that you do not care for.’

As she trailed up the stairs, Deb reflected miserably that, whatever Richard’s response, she was unlikely to care for it. She could see only two alternatives. They could either break the betrothal immediately or wait a little and break it in a few weeks’ time, and either thought left her with an unconscionably miserable feeling inside. She was the one who had instigated the false engagement, insisting that it be for a limited duration only. Yet now that it had run its short course, she was the one who did not wish it to end. She knew that she should examine the reasons why that was, and she knew that she did not want to do so. Her feelings were immaterial, for soon Richard would know the truth and their short but sweet time together would be at an end.

Tomorrow, he had said. But now tomorrow would not bring the ecstasy of physical pleasure. It would bring nothing but the end of the betrothal and the beginning of a new and more barren period to her existence. She was not sure that she could bear it.


Richard had only gone to the theatre that night on Justin’s persuasion and then under protest. Justin was an admirer of Mr Oliver Goldsmith’s plays. Richard was not. Yet when he saw Deb Stratton in the Marneys’ box, the quality of his pleasure surprised him. He had only parted from her a few hours earlier and yet here he was, so delighted to see her again that he felt like a lovesick boy.

Richard had already come to accept, with resignation and humour, that he was hopelessly in love with Deborah Stratton and was falling ever deeper in love with her with each day that passed. He loved the artless candour that prompted her to say things and ask direct questions that other, more sophisticated women would prevaricate over. He loved the way that she watched him when she did not realise that he was already watching her. He was almost certain that she was falling in love with him, but he did not want to force the process, for he was afraid. He had seen the look on her face that day in the conservatory when he had almost told her that he loved her. She was not yet ready to accept a declaration. He faced the thought squarely. He was afraid that if anything upset the delicate balance between them now, he would lose her and never recapture the happiness that was so close within his grasp. Which was why he had not hurried the physical intimacy between them even when every fibre of his being was demanding satisfaction. He had schooled himself to wait, even though the suspense was killing him.

So when Richard studied Deborah’s face that night and realised that something was troubling her, all his instincts immediately focussed upon her and what the difficulty might be.

She was sitting very tense and upright in her chair and for once there was no trace of good humour in her face. Indeed, she looked sunk in gloom. At one point she looked directly at him with a very speaking gaze, and Richard smiled at her. She did not smile back; instead her frown seemed to deepen and her blue eyes were cloudy with some emotion that he could not read as they rested on him.

The interval did not seem to come quickly enough.

They met in the theatre foyer.

‘Mrs Stratton,’ Richard said scrupulously, conscious of the press of the crowd and the curious eyes upon them.

Deb was not so reticent. It was clear that intense emotion was driving her, although Richard was not entirely sure what that emotion could be. She stepped close to him, one hand coming to rest on his lapel. ‘I must speak with you.’

Richard could read the distress in her eyes. So could others. He glanced round. People were staring a little now. To hell with them. He covered her hand with his own.

‘I will call on you in the morning-’ he began.

‘I cannot wait that long.’ Deb spoke in an urgent undertone. She bit her lip. There was a deep frown on her brow. Richard drew her closer.

‘Has something happened?’

‘Something dreadful.’ Her lips trembled. Her hand clenched on his jacket. ‘Guy’s wedding is cancelled.’

For a moment the words did not make sense to Richard. He was far more aware of the intimacy of her gesture and the appeal in her gaze. He felt a surge of pleasure that she had turned to him when she was distressed. Then the implication of her words hit him hard.

‘Your brother’s wedding is cancelled-’

‘Yes, and there is worse-his bride has run off with cousin Harry!’

Despite himself, Richard’s lips twitched. Rash elopements seemed to be a feature of the Walton family. He leaned closer still. His breath stirred her hair. She smelled distractingly of roses and honey. He was still holding her hand. ‘That is unfortunate, but what in particular distresses you?’

He caught a flash of lavender blue as she looked at him and then quickly away. ‘Our betrothal needs must be at an end.’

‘You mean that as the reasons for our betrothal are removed, you wish to call it off?’

He felt her fingers tremble within his. She had lowered her head now so that Richard could not read her expression. All he could see was the complicated arrangement of curls held up by the diamond slide. He wanted to put a hand beneath her chin and tilt her face up to his, but that was a step too far for the Woodbridge Theatre.

‘I think it would be for the best,’ Deb said in a steady voice. ‘Papa is insisting that we should still travel to Bath so that he may make your acquaintance. Unless you wish to be married off to me in earnest, I suggest that we tell him immediately that it was all a mistake.’

Richard thought quickly. To be married off to her in earnest was precisely what he desired, but he could see from Deb’s panic that it was too soon for her. He cursed silently. Matters had been progressing so well. Too well. He had had a mere fortnight to woo her in form and now it was too soon to make a proposal of marriage. She would run from him and he would lose all the ground that he had so carefully gained.

She was running already. He could sense it. She withdrew her hand from his and it felt as though her presence was slipping away from him.

Richard turned them slightly so that Deb had her back to a pillar and his broad shoulders blocked out the inquisitive glances of the crowd.

‘If you break the engagement, then your father may well insist you return to live at Walton Hall,’ he reminded her gently. ‘He will always be looking to find another suitor for you.’

He felt the shudder go through her. Was the thought of matrimony so dreadful to her that she trembled to even think of it? Richard feared it might be so. Her lashes flickered against her cheek.

‘I shall contrive a way out of the situation,’ she said obstinately. ‘You should not be constrained by that, my lord.’

Richard felt the frustration rip through him. She did not want his help now. He had served his purpose and now he was dismissed. He found he was close to losing his coolness.

‘You will contrive another scheme like this?’ he asked drily. ‘You have seen how well this one succeeded.’

That won him a quick glance. ‘I thought,’ Deb said coldly, ‘that you would be pleased. Matrimony can scarcely be appealing to a man of your stamp.’

Richard stepped closer to her and Deb moved back, instinctively trying to put a little distance between them. She did not succeed. Richard followed her with deliberation until her back was hard against the pillar and he was blocking her escape.

‘And what sort of a man is that?’ he asked pleasantly.

Her blue gaze widened, both at his tone and because of his proximity, which made no concessions to the crowd of people about them. She tilted her chin and held his gaze defiantly. ‘The rakish sort!’

Richard narrowed his gaze. Through his frustration and thwarted desire he was conscious that she was hiding something from him and was trying to distract him. She did not wish him to ask her how she felt about the broken engagement. She did not wish to be honest about her own emotions. It was the one area in which she had always held back from him.

Richard scanned her face, noting the stubborn set to her mouth and the determination in her eyes. He could think of only one way of breaking through that façade-to shock her.

He drew closer still, resting one hand against the pillar so that his arm brushed the curve of her breast. She tried to shift away from him, but was trapped by his body. He pressed his leg hard and most improperly against hers, through the slippery silk of her dress. Immediately he was aware of the heat emanating from her. She felt as though she was burning up with fever. Her face had flushed and he heard her swift, indrawn breath. He bent closer, speaking for her ears only.

‘Since you consider me to be a rake, I have a question for you. You have a habit of changing our agreements after they are made, Mrs Stratton. What I would like to know is whether you intend to release me from my other commission as well.’

He saw her eyes widen to their fullest extent as she took his meaning. She cast a swift, instinctive look over her shoulder. ‘We cannot talk about that here.’