Anything but a Gentleman by Amanda Grange Page A

The step was let down and Marianne tripped out, finding it impossible not to think of what had happened on her first visit to this same house. But this time she was not left to wander in alone and unannounced. She was greeted at the door by Figgs, who led her through a hallway lined with footmen, to the drawing-room which, unlike her first visit, was full of the sound of chatter. Miss Stock had again kindly agreed to be her companion for the evening and act as her chaperon, and followed Marianne into the house.
    Once divested of her cloak, Marianne was dressed in a simple yet becoming gown of gentian blue which matched the colour of her eyes, tied about the waist with a white satin sash. The neckline was square and fashionably, though decorously, low. The sleeves were long and close-fitting, and ornamented at the bottom with three little buttons of mother-of-pearl. A blue ribbon was threaded through her lustrous curls, setting off their glossy black.
    She saw the Cosgroves straight away. There, too, were the Lentons, the three girls, Amelia, Cordelia and Lobelia, all giggling mightily at something Lord Ravensford had just said. And there was Lord Ravensford himself, leaning negligently against the Adam fireplace which was decorated with a line of nymphs.
    It was the first time, apart from the Cosgroves’ ball, that she had really seen him in company, Marianne realised. And it was the first time she had seen him playing host to a gathering in his own - albeit leased - home. It came as something as a shock to her to realise how at ease he seemed, particularly as he was almost entirely surrounded by females. And it also came as a reminder that she hardly knew him. It would not do for her to refine too much on the time they had spent together, the things he had said or the way he had behaved, she realised. She would be a fool if she read anything more into it than the attentions of a man who was, by his own admission, anything but a gentleman, and who probably forgot all about her the moment she was out of his sight.
    ‘Miss Travis,’ he said, coming towards her with his half-mocking smile. ‘I’m so glad you could come.’ His eyes roamed over her, lingering on the ribbon which accentuated the blue highlights in her hair, and on the bodice of her dress, which sculpted her curves.
    ‘Lord Ravensford.’ On guard against his undoubtedly wicked charm, and against her own unruly feelings, she returned his greeting with a politely formal manner.
    He lifted his eyebrows, but made no remark on her cool air. ‘And Miss Stock,’ he said courteously, turning to her companion and kissing the spinster’s hand.
    ‘Oh, Lord Ravensford, so very happy . . . ’ mumbled Miss Stock, quite overcome.
    But when he turned to Marianne she knew he had noticed her coolness and that he was determined to make her pay, because the kiss he bestowed on her hand burned her even through her long white glove.
    ‘We are to have an interesting afternoon as I understand it,’ said Miss Stock breathlessly, as he finally let go of Marianne’s hand. ‘An ice yacht, I hear?’
    ‘Yes,’ he said; speaking to Miss Stock, drawing his eyes away from Marianne’s.
    ‘And what is an ice yacht?’ Marianne asked, wishing he would not look at her as though he was undressing her with his eyes.
    ‘Why, the same as any other yacht; or at least, the principle is the same. An ordinary yacht carries people over the water; an ice yacht carries them over the ice. Shall you like to sail in it?’ he asked.
    ‘I didn’t know it would be big enough for a party,’ she said, surprised; for although an ordinary yacht could take any number of people on board she had the feeling that an ice yacht, because of its limited use, would be much smaller.
    ‘It isn’t. But it is big enough for two.’
    His wicked smile invited her to protest, but she refused to rise to his bait, and he turned back to her companion.
    ‘Miss Stock. You would not object to a turn in the yacht,