Lovers in London by Barbara Cartland

today travel far more comfortably than in the past. Even so I have had my moments, when I have either been dripping with heat or freezing with cold.”
    â€œThat is just what I want you to tell me all about. I do wish we did not have to go to this luncheon party and make polite conversation.”
    The Marquis was amused.
    He could not think of any other woman who would not be in ecstatic raptures at the idea of having luncheon at Marlborough House with the Prince of Wales.
    Yet he felt at once Lanthia was sincere in preferring to hear about the discomforts that everyone endured if they were exploring in an unknown part of the world.
    He could remember times when he felt desperately uncomfortable and when he thought that the last moment of his life had come and he could not be saved.
    Yet he had survived.
    He had to acknowledge that while he relished every difficulty and danger of the unknown, he also enjoyed the comforts and luxuries with which he could indulge himself at home.
    Especially when he could enjoy them with someone soft and beautiful, who could ignite in him a burning fire as the Contessa had succeeded in doing yesterday.
    There was no doubt that she was a past master at exciting a man physically.
    He would have been untruthful if he said he had not enjoyed every moment of the time he had spent with her and he had only himself to blame for having taken such a ridiculous risk.
    He therefore harboured no wish for this pretty child beside him to suffer any further because of his stupidity.
    Of course he had been idiotic not to make sure, knowing his reputation, that the Conté would not return to the hotel earlier than his wife expected. It was the sort of thing he would do, simply because he wished to catch her unawares.
    The Conté might be laughed at for his jealousy, but the Marquis knew he had good reason for it.
    He was obviously not the first man the Contessa had captivated with her green eyes and seductive voice.
    Now having made such a fundamental mistake, the Marquis knew that he had to extract himself and, of course, Lanthia, from what could become an embarrassing disaster.
    Now he had discovered who she was, the Marquis had an uncomfortable feeling that Sir Philip Grenville and his wife might insist on his saving her good name.
    To put it simply, they would put pressure on him to offer her marriage.
    â€˜She is pretty, amusing, and quite unlike any other girl I have ever met,’ the Marquis thought as he drove on. ‘At the same time I refuse to be married and nothing and nobody will force me to do so!’
    Lanthia was quietly observing his driving and felt that he was most definitely an expert. She knew that she would have nothing in common with any man who did not love horses and who could not manage them.
    Her father had always been an outstanding rider and she herself had ridden almost as soon as she could crawl.
    She was thinking that the Marquis must be a good judge of horseflesh to have chosen the pair he was driving and also to have a favourite running at Ascot.
    â€˜He is so very good-looking,’ she told herself. ‘But there is something about him which makes me feel as if there is a barrier between us.’
    Then she realised what it was – it was his revulsion and fear of being married.
    Although they were only pretending to be engaged, even that had made him shy away from her as a horse might do.
    â€˜He is perfectly safe,’ she told herself. ‘If he thinks that I am going to fall in love with him, he is very much mistaken!’
    Last night at dinner she had not missed the number of ladies who had spoken to him in a way that told her that they found him very very attractive.
    When she saw the Contessa looking at him, it was quite obvious what she felt for him and perhaps the Conté was right in thinking he had indeed made love to her.
    The Contessa had been far too clever last night to attempt to speak directly to the Marquis and yet she could not