Miss Mischief - A Regency Romance by Kate Harper Page A

his age indulged themselves in; to stay in town and get up to the usual brainless hijinks. To turn up in the drawing rooms and on the dance floors where his kind collected in supercilious, drawing packs, egging each other on to perform some absurdity or another, their mischief made all the worse by them congregating together.
    He had done none of these things. By the age of four and twenty he hadn’t actually done a great deal of socializing with his peers at all, more often returned to Barnstable and his family when he was between terms at Eton. It had not been any one thing that had brought him back, each time; his mother had been ill one year and he had wanted to see that she was recovering. And then, there had been estate business and family life with younger siblings and, what with one thing and another, the pleasures to be found in London always seemed to come in a poor second. He supposed, if he’d thought about it at all, that there would be plenty of time to indulge in town life, especially with three sisters to be presented.
    Life rarely worked out as one envisioned it would, however. If his father had not had that appalling run of luck at Brook’s that fateful night, Marcus might very well be in London now, helping to set up the townhouse they had owned in Curzon Street in preparation for the forthcoming Season and deflecting his sisters’ demands that he entertain them. Of course, his father would still be alive and his mother would still be laughing at her husband’s excruciatingly bad jokes and he, Marcus, might very well be out and about, looking for the entertainments due to a gentleman of his rank and position. Astley’s Amphitheatre and Somerset House, Vauxhall Gardens and some of the less salubrious places to be found in Drury Lane.
    Realizing he was in danger of sinking into maudlin introspection, something he had managed to avoid very well for the past weeks, he decided it was time to disentangle himself from this unexpected social engagement and return to his wanderings. He needed to return to the saddle. He would move on to the next town or village that possessed an inn and stay the night. And in the morning, he would recommence his journey to the coast.
    All easier said than done, of course. In the spirit of hospitality, Sir Antony offered dinner and a bedchamber for the night.
    ‘Too late for you to be traveling, my boy. Leave in the morning after a decent breakfast,’ he’d offered, voice hearty.
    ‘Thank you, but no,’ Marcus had been expecting such an offer and had refused it pleasantly but firmly. He knew he must be firm. People were sometimes so damned persistent on thrusting their hospitality on him that he had to be firm, just to escape. With practiced politeness, he repeated his gratitude and slipped out to the stables to find Hermes. The big roan was enjoying a nosebag of oats and Marcus gave a wry smile when he saw him.
    ‘I suppose you would be perfectly happy to stay the night and be pampered,’ he remarked. ‘But as you’ve been so well taken care of and I have eaten my fill, we might even skip the luxuries afforded by an inn and find a nice dry barn somewhere. What do you say to that?’
    Hermes gave a noncommittal wicker, bobbing his head up and down, liquid dark eyes above the nosebag gleaming with intelligence.
    ‘Lord Hathaway?’ the soft voice behind him made him start with surprise. Turning, he saw Miss Claybourn standing in the doorway of the stable. The light glimmered behind her, outlining her with a nimbus of late afternoon sunlight and for a moment – just for a moment – his heart seemed to contract in his chest. Damn and blast , he thought, almost indignantly, no female should be as lovely as that !
    ‘Miss Claybourn,’ he said, voice a deal more abrupt than it might have been if he had been expecting to see her there.
    ‘I’m sorry for startling you,’ she murmured, gliding through the door like a will o’ the wisp and coming to stand beside him.