note of regret.
‘I believe one word in every two,’ she said, and saw him smile.
‘So you will not admit to jealousy, Mrs Stratton, and further you will not believe me when I say that I was suffering its pangs myself when I saw you with the charming Mr Owen Chance.’
‘Oh, Mr Chance is entirely delightful,’ Deb agreed, with deliberate obtuseness. ‘I am so glad that he has come amongst us. He is indeed an asset to Midwinter society.’
‘I rather doubt that,’ Lord Richard said with a whimsical smile. He glanced towards the ballroom door, where the tall figure of Owen Chance could be seen conversing with Lady Sally Saltire.
‘Did Mr Chance tell you about his profession?’ Richard continued.
Deb raised her brows, slightly surprised. ‘Should he have done? We did not speak of matters so mundane as business, my lord. We were far too busy chatting on things that were more interesting.’
‘I see,’ Lord Richard said. ‘Well, perhaps he did not wish you to know. Mr Chance is a Riding Officer.’ He turned back to look at her. ‘And as such he is not welcome in many houses in these parts.’
‘Because people are too snobbish, perhaps,’ Deb observed sweetly. ‘You surprise me, Lord Richard. I had not thought you a man to whom rank was important, but perhaps as the brother of a duke, you are conscious of such things?’
‘You deliberately mistake me,’ Richard said, smiling at her. ‘I believe that Mr Chance’s pedigree is as good as my own; if it is not, that makes no odds to me. What makes him an unwelcome guest is the propensity of the Riding Officers to frighten away our smugglers, Mrs Stratton. And then where will we get our brandy and tea and all our other commodities?’
Deb’s lips twitched. ‘Is smuggling then something in which you take a keen interest, my lord?’
‘The purchase of good French brandy is certainly an ardent pursuit of mine,’ Richard agreed feelingly. ‘I am sure we are all wishing Mr Chance in Hades!’
Deb laughed. ‘You are too harsh. A man should have a profession,’ she added, giving him a sideways look. ‘You said so yourself when you spoke to me about your time in the Navy. It is not beneficial to sit idly by all day with nothing to amuse oneself but brandy and a book of seventeenth-century poetry!’
Lord Richard gave a crack of laughter. ‘ Touché , ma’am! Is that how you envisage I spend my days?’
‘I have no notion,’ Deb said lightly. ‘I did not mean you , my lord! I have never given any thought to how you spend your time.’
This was transparently untrue and she could see from the look on Richard’s face that he knew it. His dark eyes searched her face.
‘It disappoints me that you never think of me,’ Lord Richard said. ‘Perhaps in speaking of brandy drinking and poetry reading you were describing the activities of the Midwinter reading group?’
Deb laughed. ‘We do not care for brandy, my lord, although Lady Sally’s port is a fine vintage. As for the poetry, I confess I have read some of the book you gave me, and very pretty the verse is too.’
‘I am glad that you like it,’ Lord Richard said. ‘A great deal of it is very romantic, is it not?’
Deb’s lashes flickered as she looked down. ‘It may well be. However, I am more struck by the pastoral poems. I was reading the odes to the beauty of the sunset rather than Shakespeare’s sonnets.’
‘Perhaps you are afraid that too much romantic poetry would turn your own thoughts to love,’ Richard suggested.
Deb fidgeted. ‘Certainly not.’
Richard laughed. ‘I remember—you do not look for male companionship. I have the feeling that it seeks you out all the same, Mrs Stratton. How could it not, when you are young and beautiful, and have such a zest for life? It is asking too much of a man not to view that as a challenge.’
Deb sighed. ‘Your compliments are very polished, Lord Richard, but they fall on stony ground.’
Richard was looking at her
‘I believe one word in every two,’ she said, and saw him smile.
‘So you will not admit to jealousy, Mrs Stratton, and further you will not believe me when I say that I was suffering its pangs myself when I saw you with the charming Mr Owen Chance.’
‘Oh, Mr Chance is entirely delightful,’ Deb agreed, with deliberate obtuseness. ‘I am so glad that he has come amongst us. He is indeed an asset to Midwinter society.’
‘I rather doubt that,’ Lord Richard said with a whimsical smile. He glanced towards the ballroom door, where the tall figure of Owen Chance could be seen conversing with Lady Sally Saltire.
‘Did Mr Chance tell you about his profession?’ Richard continued.
Deb raised her brows, slightly surprised. ‘Should he have done? We did not speak of matters so mundane as business, my lord. We were far too busy chatting on things that were more interesting.’
‘I see,’ Lord Richard said. ‘Well, perhaps he did not wish you to know. Mr Chance is a Riding Officer.’ He turned back to look at her. ‘And as such he is not welcome in many houses in these parts.’
‘Because people are too snobbish, perhaps,’ Deb observed sweetly. ‘You surprise me, Lord Richard. I had not thought you a man to whom rank was important, but perhaps as the brother of a duke, you are conscious of such things?’
‘You deliberately mistake me,’ Richard said, smiling at her. ‘I believe that Mr Chance’s pedigree is as good as my own; if it is not, that makes no odds to me. What makes him an unwelcome guest is the propensity of the Riding Officers to frighten away our smugglers, Mrs Stratton. And then where will we get our brandy and tea and all our other commodities?’
Deb’s lips twitched. ‘Is smuggling then something in which you take a keen interest, my lord?’
‘The purchase of good French brandy is certainly an ardent pursuit of mine,’ Richard agreed feelingly. ‘I am sure we are all wishing Mr Chance in Hades!’
Deb laughed. ‘You are too harsh. A man should have a profession,’ she added, giving him a sideways look. ‘You said so yourself when you spoke to me about your time in the Navy. It is not beneficial to sit idly by all day with nothing to amuse oneself but brandy and a book of seventeenth-century poetry!’
Lord Richard gave a crack of laughter. ‘ Touché , ma’am! Is that how you envisage I spend my days?’
‘I have no notion,’ Deb said lightly. ‘I did not mean you , my lord! I have never given any thought to how you spend your time.’
This was transparently untrue and she could see from the look on Richard’s face that he knew it. His dark eyes searched her face.
‘It disappoints me that you never think of me,’ Lord Richard said. ‘Perhaps in speaking of brandy drinking and poetry reading you were describing the activities of the Midwinter reading group?’
Deb laughed. ‘We do not care for brandy, my lord, although Lady Sally’s port is a fine vintage. As for the poetry, I confess I have read some of the book you gave me, and very pretty the verse is too.’
‘I am glad that you like it,’ Lord Richard said. ‘A great deal of it is very romantic, is it not?’
Deb’s lashes flickered as she looked down. ‘It may well be. However, I am more struck by the pastoral poems. I was reading the odes to the beauty of the sunset rather than Shakespeare’s sonnets.’
‘Perhaps you are afraid that too much romantic poetry would turn your own thoughts to love,’ Richard suggested.
Deb fidgeted. ‘Certainly not.’
Richard laughed. ‘I remember—you do not look for male companionship. I have the feeling that it seeks you out all the same, Mrs Stratton. How could it not, when you are young and beautiful, and have such a zest for life? It is asking too much of a man not to view that as a challenge.’
Deb sighed. ‘Your compliments are very polished, Lord Richard, but they fall on stony ground.’
Richard was looking at her
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