Page 112 of A Perilous Passion

Initially, he tried to deny his identity. But Miss Allston’s terrier of a mother insisted she’d seen his likeness in an issue of The Gentleman’s Magazine.

Having finally confessed to being himself, he was promptly lectured for gallivanting about with her daughter. Mrs. Allston said she’d no idea what he’d been up to since his abrupt disappearance from Society, but it had doubtless been something shocking, involving impressionable young women and their unwary mothers.

Fortunately, Miss Allston didn’t witness the tongue lashing he received. A matronly-looking woman—who’d evidently just returned from an outing—exchanged gloves and bonnet for a bunch of keys and escorted Miss Allston upstairs. Once satisfied her prisoner was secure, the lady—who bore a close resemblance to Mrs. Allston—returned to enjoy his set-down.

He was a proud man and objected strongly to the accusations being made against him, but it was well-nigh impossible to deny them without revealing his real purpose in the village, so he said very little. He sincerely pitied Miss Allston for the misfortune of having such a mother and hoped the traces of acerbity she, herself, had exhibited did not hint at more awful tendencies to come. If a sweet, beautiful girl like Charlotte one day became a harridan like her parent, it would be a tragedy, indeed.

As he did his best to defend her by taking all the blame upon himself, he became aware of an undercurrent to Mrs. Allston’s lecturing. She kept making oblique mention of a Regrettable Event in Charlotte’s past, which she couldn’t possibly let happen again.

Interesting. Had there really been scandalous goings-on with Miss Allston? Or was her mother simply exaggerating? Nothing in the young woman’s demeanor had suggested she’d ever been intimate with a man. His own behavior in the cave had come as a shock and a revelation to her, though she’d tried to hide it.

Like a mill without wind, Mrs. Allston eventually ground to a halt. Seizing the moment, he rose, tipped his hat, and said, “Once again, madam, you have my apologies. I meant well—I was unhappy to see your daughter had lost her companions and was wandering about alone. One can’t be too careful when we live in such dangerous times.”

He’d invented the companions. He was certain Miss Allston must have some friends in the village she could have been out with and subsequently become separated from. He thought it a stroke of genius on his part…until he realized she wouldn’t know the lie he’d used to protect her. If he were found out, he’d look even more of an ass than he did already.

Mrs. Allston asked brusquely, “Exactly what danger do you believe us to be in, my lord?”

“The French and the footpad on the heath, for a start. And in areas like this, there is always the risk of—” He broke off. It wouldn’t do to talk about the smuggling with the mother, too. He’d already revealed to her delectable daughter rather more than he’d intended.

Mrs. Allston seemed to make up her mind, and said graciously, “As you are a gentleman, I can only hope you speak the truth. Since you knew nothing of her recent scandal, you weren’t to know that being seen with Charlotte might give grist to the gossip mills.”

Gods, how he yearned to know what that scandal was! There had to be a way to find out.

He offered Mrs. Allston a low bow. “I appreciate your sufferance. If you would be so kind as not to mention my presence here, I’d be most grateful. For reasons I can’t divulge, I wish to remain incognito for the present. Farewell, Mrs. Allston, Miss—”

The younger lady leaped to her feet and gave him an encouraging smile, bobbed politely, and said, “Miss Hartington, your lordship.”

“Miss Hartington. Let me again offer my apologies for this misunderstanding.”

He felt a huge sense of relief as the cottage door closed behind him. But that feeling was short-lived. He needed to find a way to silence the three ladies concerning his true identity for certain. They’d given him assurances, but he knew how enticing a good bit of gossip could be to those with little else to occupy themselves.

God rot Mrs. Allston, and all such women! They made a doctorate of studying the eligible bachelors of the ton. No gentleman of quality was safe from their quizzing glasses. It was more than unfortunate. How could he possibly have envisaged that someone in such a remote part of Dorset not only read magazines but committed to memory every single engraving therein? The likeness she referred to had been drawn years ago, before he shaved off his mustache and let his hair grow to avoid recognition. Clearly, a futile endeavor. What did a fellow have to do to gain a little anonymity? Wear an apple sack over his head?

Soon the word would be out, and the villagers would all be beating a path to his door—the match-making mamas, the town bucks with pockets to let, the eager entrepreneurs looking for new investors. He’d enjoyed his inadvertent escape from such people, and if it hadn’t been for the lack of intelligent conversation, he might almost say obscurity suited him.

No. This wouldn’t do. He’d made too much progress in his mission to abandon it now. He must find a way to remain incognito, at all cost.

He’d just turned for home when he recalled there was a charlatan doctor visiting the village. He’d watched the fellow with interest, but the man didn’t seem to be doing anything more suspicious than selling questionable potions, and continually writing and drawing in a notebook while dining at the Admiral Duncan.

Might such a man have some kind of concoction for lightening the hair? If Rafe were to turn blond, he’d look much less like himself. Spinning about, he strode rapidly in the direction of the inn.

And while he was there, he might inquire about the scandal that had touched the Allston family. His interest was purely professional, of course. The fact that Charlotte was delightful had nothing to do with his curiosity. He’d already forgotten the feel of her soft flesh beneath him, the silk of her naked thighs, and the appealing tilt to her nose. He had no business thinking about a potential conquest at the moment, lest it distract him from his important task.

But the yard of the Admiral Duncan was empty. There was no sign of the charlatan’s colorful caravan, or of his dog. Still hopeful, Rafe peered into the stables, but the horse that had pulled the wagon was gone, as well. He’d have to remain dark haired for the foreseeable future. Damnation!

Turning toward the sea, he silently cursed his foolishness in following the mule-headed chit home. Was his whole mission to be put at risk just because he was being chivalrous? A brisk breeze had come in, and he sucked in great lungfuls of the fresh air, stretching his body until his sinews cracked. The long walk back to Dovehouse Farm would clear his head and help him decide what to do.

A few people nodded to him as they passed. He was becoming known in the village, but he was still just Mr. Seabourne, his false identity accepted by the villagers without question.

Village life was not something he’d experienced before. His estates at Beckport House were so vast the village seemed miles away, though it was only a short gallop from the bottom of the avenue of lime trees. If he had a wife, no doubt there’d be far more involvement in the lives of his tenants. As it was, until he took up his commission in the army, he’d remained remote from all but his peers in society, the only point of contact with his tenants being his estate steward.

How different his life was now. He talked to everyone, no matter what their station. Some of the locals thought him eccentric and tended to avoid him, but when in their cups, they all spoke loudly enough for him to overhear their gossip.

None of this gossip had touched on Charlotte Allston, however… But perhaps her situation was of no interest to the men who drank at the inn.

Her person must be, though. No man could look at her without wanting her, surely? With those luscious curves, that rare bronze-colored hair… Just thinking about her made his mouth go dry.

A gust of wind tumbled his hair about his head, blowing it into his eyes. He pushed at it irritably. It was a huge nuisance that trying to look unlike himself instead made him look like the famous Beau Brummell. Long hair was dashed impractical. Lord preserve men from ladies who thought it romantic.