Page 118 of A Perilous Passion

Why had she asked about East Anglian smugglers? He needed to know.

He edged as close to the window as he dared, just in time to catch Hester saying something about lace attracting a man’s attention. Excellent—she was walking back toward him again.

“I do wish there were more eligible young men close by. The Bentincks and the Pierpoints spend more time up in Nottingham than they do here, or they might be worth considering. There’s always Mr. Williams of Herrington, I suppose, but he has appallingly bad teeth.”

“Oh, but so very tall, with such an aristocratic nose!” said Miss Daniell.

Hester replied, “Well, his height would be an advantage, in that it conveys his bad breath over the top of one’s head.”

“How cynical you are!” said Miss Daniell. “What about Mr. Goodden the High Sheriff’s son, or Mr. Darmer, or Mr. Strode?”

He began to ease himself away from the window. There was nothing more he could learn if they were just going to catalog all the local gentlemen.

But stopped dead when Miss Daniell said, “I know he lives a bit further away and doesn’t mingle with the ton in this part of Dorset, but what about Lord Beckport?”

His head jerked up so violently he almost knocked himself unconscious on the windowsill. Good God. This he had to hear.

“Charlotte, do be careful,” warned Hester. “You don’t wish to spill tea all down your front. It leaves the devil of a stain.”

Warmth stole through him. He had affected her, then. Even though she’d appeared so calm and poised when he’d invaded her chamber last night. He smiled in satisfaction.

“Hester! Such language!” The parson’s daughter. Obviously.

“Well, it does. Worse even than red wine.”

“Lord Beckport?” Miss Allston queried in a strained voice. “I’m not sure I’ve heard of him.” Liar. “He’s a bachelor?”

“And an earl,” said Miss Daniell.

The relentless downpour had started to invade his oilskin coat, but Rafe ignored it. Wild horses couldn’t drag him away now. Not even a whole herd shedding hairs on him.

“Indeed. But I disagree that he’s eligible,” Hester replied.

Really? Why not? Had his meddling mother announced an engagement he wasn’t aware of?

“To marry him,” Hester explained, “a lady must be prepared to be a laughingstock.”

Fury swept through him at the insult.

“He was drummed out of the army because he couldn’t ride a horse,” said Miss Daniell.

He knuckled his forehead in frustration. Why did gossips always blow everything out of proportion?

“I heard,” said Hester, “that he couldn’t even go near one. It sends him into some sort of fit.”

If one considered a sneeze or two a fit…

“No good officer can operate without a horse,” said Miss Daniell.

He would dispute that. He’d done quite nicely without one, walking alongside his men. He’d gained their loyalty and respect, not disdain, by being one of them, down in the mud and gore, and not keeping himself apart, mounted sixteen hands above them in the heat of battle.

Until that blasted sergeant had forgotten to tie his horse up properly.

“Beckport left the army in humiliation. He’s been a recluse ever since.”

“Ashamed to hold his head up in public, no doubt,” Miss Daniell said. “I heard his family disowned him and his fiancée deserted him. He’s invited to none of the routs and parties in town. Most people don’t even remember what he looks like.”

Well, he hoped that last part was accurate. The rest was pure—and vicious—fiction. He saw his mother and sister regularly, and he’d never even had a fiancée.