Page 119 of A Perilous Passion

“Charlotte, are you feeling quite well? You look flushed.”

“I’m fine. Just a bit warm.”

“Nonsense—it’s cold and miserable. Whatever ails you? You’re trembling!” said Miss Daniell.

“It must be the mention of Lord Beckport,” scoffed Hester. “Dear Charlotte is horrified at the idea of such a cowardly gentleman.”

He should stop listening now. He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear Charlotte’s response to that. Not that there was any reason her opinion should matter in the least. He hadn’t come to Fortuneswell to try to impress the ladies.

Focus on the mission. No distractions.

“I’m perfectly well,” Charlotte returned. “Please put the smelling salts away.” After a moment, she said, “Well, regardless of all that, Beckport is still an earl. That must count for something in Society. Is he considered handsome, at least?”

He made a face. That was what she wanted to know?

“Oh yes,” Miss Daniell said. “Like an Adonis.”

He flushed. Thank you.

Hester said, “What is it men say about other men when they admire them and think they would be good wrestlers or boxers?”

Miss Daniell giggled. “That they would strip to advantage.”

Miss Allston gasped. “Thea!”

All three women tittered.

“I once overheard some gentlemen say that of Beckport,” Hester supplied. “They didn’t know I was listening, of course.”

He rather wished gentlemen would keep such opinions to themselves. Perhaps he would decide never to rejoin Society after the war was over.

Miss Allston continued to query, and Hester continued to share her knowledge of him. Clearly also an avid reader and memorizer of the gossip columns.

“He’s wealthy, mind you, very comfortable, indeed,” she stated. “He doesn’t go out much, as I mentioned, but uses an agent to pick out his furnishings and art.”

Miss Allston said, “You say he can’t ride a horse, but has anyone ever suggested he ride a mule or a donkey instead? That might suit him better.”

Her friends erupted into gurgles of laughter. Eventually, Hester gasped, “An aristocrat on a donkey! Oh, what a corker! You do say the most remarkable things at times. I’m so glad you came to live in Fortuneswell.”

Rafe couldn’t decide if he echoed that sentiment, or wished she’d been sent to the Colonies as a babe.

The rain had eased. He could probably get back to Dovehouse Farm without drowning. He should leave. He was no longer learning anything useful. Quite the opposite, in fact.

He eased back from the window, crouching low, and slipped around the side of the house, grateful for the overgrown laurels that gave him cover. He’d just vaulted the gate and landed softly in the lane when he heard the unmistakable sound of the front door opening behind him.

Blast it! He mustn’t be caught spying, especially if it was Miss Allston’s mother at the door. Quickening his pace, he turned up his collar and prayed to go unnoticed.

Because if he needed to apply any further pressure on Miss Allston’s family, it was highly likely she would be hurt by his actions.

Which was something he really didn’t want to happen.

Chapter Eight

As Charlotte waved her friends good-bye, she spotted a man in a long oilskin coat hurrying away down the lane.

Surely, she recognized that form, that confident stride?

Beckport!