Love and the Loathsome Leopard Read Free Page A

quietly, “that you are in fact, I understand, Lord Cheriton!”
    For a moment it had been impossible to realise it.
    He had never thought of the title. He remembered only as a child might have done that his father was an ogre, a tyrant, a brute whom he hated with every fibre of his being.
    “Lord Cheriton?” he replied stupidly beneath his breath.
    “In the circumstances,” Sir Arthur went on, “do you wish to leave the Army?”
    “No, sir! Of course not, sir!”
    “I understand that you inherit a considerable property.”
    He did not answer and Sir Arthur continued,
    “Your Solicitor is here, and, of course, I will grant you leave if that is what you wish.”
    “Thank you, sir.”
    There was a pause, then Sir Arthur said quietly,
    “I think, Cheriton, in the circumstances, it would be best for you to buy yourself a Commission. I will assist you in every way I can, and, of course, you will have my recommendation without reserve.”
    There had been nothing to do but salute and murmur a somewhat incoherent expression of thanks.
    Then, rising, Sir Arthur had held out his hand.
    “I shall welcome you, Lord Cheriton, to my staff.”
    He could remember now, Lord Cheriton thought, the glow of pride which had swept through him.
    He somehow anticipated instinctively that he would be in the confidence of the man who was, as the Duke of Wellington, to become the greatest hero of the age.
    At the moment, however, he left the office somewhat apprehensively to find the grey-haired Solicitor, who was waiting for him.
    “I had a great deal of trouble tracing you, my Lord,” the elderly man remarked reproachfully.
    “Was it important that you should do so?”
    The Solicitor looked shocked.
    “Extremely important! Here is a list of your father’s properties and another showing his Securities in the Bank. Your Lordship will note that you own a considerable fortune.”
    He had realised he was now a rich man, but somehow at that moment it gave him little pleasure.
    He would have liked, if possible, to accept nothing from his father, not even his title, but this he knew could not be avoided.
    The life he had led had made him quick-witted and he found no difficulty in making decisions.
    He instructed the Solicitor to look after the estates his father owned in London and collect the rents.
    Cheriton House in Berkeley Square was to be closed and kept in good order until he required it.
    The tenant farmers in Sussex were to be asked if they wished to buy their farms, and if they declined, the buildings and land were to be administered in proper fashion.
    “And what about the house, my Lord?” the Solicitor asked respectfully. “What do you wish done with Larks Hall?”
    There had been a pause, then the new Lord Cheriton, his voice ringing out with a strangely violent note, replied,
    “Let it fall to the ground!”
    As he now drew nearer to the house he realised that it had not fallen, not yet, but he was sure that the nine years in which it had remained empty had taken their toll.
    He wanted to see it a crumbling ruin, and then, only then, he told himself, the ghosts of the past would be laid to rest and he would no longer hear his father’s voice shouting at him and feel the sting of a whip across his shoulders.
    He passed the lake, remembering reluctantly a few happy hours when he had caught a trout or swum in the clear water and felt it take some of the pain from his burning, inflamed flesh.
    He had reached the front door when to his surprise he saw that it was open.
    He told himself it was all the better, for if the wind and the rain could beat in and the snow accumulate, the sooner the floorboards would rot.
    He swung himself down from his horse, a spirited stallion he had ridden on the battlefields of Europe and had brought back with him to England.
    Fixing the reins to the horse’s neck, he left him loose, knowing he would come at his whistle as he had been trained to do.
    Then reluctantly, almost as if he hated to step