Sylvia Andrew Read Free Page A

yet recognised her, but if he did…
    ‘What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?’ The gentleman pulled her towards him and, before she could stop him, was running his hands over her arms and legs. ‘Yes, you’re quite sound,’ he said, drawing a large handkerchief from his pocket and wiping his fingers fastidiously on it. ‘So stop shamming—there are no more sixpences, Mary, or whatever your name is. Nothing more to be got out of me, until you tell me where Witham Court is.’ His movements had been impersonal—rather as if he were feeling the legs of a horse—but Francesca’s face flamed and she was seized with a sudden access of rage.
    ‘You can keep your money,’ she said, pushing her hat back from her face, and glaring at him. ‘An abject apology would be more in line, though I doubt it will be forthcoming. The last thing any of us expect is decent behaviour from the owner of Witham Court, or his guests.’
    His eyes narrowed, then he said slowly, ‘I appear to have made a mistake. I took you for one of the village girls.’ He eyed her shabby dress and bonnet. ‘Understandably, perhaps. But—’ he eyed her uncertainly again ‘—it can’t be. Yet now I look…we’ve met before, haven’t we?’
    ‘Yes,’ said Francesca stonily, wishing she could lie.
    ‘Of course! You were wet then, too…we both were. Why, yes! How could I have forgotten that glorious figure…?’
    He laughed when Francesca gave an involuntary gasp of indignation and then pulled himself together and looked rueful. ‘I’m deeply sorry—that slipped out. I do beg your pardon, ma’am. Abjectly.’
    Francesca was unreconciled. He didn’t sound abject. ‘The details of our previous acquaintance are best forgotten, sir. All of them. And if you offer me an apology, it surely ought to be for knocking me into the ditch.’
    ‘We did not knock you into the ditch. You jumped and fell. No, I was apologising for not recognising you.’ He regarded the wet and bedraggled creature before him. ‘Not even for a gentlewoman. As for our previous meeting—it shall be erased from my mind, as requested. A pity, though. Some details have been a most pleasant memory.’ He raised a quizzical eyebrow.
    How dared he remind her of such an unfortunate and embarrassing interlude! Had he no shame? Of course he hadn’t! He was a rake and a villain, and she was a fool to be affected by him.
    ‘You surprise me,’ she said acidly. ‘But are you suggesting you would not have practically run me down if you had realised I wasn’t one of the villagers? What a very strange notion of chivalry you have to be sure! As if it mattered who or what I was!’
    ‘Forgive me, but I did not practically run you down. My nephew, who is a trifle high-spirited, gave us all an uncomfortable time, including my horses, in his efforts to prove himself a notable whip. I shall deal with him presently. But allow me to say that you were standing like a moonling on that road. You must have heard us coming?’
    ‘I thought it was thunder—You’re doing it again! How rude you are to call me a moonling!’
    ‘It wasn’t your good sense that attracted me all those years ago, Francesca! And standing in the middle of a highway is hardly the action of a rational being. Nor is it rational now to stand arguing about a trifle when you should be hastening to change out of your wet clothes.’
    The justice of this remark did not endear the gentleman to Francesca. She was about to make a scathing reply when they were interrupted.
    ‘Marcus, darling! Have you taken root , or something? We shall be caught in the storm if you don’t hurry.’
    The speaker was picking her way delicately along the road, holding up the skirts of an exquisite gown in green taffeta, her face shaded by a black hat with a huge brim. As a travelling costume it was hardly suitable, the hat a trifle too large, the dress a touch too low cut, but Francesca had never seen anything so stylish in her life. Under