Dangerous Escapade Read Online Free PDF Page B

trembling.
    Lord Debenham
held out his hands to his ward. “My poor boy,” he said gently and would have
embraced him, but the boy pulled sharply away, saying: “Pray do not, Sir, I
shall be better directly, but I must be alone, please.”
    The Earl, who
rarely obeyed a compassionate impulse, was hurt by this rejection. However, he bowed
and left the room, trusting that his ward would master his grief more
successfully alone. He gave orders that Master Clareville was not on any
account to be disturbed, before setting out, rather belatedly, to attend his
betrothed's party. He was strangely reluctant to leave his young friend, and
even more strangely, less than eager to see his lovely bride-to-be.
    The reception was
in full swing by the time that Lord Debenham was announced, but Debenham was in
no doubt that he would be welcomed, however late he made his appearance. Nor
was he mistaken. Lady Withington rustled forward to greet him, wreathed in
smiles and pooh-poohing his attempts at an apology. She swept him off in
triumph to where her daughter was seated in the ballroom surrounded by
admirers, calmly sipping a glass of champagne cup.
    Amelia
Henshawe was a beautiful girl, but hers was a sculptured beauty, lacking in
vivacity or humour. However, Debenham, still sore from Master Clareville's repulse,
was not inclined to cavil, when she greeted him with a smile that assuaged his
wounded pride and gratified his vanity.
    He pressed her
hand. “My dear Amelia, I wish you will explain to me how it is that you appear lovelier
every time I see you.”
    “You are too
kind, my Lord,” she replied with composure.
    “My Lord?” he
questioned playfully. “May I not be Anthony to you now, my sweet?”
    She inclined her
powdered head, “Anthony, then.”
    He kissed her
slender fingers. “May I have the honour of standing up with you for the next
dance?”
    “Of course.” The
smile she bestowed upon him as she gave him her hand quite made up for any lack
of animation in her discourse and, as they took their places in the set, he was
aware that onlookers were pointing them out in whispers as the handsomest
couple in London.
    As he moved without
apparent effort through the intricate movements of the dance, Lord Debenham
found himself dwelling with some concern upon the tragic figure of his ward, alone
in the library at Debenham. Such intensity of emotion was unknown to Debenham and,
in anyone else, he would have been inclined to dismiss such a demonstration as
vulgar self-indulgence. But Debenham had developed respect, as well as
affection, for his young charge, and it pained him to be helpless in the face
of so much suffering.
    He had just
determined to cut short his evening in order to return early to Richmond when
he became aware that he was being addressed by his betrothed.
    “Anthony, it
is exceedingly hot in here. Would you take me out into the garden for a few
moments?”
    “Certainly, if
you are sure you will not take cold.”
    “Oh no, it is
very mild tonight.”
    He bowed his
complaisance and, having punctiliously wrapped his betrothed in a handsome silk
shawl, he led her out into the moonlight. As they strolled among the
sweet-smelling arbours, Lord Debenham found his betrothed more affectionate than
she had ever been before. Her slender hand, tucked into the crook of my Lord's
arm, gave confiding little squeezes as she gazed, misty with admiration, into
the cool grey eyes above her. Suddenly, she stumbled and, as she fell, Debenham
caught her in his arms. She turned her lovely face up to his, and his lips met
hers.
    Lord Debenham had
never previously been invited to bestow any but the most chaste salute upon his
bride-to-be and, as he released her, he understood why. She had stood
unyielding in his arms, neither repulsing him nor returning his kiss. It was
enough, she seemed to feel, that he was allowed to touch her.
    He raised his
handsome head and regarded her with a quizzical look that masked