Page 38 of Masquerading with the Duke
He seemed to understand Redrow very well and showed good judgement by taking him in dislike. She was curious to know why and would ask him, just as soon as she had taken him to task for assuming the role of her protector.
He had absolutely no right!
She returned to the drawing room, wondering if the card tables would have been placed. They had not been, she was pleased to see. The duchess declared that it was too warm to concentrate on games of chance. Instead, she sat at the piano and played light melodies with grace, precision and considerable skill. Martina listened, taking pleasure from her performance, but her mind was too busy to fully appreciate what she heard. She wandered outside, where the temperature had finally fallen as dusk settled, and leaned on the balustrade, enjoying the warm breeze that ruffled her hair as she listened to the lonely hoot of an owl calling to its mate.
She hadn’t been there above a few minutes before she sensed a presence behind her. Mr Braden’s earthy masculine aroma pervaded her senses and just for a moment she forgot that she was angry with him.
‘Why did you presume to speak to Lord Amos about my situation?’ she asked, an edge to her voice as she continued to stare at the darkened gardens.
‘You overheard?’
‘Obviously.’ She turned and fixed him with an accusatory stare. ‘I thought I could depend upon your discretion and would thank you not to interfere in my affairs. If I had wanted anyone else to know I would have told them myself.’
He held up a hand, looking apologetic. ‘You misinterpreted what you overheard. Lord Amos had already guessed.’
‘Oh.’
‘I did not confirm his suspicions, and will not apologise for attempting to keep you safe. You have already suffered enough.’
She looked up at him, feeling anxious. ‘Lord Amos doesn’t think that I encouraged Redrow?’ she asked, annoyed when she couldn’t keep a note of anxiety from her tone. ‘His good opinion is important to me.’
‘Of course he doesn’t blame you. Is that why you didn’t speak out, for fear of being accused of forward behaviour?’ Mr Braden shook his head. ‘Foolish child!’
Martina straightened her shoulders and treated him to a quelling look. ‘I might appear childlike to you, Mr Braden, but I can assure you that I am very much an adult and perfectly capable of taking care of myself.’ She lowered her voice, aware that it had risen and several other people strolling on the terrace had cast curious looks their way. ‘I should have thought that I had already proved myself in that regard.’
He reached out and cupped her cheek with the tips of gentle fingers. The gesture was so intimate that she felt the residue of her annoyance draining out of her. The silence that lingered between them, warm and taut for reasons that had nothing to do with the heatwave, caused delicious shivers to travel through her bloodstream. Botheration, he was toying with her! Distracting her with his disarming affection. Making her forget why she was so cross with him.
‘It’s Jared,’ he said softly.
‘Jared,’ she repeated, swallowing because her mouth felt inexplicably dry. He focused his gaze on her lips and then turned away from her so abruptly that she wondered if she had somehow irritated him. That would be for the best, wouldn’t it? This situation was altogether too tense. Too expectant. Too inappropriate. Too every wretched thing. She was out of her depth and had the good sense to know it.
‘I can assure you that I most certainly don’t think of you as a child,’ he said quietly, still looking away from her and dropping his hand from her face. ‘I admire your courage and can only begin to imagine how much you have suffered.’
The irritation dwindled and died when she heard the sincerity underscoring his words. He was not patronising her, as evidenced by his ardent expression, and she sensed he was as bemused by the closeness that had sprung up between them as she was. He must have somehow bewitched her because she didn’t allow herself to get close to any gentleman, no matter how suave and sophisticated.
Especially not then.
‘Tell me more about how you survived in Spain during and after the war,’ he said. ‘If you can bear to talk about it. I am curious to know how you came to be so well educated, which obviously you are.’
She lifted one slender shoulder. ‘I barely remember Mama and Papa, or much about the war, other than being afraid all the time. But Ariana was there, and Raphael some of the time too.’
‘Your brother?’
‘Yes. When the French…’ She swallowed. ‘When Mama was raped and killed by the French and Papa died attempting to defend us, my brother and sister and I hid away in a small cottage in the grounds of our estate. I learned later that it had been prepared for just such an eventuality. There was a cellar that wasn’t obvious, and nothing of value in the cottage itself to interest the French.’
‘I am glad that your brother, since I assume it was he who planned ahead, had the foresight to keep you safe.’
‘Yes, it was Raphael. The French didn’t find us, but only because they didn’t bother to look. They were drunk and rampaging, but they were not methodical. Anyway, we had supplies in the cellar. Enough to live on.’ She sighed, lost in the past. ‘We had an uncle who took us in, Ariana and me, and ensured our education. It wasn’t the life we were born to, but we were grateful for it and took advantage of the education on offer. Ariana insisted on it. She said that we couldn’t possibly know what lay ahead for us.’
Jared nodded his approval. ‘Go on,’ he said, when she paused.
‘About a year before we left Spain our uncle died. His son was not a nice person and had made it clear from the outset that he had his interest fixed on Ariana. When she refused to marry him, he branded us as ungrateful and threw us both out. We returned to our old estate, lived in that cottage where we’d hidden from the French, took in sewing and whatever else we could find to pay for our food. But we knew we couldn’t carry on indefinitely. We were getting too much attention.’
‘From men?’
She nodded. ‘Then Ariana answered an advertisement for a governess in Barcelona and I was to go with her. She refused for us to be parted, you see.’ Martina sighed. ‘We should have known that it was too good to be true when a sea captain offered to take us up the coast on his vessel, saving us from the indignity of travelling by public coach alone. He told us we would be safer with him, and fools that we were, we believed him because he was so plausible.’
‘He’s the man who brought you to England to be sold.’
