Scandal At The Midsummer Ball: The Officer's Temptation / The Debutante's Awakening

Turning the corner of the boating house, she saw the subject of her musings standing on the edge of the jetty, staring out over the water and quite lost in thought. He had changed out of the clothes he’d worn for this morning’s acrobatics. His black boots were so highly polished they shone like mirrors. Since his coat lay over one of the pier’s bollards, Katerina had the opportunity to admire the way his sand-coloured pantaloons clung to the taut contours of his rear, and she took unashamed advantage of it. The back of his waistcoat was fawn-coloured silk. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up, as they had been the first time she’d met him, displaying tanned, sinewy forearms. There were golden streaks in his hair that she’d not noticed before.

As she stepped on to the jetty, Fergus turned around. He had been frowning, but the instant he saw her, his expression cleared, his mouth softened into a smile that made her stomach lurch, and he held out his hand in welcome.

‘I was just thinking about you,’ he said, ‘and here you are.’

‘I was just thinking about you,’ Katerina replied, ‘and here you are.’ She took his hand. His fingers twined with hers. ‘You did not go on the mystery tour?’

‘I’ve a mystery of my own to resolve. What to do with my life,’ he clarified, when she looked confused. ‘I’ve come to a—let’s say an arrangement—with Lady Verity, that we won’t suit. Truth is, she could just about stomach me, but she couldn’t stomach Egypt.’

‘Oh, Fergus.’ She stared at him wide-eyed, more horrified than relieved.

‘Aye, I know, it doesn’t bear thinking of, but at the end of the day, I’d rather be stuck behind a desk than stuck in a marriage of someone else’s making.’

‘Have you spoken to the duke?’

‘Which one of the two do you mean? We’ve agreed that it’s best to wait until the end of the week for me to inform Brockmore. Until then, I’ll join in enough to keep face, and no more. And after the weekend—well, then I’ll face the other duke, and—ach, but you know I will think about that later. To be honest, at the moment I’m just relieved. I should have known, when it was so bloody—blasted difficult to bring myself up to the mark, that it was wrong.’

‘You are too hard on yourself. The pressures—especially from Wellington. All of your life as a soldier, you have obeyed him.’

Fergus smiled warmly at her. ‘You understand. I somehow knew you would.’

She could not resist reaching up to smooth down his rebellious kink of hair. ‘I think it will be very difficult for you to tell him so, to his face. I think you will need every bit of your courage.’

He caught her hand in his. ‘I’ll think of you, when I do. I’ll think of you flying high on that tightrope, defying gravity. But right now, I’d rather not dwell on it, if you don’t mind. In fact, what I was actually thinking was that I’d like to get away from the machinations of the Brockmore family tomorrow. A day out, the chance to explore a bit of the countryside. I don’t suppose you’d like to accompany me?’

Katerina did not have to think twice. ‘I would like that very much.’

Fergus turned her hand over to press a kiss to her palm. ‘The pleasure, Miss Vengarov, will be all mine.’

Chapter Four

Tuesday June 17th

Brockmore Manor House Party

Programme of Events

Performance of Aerial Dexterity by

the Legendary Alexandr Vengarov

‘This looks like a perfect picnic spot. What do you think?’

‘Perfect,’ Katerina agreed, though she was looking at Fergus rather than their surroundings. Dressed in a bottle-green riding coat and leather breeches with top boots, there was none the less an unmistakably military air in the way he sat imperiously astride his horse. The mount which Cade Retton, the Duke of Brockmore’s discerning Master of the Horse, had selected for him was a huge, highly strung stallion, but Fergus had brought the massive beast to heel with remarkable ease. Katerina had been relieved when Mr Retton graciously provided her with a docile, impeccably behaved mare.

They had set out mid-morning, riding across country, skirting the little estate village of Brockmore, through narrow lanes redolent with the scent of honeysuckle, past fields of wheat and hops waving lazily in the breeze. Now, in the shade of a little copse, where a shallow stream burbled contentedly along its pebble-strewn bed, they dismounted, Fergus loosely tethering the horses while Katerina spread a blanket out on the grassy banks that flanked the stream.

He took off his coat and sat down beside her, stretching out his long legs in front of him. ‘I hope I’ve not bored you to tears with my stories of home.’

The skirts of her blue riding habit were brushing his leg. The hairs on the back of his hand were golden in the dappled sunlight. He was so close, and not close enough. When he smiled at her, as he was doing now, she found it hard to concentrate. ‘I’ve never been to Scotland,’ Katerina said. ‘You make it sound so beautiful.’

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