Deirdre and Desire Read Online Free Page B

folly of a young man. I fought for my country at Waterloo. It was one way to prove to myself that I am not quite so evil.’
    ‘Oh, tell me about Waterloo,’ pleaded Deirdre, quite forgetting that she had wished only a moment before to be quit of him. ‘Everyone says such subjects are not fit for female
ears. But it was a wonderful victory.’
    He gently took her arm in his and walked with her down the drive. His tale of glory and bravery and courage and death fascinated Deirdre, who hung rapt on his every word.
    She could not help admiring his tall, slender figure, the quiet elegance of his dress, and the hard lines about his mouth, ‘put there by suffering,’ she told herself.
    They reached the vicarage all too soon.
    He seemed to recollect his surroundings with a start. ‘Forgive me,’ he said in a low voice, ‘if I do not come any further. I do not wish to embarrass your family. In fact, I would be grateful if you would not mention that I am in
Hopeworth. It will be our secret.’
    ‘Yes,’ said Deirdre breathlessly, for he had taken her hand and was holding it in a tight clasp. ‘But if I told them how brave you are, how you have made your amends . . .
well, they would see things diferently now. As I do.’
    ‘I cannot risk losing a friendship so new and so precious to me,’ he said. ‘Other people might not have your generosity of spirit.
    ‘I have changed, Miss Deirdre. I have put away the shallow affections and affectations of my youth. The friendships I now crave are the friendships of the mind. Do you understand?’
    ‘Oh, yes,’ breathed Deirdre.
    ‘Then I shall see you again. Perhaps you would care to walk with me tomorrow afternoon?’
    Deirdre hesitated only for a moment. Guy Wentwater was straight out of her private fantasies, a reformed villain, a man of the world, an equal companion, a soul-mate. She felt full of an aching,
heady, suffocating exhilaration.
    ‘I will meet you in the churchyard,’ she smiled. ‘At two.’
    He raised her hand to his lips.
    ‘Until tomorrow,’ he whispered.
    He turned away and strode off down the road. Deirdre watched him for a few moments and then rushed indoors, up to her room, and threw herself face down on the bed, feeling her whole body throb in an aching turmoil of excitement and
yearning. All the loneliness and boredom of her days had fled. Had she not known that if she waited there would be one special man? He had been a slave trader, yes. But so long ago. And he had made his amends and paid his debt.
    Nothing could spoil her idyll. Papa needed money and Guy Wentwater had money.
    Papa would come about. All he wanted was money to breed more and better hounds.
    The Reverend Charles Armitage sat in the Green Saloon in Lady Godolphin’s mansion in Hanover Square and poured out his tale of financial woe and the necessity of
arranging a marriage between Deirdre and Lord Harry Desire.
    ‘There, there,’ admonished her ladyship when he had finished. ‘There’s no need to become historical. I can understand the practicality of an arranged marriage. We all need money,’ she added firmly, in case the reverend had any hopes of asking her for any.
    ‘So you’ll do it?’ asked the vicar. ‘You’ll house Deirdre and arrange this musicale ?’
    ‘Yes, provided you repay me when you can,’ pointed out Lady Godolphin. ‘You still look worried. What is the matter?’
    ‘It’s her hair,’ said the vicar gloomily. ‘She’ll need to dye it. Desire can’t abide red-heads.’
    ‘No need to dye,’ said Lady Godolphin. ‘Wear a wig. I always do.’
    She patted her flaxen wig complacently. Like the vicar, she battled the increasing years with a great deal of paint.
    Lady Godolphin was in her late fifties, squat, with a bulldog face buried under a layer of blanc and rouge.
    ‘He don’t like clever misses either,’ went on the vicar.
    ‘Deirdre’s a bit of a chatterbox,’ said Lady Godolphin. ‘Can’t understand half what she says. Last time