Memoirs of Lady Montrose Read Online Free Page A

her disapproval at his attempted humour. She gestured towards a chair and gave him the full benefit of a steel-cold stare.
    He was rather handsome, in a rugged sort of way. His thick brown hair flopped over his forehead in a cowlick. He wasn’t that tall, rather stocky, with wide shoulders that stretched his dress jacket more than the design allowed. In the soft lilt in his voice and his pronunciation of ‘Brown’ she’d heard his Welsh heritage. His olive skin and brown eyes also spoke of the distant coal fields of Wales.
    She looked him square in the face and forced herself to appear calm. “I can hear the Welsh Valleys in your speech. What is a young man like you doing this far from home?”
    “Trying to better myself, Lady Helen.”
    “And you think your path to improvement is by extortion and intimidation?” She passed him the menu, ever conscious of her manners, even to a blackmailer.
    “I hope to establish myself in London, ma’am, and when I recognised you at the opera the other night I thought you could perhaps help me with this.”
    “Which is a roundabout way of saying you saw a chance to threaten me with defamation.”
    “You don’t have to accommodate me, Lady Helen,” he cajoled in velvet Welsh tones. “A simple ‘no’ will suffice and I will leave. However, I cannot guarantee that I shan’t be forced to offer your name as a user of my services.” He smirked. “Perhaps you could then confirm my prowess with your personal recommendation.”
    “I might, if I knew on which occasions in Brighton you gave me pleasure,” she retorted.
    “All of them, Lady Helen.”
    A blush of memory rose, its heat warming her breasts before it travelled up her neck. She turned to look through the window, refusing to acknowledge that his verbal spear had penetrated, wishing Henry would finish his lunch and join them. Surely his hot pot and roast potatoes were not as important as her present discomfort.
    As if he’d heard her silent plea, Henry walked slowly towards their table. He leaned heavily on his walking stick and her heart tugged with love as she noted the pain in his face. She knew the effort it took him to look strong and erect. He sat abruptly on the third chair. Mortlock started for a second and reeled back, but on seeing the older man, relaxed. His face read like an open page. He showed no fear and she concluded he’d obviously done his homework, and recognised Henry as her husband.
    “Surprised to see me, young man?” Henry asked.
    “Yes, sir. You’re the last person I expected to join us for lunch.”
    “Then you have misjudged the situation entirely.” Henry propped his stick on the side of his chair and reached across to take her hand in his. “You see, it is I who arrange for Lady Helen to enjoy the ministrations of the Brighton establishment where you worked. And it is I who pay the expenses. You cannot pressure my wife by threatening to tell me.” Henry took a long breath.
    Mortlock’s mouth had opened, as if to speak, and his eyebrows had risen.
    Breaking the silence, Henry continued, “You have given up your work in Brighton?”
    “Yes, sir. Quite recently.”
    “I thought as much. I have a proposal to put to you that I hope will satisfy all three of us. Are you open to offers or are you set on extracting money?” Before Mortlock could answer, Henry said, “Blackmail carries a hefty jail sentence if you are prosecuted and convicted.”
    Mortlock flinched at the word ‘blackmail’ and Helen realised he hadn’t viewed his actions as being quite that serious.
    “You wouldn’t take that risk, sir.”
    “You would be advised not to try me, young man. Who are you going to get to confirm your accusations?” Henry leaned in close and spoke with soft menace, “I’m sure I could outweigh them one hundredfold with character references for my wife. When you have money, scandal can be laundered away. Remember that, because I am going to make you this offer only once.”
    Mortlock