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laugh. ‘Oh dear me, no. How unladylike that would be.’
    She noted with satisfaction that his hand on her rein tightened, and the little mare side-stepped nervously.
    ‘What has happened to you, Carlotta? At Malberry you were…different.’
    He was watching her intently. Carlotta knew she would have to look at him, but she would die rather than show him her true feelings. He was a rake, everyone told her so. He had been her first love—her only love—and he had broken her fragile young heart. But that was what rakes did; he could not change his nature. It had taken her months to rebuild her life—only the knowledge of how dear she was to her parents and to her aunt and uncle had given her the will to carry on. She could not let him hurt her again. She raised her chin and fixed him with cold, indifferent eyes.
    ‘At Malberry, my lord, I was a child, ignorant of the world. I thought fortune was not important. Now I know better.’
    She forced herself not to look away, praying that he would not see past her icy, supercilious stare to the raw pain in her heart. For a long, treacherous moment he held her eyes; not by the flicker of an eyelid did she betray the anguish that was ripping her apart. She watched as hispuzzlement turned to contempt. She had not thought she could feel any more miserable, but the disdain she now read in his eyes was almost unbearable. Almost.
    He released her bridle and gathered up his own reins, saying curtly, ‘Then I shall leave you to your fortune-hunting, Miss Rivington. Good day to you.’
     

    Luke dug his heels into the bay’s sides and cantered away, ignoring the stares and frowns of those who considered it unseemly to move at more than a snail’s pace. Damn the chit. When he had first seen her at Malberry he had intended nothing more than a little flirtation to pass the time. By heaven, the girl had given him his own again! He scowled; it was his own fault, for he had told her of his financial problems. They had been sitting on the lawns at Malberry on one of those hot, sunny afternoons when he had persuaded her to come down from her high perch for a little while. He had been curious to know why her father was so anxious to have the frescoes finished.
     

    ‘It is most important that my father fulfils his obligations, you see,’ said Carlotta, stretching out on the grass and putting her hands behind her head. He tried not to stare at the way her paint-stained shirt settled over the gentle curves of her breast. ‘He must be paid on time.’
    ‘And why is that?’
    ‘Because there are bills outstanding, expenses to be met…As a gentleman, perhaps you would not understand.’
    He grinned at that. ‘I understand only too well about debts; I have an abundance of them.’
    Carlotta wrinkled her brow. ‘It must be very unpleasant to be under such an obligation, I think.’
    ‘But it is unavoidable,’ he said lightly. ‘Any gentleman living in town will tell you that his expenses are very high. There’s one’s house and stable to be maintained, not to mention one’s tailor.’
    ‘But surely you could cut back, economise…’ She bit her lip. ‘I can see that I have made you angry, I beg your pardon. The way you live is none of my business.’
    ‘No.’ He had not meant to sound so cold and he saw the sudden, anxious look Carlotta threw at him. When she did not speak, he said gently, ‘What, Mistress Durini? Have you no riposte for me?’ She shook her head, and looked surprised when he laughed. ‘At last I have found a woman who does not want the last word!’
    Carlotta sat up. She said angrily, ‘I think you are making May-game of me, sir.’
    ‘No, no, pray, Miss Durini, forgive my incivility. I was jesting when I talked of the expense of town life; I have only recently returned from Paris and I have no town house to maintain—and to the best of my knowledge neither do I owe my tailor a penny. The debts I do have relate to my estate, and I plan to address that