drinking. She concluded he had meant to emphasise that it was he who now held hire-and-fire power over her. As if she needed 'reminding!
'However, it's still in the glass, and I'm still as sober as you are,' he went on, reaching for the dark green waterproof coat which his brother had worn for flyfishing, and taking a flat brown tweed cap from the peg above it.
It was the kind of cap worn for country pursuits by landowners all over England. It fitted his head well enough, but somehow it didn't suit his face. It went with a ruddy complexion, not a sub-tropical tan; with eyes of blue, grey or brown, but not with tawny gold irises; with an Anglo-Saxon physiognomy, not the sharply carved features of his face.
He was the last of a line which could be traced back to the early fifteenth century. Yet when he had shrugged on the coat and put on the peaked tweed cap, he looked extraordinarily un-English. He looked what he had become; a tall, tough, decisive American who liked to give orders and have them obeyed, not defied.
'And you needn't feel you're being a nuisance,' he went on. 'As anyone who knows me will tell you, being the son of a peeress doesn't make me one of Nature's gentlemen. I do things for my convenience; rarely for anyone else's. It would upset my plans for you to be knocked down tonight, and also I want to discuss them with you.'
She hadn't seen the car he had hired, but she thought it unlikely it would be a large estate car with room for her bicycle in the back.
She said, 'What about my bike? I shall need it tomorrow.'
'If it's fine, you can walk for a change. If not, we'll send someone to fetch you. Don't stand there arguing, Miss Roberts. Get that cape on and let's get started.'
Fuming, she did as he told her. A few minutes later she was in the leather-scented interior of a Jaguar, and he was dashing round to the driver's side of the limousine.
Summer couldn't afford to buy a car, even a secondhand model, but since her aunt's death she had learned to drive. There was a driving instructor living in the village—he worked in the nearest town, but he lived not far from her cottage. He had a daughter who had sat for her 'O' level examinations the previous summer, and some weeks before the exams, he had asked Summer if she would give the girl some private coaching in the evenings. She had agreed, if he would teach her to drive. Somewhat to her surprise, she had passed the test the first time and could now hire a car if ever she needed one.
The Jaguar had an automatic gear change, she noticed. So had the car which her father had driven. But as most of the less expensive cars on the road in England had a manual gear change, she had learnt to drive on one of those.
'What are the plans you mentioned?' she asked coldly, as the car glided forward.
'I'll go into that in a moment. First you tell me something. Why do you want to get home early tonight? Are you going out?'
She didn't have a reason ready, nor could she improvise one.
'That was a lie, wasn't it?' he accused her. 'Like the one about Renfrew disapproving of more than a few books being removed from the library. It was obvious to me that Emily had never heard of that embargo—you invented it. It was an excuse to get you out of the schoolroom.'
When she said nothing, he continued, 'Don't ever try lying to me again, Miss Roberts. I dislike attempts to bamboozle me. If the reason you didn't want a lift was because you thought a double whisky might top up my alcohol level to the point of making me unsafe behind a wheel, you should have said so, point-blank. I never prevaricate myself, and I don't like people who do.'
Again there seemed nothing she could say, unless he expected her to apologise. If he did, he would have a long wait.
'Why are you nervous about drinking and driving? Is that how you lost your parents?—in an accident with a tanked-up driver?'
'No, they were drowned in a sailing accident—a freak squall hit them. They were both keen,
'However, it's still in the glass, and I'm still as sober as you are,' he went on, reaching for the dark green waterproof coat which his brother had worn for flyfishing, and taking a flat brown tweed cap from the peg above it.
It was the kind of cap worn for country pursuits by landowners all over England. It fitted his head well enough, but somehow it didn't suit his face. It went with a ruddy complexion, not a sub-tropical tan; with eyes of blue, grey or brown, but not with tawny gold irises; with an Anglo-Saxon physiognomy, not the sharply carved features of his face.
He was the last of a line which could be traced back to the early fifteenth century. Yet when he had shrugged on the coat and put on the peaked tweed cap, he looked extraordinarily un-English. He looked what he had become; a tall, tough, decisive American who liked to give orders and have them obeyed, not defied.
'And you needn't feel you're being a nuisance,' he went on. 'As anyone who knows me will tell you, being the son of a peeress doesn't make me one of Nature's gentlemen. I do things for my convenience; rarely for anyone else's. It would upset my plans for you to be knocked down tonight, and also I want to discuss them with you.'
She hadn't seen the car he had hired, but she thought it unlikely it would be a large estate car with room for her bicycle in the back.
She said, 'What about my bike? I shall need it tomorrow.'
'If it's fine, you can walk for a change. If not, we'll send someone to fetch you. Don't stand there arguing, Miss Roberts. Get that cape on and let's get started.'
Fuming, she did as he told her. A few minutes later she was in the leather-scented interior of a Jaguar, and he was dashing round to the driver's side of the limousine.
Summer couldn't afford to buy a car, even a secondhand model, but since her aunt's death she had learned to drive. There was a driving instructor living in the village—he worked in the nearest town, but he lived not far from her cottage. He had a daughter who had sat for her 'O' level examinations the previous summer, and some weeks before the exams, he had asked Summer if she would give the girl some private coaching in the evenings. She had agreed, if he would teach her to drive. Somewhat to her surprise, she had passed the test the first time and could now hire a car if ever she needed one.
The Jaguar had an automatic gear change, she noticed. So had the car which her father had driven. But as most of the less expensive cars on the road in England had a manual gear change, she had learnt to drive on one of those.
'What are the plans you mentioned?' she asked coldly, as the car glided forward.
'I'll go into that in a moment. First you tell me something. Why do you want to get home early tonight? Are you going out?'
She didn't have a reason ready, nor could she improvise one.
'That was a lie, wasn't it?' he accused her. 'Like the one about Renfrew disapproving of more than a few books being removed from the library. It was obvious to me that Emily had never heard of that embargo—you invented it. It was an excuse to get you out of the schoolroom.'
When she said nothing, he continued, 'Don't ever try lying to me again, Miss Roberts. I dislike attempts to bamboozle me. If the reason you didn't want a lift was because you thought a double whisky might top up my alcohol level to the point of making me unsafe behind a wheel, you should have said so, point-blank. I never prevaricate myself, and I don't like people who do.'
Again there seemed nothing she could say, unless he expected her to apologise. If he did, he would have a long wait.
'Why are you nervous about drinking and driving? Is that how you lost your parents?—in an accident with a tanked-up driver?'
'No, they were drowned in a sailing accident—a freak squall hit them. They were both keen,
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