Free Love is Triumphant by Barbara Cartland Page B

protected her reputation by removing all trace of you."
    For a moment his face showed his relief, but the next moment she snatched it back from him again, saying,
    "You will never get those letters back, Mr. Woodward, or your picture, or the gifts you gave her, or the lock of your hair."
    "Oh heavens! Miss Clarendon – "
    "I trust I make myself clear."
    He began to burble.
    "You don't understand. I meant no harm. It was a wild infatuation but she misunderstood. She thought I meant more than I did."
    "Don't force me to quote your own words to you again."
    "I meant no harm," he repeated. "It was all a misunderstanding. I have my way to make in the world, and I'm ambitious, which surely is not a crime? You think badly of me, but I know I have it in me to be a great man, and be of service to this country, if only I can make a start."
    He was talking very fast, almost falling over his words in an attempt to make her see matters his way. Rosina listened with contempt.
    "And you intend to 'make a start' with my friend, Lady Doreen?" she asked sweetly. "I don't think that's a very good idea."
    Suddenly his face became hard and cruel.
    "Miss Clarendon, if you're planning to thwart me, let me advise you against it. I have made my plans, and I will not be deterred now."
    "Are you threatening me?" she asked lightly. "How very foolish of you. I am not Miss Draycott, all alone in the world."
    He realised he had erred and back-tracked hastily.
    "You misunderstand me – I only meant to say that my intentions are good, and the country will benefit if I am allowed to serve as I mean to and – and – Miss Clarendon, I will do anything if only you will return my letters."
    "But I will not return them."
    "You must." He said frantically.
    In his agitation he raised his voice, causing several heads to turn in their direction.
    "The dance is ending," she said. "It's been such a pleasure talking to you Mr. Woodward."
    "But – "
    "Miss Clarendon," said a welcome voice.
    It was Sir John, appearing by her side, ignoring Arthur Woodward.
    "I believe the next dance is mine," he said, opening his arms.
    "So it is," she said, going into them and whirling away from Arthur Woodward, who was left glowering.
    "Why was Woodward becoming so agitated?" he asked. "What is it that you must do – marry him?"
    "Certainly not."
    "Then what were you talking about?"
    "That does not concern you," she said loftily. "Suppose I asked you what you talk about with Miss Holden?"
    "Chiefly about her father's money," he said calmly.
    "What?"
    "She introduces the topic in every conversation. I think I must know what every one of her diamonds is worth, plus all the other jewels that she could have worn but didn't."
    "How vulgar!"
    "But you're the one who pushed me into her arms," he said innocently. "And I must say, I'm very grateful to you."
    She glowered at him but he continued, unperturbed.
    "After all, a man has his way to make, and in that respect Mr. Woodward is an example to us all."
    "What do you mean?"
    "Look at him."
    Following his gaze she saw what he meant. Arthur Woodward was talking to the Prime Minister, his head inclined at an intent angle as though he lived only to drink in the great man's words.
    "But Mr. Disraeli is a Conservative," Rosina protested. "We're trying to drive him out of power."
    "Obviously Mr. Woodward is protecting himself from both sides," Sir John said blandly.
    "You don't mean that he – surely not?"
    "Why not? His position is precarious. The party hasn't even nominated him for South Gradley yet. And if they do, who's to say he'll win it? It's a new constituency, and could go either way. I can't make myself like Woodward. I think he'll do anything, even making up to you because of your father. Don't listen to him."
    "He's not making up to me."
    "Are you sure?"
    "Quite sure?"
    He gave her a strange look, then asked quietly,
    "Is it him?"
    "What do you mean?"
    "Is he the man Miss Draycott loved? He is, isn't he?"
    She shrugged.
    "And you