Free Hiding from Love by Barbara Cartland Page A

were too long, the hem trailed and the material ballooned about her slender waist.
    What was she to do?
    She seized on the idea of using the red ribbon of her own dress to tie about her as a sash and she was then able to tuck the dress into this and so shorten the length.
    The gong sounded again as she quickly twisted up her hair and wound it about her head.
    Pinching her cheeks to give herself a little colour, she opened the door and stepped out into the passage.
    She almost immediately collided with the figure of a gentleman emerging from the cabin opposite.
    They both apologised and he stood aside to allow Leonora to pass.
    Feeling rather self-conscious about her unorthodox appearance, she could not meet his eye, but muttered her thanks to the top of his smart blue waistcoat.
    This done, she made to move on, only to trip almost at once on the hem of her dress.  Flustered, she stopped, feeling even more of a fool than before.
    â€œPlease go on,” she asked the gentleman.  “I must attend to my skirt.”
    â€œArthur Chandos at your service,” came the polite rejoinder.
    â€œPerhaps I could be of some assistance?”
    There was nothing for it, she had to look up.
    The face that gazed down at her was of a mien that she might have deemed to be haughty but for an expression of genuine concern.
    As she thus regarded Mr. Arthur Chandos, a strange metamorphosis came over him.
    The concern of his gaze faded, replaced by a look she could not quite fathom.
    His pupils flared as he followed the line of her lips, the outline of her soft cheek, the halo of her golden hair.
    It was as if he was devouring her every feature.
    Leonora felt most uncomfortable under this intense scrutiny and yet she could not turn her face away.
    â€œM-Mr. Chandos?” she ventured.
    At the sound of her voice he half-closed his eyes as if to dispel a tormenting image and passed his hand across his brow.
    â€œI am sorry that I seem a little distracted,” he said.  “You remind me of someone very dear.”
    To her great surprise, Leonora found herself almost jealous of this ‘someone’, whose remembered image alone was capable of arousing such fervour.
    â€˜ Will I ever inspire such passion ?’ she wondered.
    The supper gong rang again loudly.
    Mr. Chandos hesitated, obviously remembering his previous offer of assistance to Leonora.
    â€œYou may leave me, Mr. Chandos,” she said with a wry smile.  “I can manage my dress – alone.”
    He appeared almost relieved, bowed and went off down the passageway.
    Leonora could not help staring after him.  She now realised that something about his figure – something about the tone of his voice had disturbed her from the beginning.
    She felt as if they held out an echo of happier times, but why this should be so she could not say, as she most certainly had never met anyone called Mr. Chandos before.
    Suddenly she did not want to lose sight of him, so tucking the top of her skirt tightly under the sash around her waist, she hurried in his wake.
    Catching up with Mr. Chandos, she slowed to walk just a few feet behind, but he did not look back once.
    She noticed that he cut a figure of some distinction and the crew and Officers greeted him with deference as he passed and, when he reached the entrance to the salon, the Steward at the door inclined his head respectfully.
    â€˜Yet he is not a Lord or a Duke or anything like that,’ thought Leonora.  ‘He’s just a plain Mr.!’
    In the salon he made his way to the Captain’s table and she noted that the Captain rose to greet him.
    Suddenly uncertain, she looked around.
    There were three other tables in the salon other than the Captain’s.
    Where should she sit?
    A waiter approached and indicated a place for her.
    Three people were already seated at the table – one middle aged couple and a girl of about Leonora’s age, who she recognised as the girl with