Free Man of Destiny by Rose Burghley

quinta in a matter of days. He has a particular desire to see Richard for himself, and between us we will decide whit his future is to be. Have no fear,” as she looked suddenly almost alarmed, “that he will send you about your business as hurriedly and inadvisedly as I did,” very drily, “or attempted to do! The Marques de Fonteira is, above all things, a reasonable man, and I have already given him a report of you that should incline him to look upon your retention with favour!”
    “Thank you, senhor ,” she heard the words escape her in surprise.
    He smiled in a way that, she realised, had a great deal of curious c harm—for a woman. Although there was something about it that was still distinctly hard, and aloof.
    “Don’t thank me, senhorita. As you once told me, it was my fault that Richard ran away.”
    She blushed with a kind of mixed horror and confusion.
    “Oh, but I didn’t really mean it, senhor. You must realise that I was upset...”
    “And if I’d had my way you would now be back in England.” He studied her with an interest and a curiosity that caused the flush to bu rn more deeply in her cheeks, especially as his dark eyes were gazing at her quizzically. “Tell me, senhorita, had you no desire to return to your own country ? Has it so little appeal for you ? ”
    She answered with complete truth.
    “It is my country, and I love it, but I have few friends and hardly any relatives there now.”
    “ Your parents?”
    “Are both dead.”
    “I’m sorry,” he said softly, and his eyes were suddenly all softness, too. “I had no idea you were an orphan. In fact I knew very little about you.” And wanted to know less, she thought.
    But he contradicted her.
    “The Marques de Fonteira would like to know quite a lot about you, Miss Worth. I’m afraid you will have to answer quite a number of questions when he is here. In the meantime perhaps you will give me a little information concerning yourself that I can pass on to him.”
    “Information about what?” she asked, instantly so plainly on the defensive that it amused him.
    He spread his hands in a typical, Portuguese gesture.
    “Information as to your future plans, senhorita. You may be planning to marry. Young Englishwomen marry without making very many plans, I am aware, but still it is an important step,” with an extremely cynical expression, “even for an Englishwoman.. Is there someone whom you are planning to marry, Miss Worth?”
    “There is no one,” she answered and the indignation in her voice caused his lips to twitch, although he also looked surprised. “No one at all. But even if there was,” she added, with growing indignation, “I fail to understand how it could concern the Marques.”
    He spread his hands again, almost indolently. “There is a simple explanation to that. A young woman who was planning to marry would be unlikely to settle down for a year or so.”
    “Then—” her heart giving an eager bound—“there is some possibility that he may wish me to stay for—a year or so?”
    “There is a possibility, yes,” Dom Vasco admitted. He sat looking at her with an inscrutable smile on his lips, an utterly unreadable expression in his eyes.
    “Does that prospect afford you any pleasure?” he enquired. “Or does it simply appal l you ? ”
    “Why, no ... no , of course not! I mean,” she explained herself, “I would be happy to stay here if— if it was thought necessary, and Richard needed me— ”
    “Then the fact that you have been bored for the past few days doesn’t mean you are bored with Portugal?”
    “Oh, no, no, no!” she exclaimed with emphasis, as if it was important to convince him of this. “And it is quite untrue to say that I have been bored for the past few days. It was simply that we seemed to be wasting time, and Richard could easily become bored with nothing to do. He is a child, and children need variety and something practical to occupy their minds. But as to becoming bored