Free Cupid's Dart by Maggie MacKeever Page A

by the steps and a string—Andrew's conversation with the young lady might be considered provocative all the same. It was not his side of the conversation that invited censure, however. Andrew merely attempted to acquaint his companion with the history of Brighton, while in low tones Sarah-Louise lamented the unfeelingness of her various relatives, and covertly searched her surroundings for a certain poetical profile. "I am very much afraid that they wish to marry me off!" she whispered, with a nervous glance at her aunt.
    Miss Inchquist didn't wish to be married? Andrew made an innocuous comment about an ancient flint dagger discovered in the chalk cliffs. Then he lowered his voice. "Surely you are too young," he said.
    This was an unfortunate response. Sarah-Louise's brown eyes filled with tears. "No, I am not! But my papa cannot approve, and so they have sent me here, and I do not know if I shall ever see Peregrine again. He is a poet, did I say? I don't know if you can understand this, but no one has ever written poetry to me before, or probably ever will again."
    Lieutenant Halliday looked startled. He must think she was a little loony. Sarah-Louise flushed. "Pray forgive me. I should not be talking to you like this. I do not know what has come over me except that I have felt so very much alone."
    Andrew could sympathize. He'd felt that way himself. Not over a poet, of course, but the principle was the same. Miss Inchquist was a good sort of girl, and he thought it a pity she shouldn't be permitted to marry whomever she pleased. Although he still wasn't convinced she was old enough to be thinking of marrying anyone. Sarah-Louise clutched his arm. "He came," she breathed. "Peregrine!"
    Andrew saw a handsome profile turned in their direction. The poet, no doubt. He lookedlike a poet, dressed in a startling array of colors, with a shockingly unstarched cravat, and dark hair tumbling dramatically over his pale brow. "Lieutenant Halliday, you must helpus," whispered Miss Inchquist. "Please."
    Much as he might wish to, Andrew could hardly refuse his companion's request, or her beseeching gaze. Since the Gorgon was eyeing them he said, "There are the remains of a Stone Age camp on the hill overlooking the racetrack. Saxons following a chief called Aella secured the hill and made it theirs. Brighton is first mentioned in the Anglo-Saxon chronicles of the seventh century as 'Beorthelm's-tun,' the town of Beorthelm."
    'Twas an innocuous enough conversation, decided Lady Denham, although she didn't know that she cared to have her niece's mind stimulated by mention of half-clad barbarians. "I have monopolized you for too long," she announced to her companion. "Go and talk to Sarah-Louise. You will find her a good biddable girl. Everything that is proper. Exactly to your taste."
    Carlisle Sutton wasn't at all interested in good biddable girls, particularly those who regarded him as if he were the greatest beast in nature. Neither was he interested in further boring conversation with his hostess, with whom he had been long acquainted, for she had been married to a distant relative, who was now happily deceased. His gaze fell upon the remaining member of the party, an elegant, lovely lady dressed in a yellow muslin gown trimmed with white ribbon. Her fair hair, which had begun the evening in a severely classical style, had partially escaped its moorings to curl around her face. She tugged at her gloves.
    Here was someone who looked as bored as Carlisle felt. He excused himself from his hostess and made his way to her side. "There is a tiny village in the Rajasthan Desert that boasts a temple dedicated to the glory and protection of rats," he remarked. "Temple devotees believe the rodents house the spirits of their ancestors, and take care not to injure them, and provide them with a sumptuous meal each day."
    Georgie blinked at her accoster, whom she already knew as Lady Denham's distant relative, recently returned from abroad. Mr.