The Viscount's Veiled Lady (Whitby Weddings 3)

‘True, but you—’

‘Arthur!’

A cheerful-sounding voice interrupted them, closely followed by its owner. Frances twisted her head away from her infuriating companion and gasped at the sight of his twin brother. With his neat, shoulder-length hair and smartly dressed appearance, Lance Amberton looked almost exactly the way she remembered Arthur, more like him than he was. The effect was so confusing that it rendered her momentarily speechless.

‘I was starting to wonder where you’d got to.’ If he’d witnessed them arguing, he gave no sign of it. ‘But I see you’ve brought an extra guest for dinner, Arthur. A masked woman, no less.’

His mouth spread into a wicked-looking grin and it was immediately obvious who was who again. The old Arthur had never smiled like that and the new Arthur didn’t appear capable of it. As far as Frances could tell, he didn’t smile at all.

Still, she couldn’t help but feel glad of his familiar presence beside her. She’d never met the notorious Lancelot Amberton before, but even as a girl she’d heard rumours about his wild behaviour, especially where women were concerned. She remembered Lydia being warned in no uncertain terms to stay away from him, though it was hard to believe anything particularly shocking of the eminently respectable-looking gentleman bowing in front of her.

‘Captain Lance Amberton.’ Arthur’s voice seemed to hold a note of warning as he introduced them. ‘Allow me to present Miss Webster.’

‘Webster?’

‘Miss Frances Webster.’

‘Ah.’ A fleeting look of horror turned into one of unmistakable relief. ‘Then I’m honoured to make your acquaintance, Miss Webster. I’m sure that my wife will be delighted, too, only she’s napping at the moment and I’d prefer not to wake her until she’s ready. It won’t be long, I’m sure.’

‘My sister-in-law is expecting her first child in the autumn,’ Arthur explained, ‘and it’s turned my recalcitrant brother into a mother hen.’

‘Mother hen?’ Lance shook his head as if he were genuinely aggrieved. ‘If you’re implying that I love my wife, then you’re absolutely right, I do, and I refuse to apologise for it.’ He extended his arm with a flourish. ‘Now please allow me to escort you inside, Miss Webster. I believe I’d much rather talk with you than with this heartless brute.’

‘She can’t walk.’ Arthur’s voice cut across him.

‘I can limp,’ Frances protested.

‘You shouldn’t put any weight on your ankle.’

‘It’s not th—’

She’d barely started the sentence before he lifted her up again, ignoring her spluttered protests as he carried her across the courtyard and over the threshold of the castle, much to his brother’s obvious amusement.

‘I twisted my ankle,’ she explained, profoundly glad of the veil hiding her flaming cheeks as they entered a large, oak-panelled and high-ceilinged hallway.

‘Well, that explains it.’ Lance followed behind them. He held a cane and walked with a slight limp, too, she noticed. ‘I’m no stranger to injured limbs myself, Miss Webster, though I’ve never seen my brother behave so gallantly before.’

‘I’m just being practical.’ A

rthur sounded gruff.

‘I still don’t need to be carried around like some damsel in distress.’ She glared at him through her veil. ‘Once is bad enough. Twice in one day is insulting. I could have managed perfectly well on my own.’

‘In your opinion.’

‘It’s best not to argue with him once he gets an idea in his head,’ Lance interceded. ‘He’s the most stubborn man you’re ever likely to meet. These days anyway.’

‘I’d still prefer to stand on my own two feet, injured or otherwise.’

‘As you wish.’ Arthur deposited her firmly, but unceremoniously, on the floor. ‘Is that better?’

‘Much.’

‘Miss Webster.’ Lance gave them both a distinctly penetrating look. ‘Might I take your accoutrement? Our staff all appear to be hiding.’

‘Yes, thank you.’

She started to unfasten her cloak and then felt another pair of hands take over, gently peeling away the folds and then lifting the garment from her shoulders. She half-twisted her head and felt her blush deepen. Arthur appeared to be utterly engrossed in the task, yet equally determined not to look at her.