Hiding from Love by Barbara Cartland Page A

tailor in Rio de Janeiro.”
    Mrs. Griddle simpered.
    â€œIndeed?  Well, they are more advanced there than we thought.”
    Mr. Chandos looked amused, but was saved from the necessity of further chat on the subject of his waistcoat by the arrival of the waiter with a pot of lobster bisque.
    As the waiter ladled out the soup, Leonora regarded Mr. Chandos from under lowered brows.
    His features in repose indicated a man of authority, a man used to giving orders.  And he really was very very handsome.  His jaw was firm, his lips finely wrought, his nose supremely aristocratic, whilst his brow –
    Leonora broke away from this train of thought in horror as she saw that he was looking directly at her.  He must have sensed her eager scrutiny!
    Her colour heightened and she was relieved that the waiter’s arm now interposed between herself and the object of her admiration.
    â€œSoup, madam?” asked the waiter.
    â€œThank you, yes.  Just a little.”
    She stared down as the liquid flowed into her bowl.  She shook out her napkin and at last dared to sneak another glance at the intriguing Mr. Chandos.
    He was no longer looking her way.  Spoon in hand, his head was inclined towards Desirée, who was speaking with a degree of animation that Leonora would never have suspected her to possess!
    Mr. Chandos listened intently to Desirée’s chatter, only now and then interposing a rejoinder.
    Leonora could see that Mrs. Griddle was acutely aware of this tête à tête .
    â€œWhy are you scowling?” came Señor de Guarda’s voice at Leonora’s ear.
    â€œWas I?”
    â€œYes.  To see your pretty lips turned down – ugh!”
    â€œWell, you must desist from looking at me then!”
    Leonora spoke in a louder voice than she intended and there was an immediate pause around the table.
    With an attempt at nonchalance, she reached to take a bread roll from the breadbasket.  Seeing eyes turn and follow her movement disbelievingly, she looked down.
    Her sleeve – too wide for her wrist by a good inch or two – was dangling in her soup.
    â€œOh,” she whimpered in despair, trying not to note what she took to be Mr. Chandos’s dry amusement.
    Señor de Guarda beckoned the waiter over and took the white cloth from his arm and then proceeded to dab at Leonora’s damp sleeve.
    She looked at him for a moment and then raised her eyes towards Mr. Chandos, who was regarding the Señor’s hand on her wrist with a frown.
    His gaze then travelled up to Leonora’s face.  She drew in her breath as she saw again that same fevered glow in his eyes, that same devouring hunger.
    Then it was gone and he looked away.
    Mrs. Griddle shook her head across the table.
    â€œI am so amazed, Miss Cressy, that your mother let you travel without attending first to your wardrobe.”
    â€œ Mama !” chided Desirée.
    Leonora blushed.
    â€œMy m-mother was not in a position to – attend to my needs,” she tried to explain, “and I decided quite on the spur of the moment to – sail to Brazil.”
    Mrs. Griddle’s brows furrowed inquisitively together and she gave a wag of her finger.
    â€œYoung lady – why am I now getting the distinct impression that you are some sort of runaway ?”
    â€œBullseye, eh, Miss Cressy?” whispered Señor de Guarda.
    Leonora tried to ignore him.
    â€œI am not – running away from my mother, at any rate,” she emphasised truthfully.
    She wanted to add that anyway none of it was Mrs. Griddle’s business, but she managed to bite her tongue.
    She was after all travelling alone and without the permission of her parents and thus she needed to keep such busybodies as Mrs. Griddle on her side if she could.
    â€œYou are not a runaway from school?” interposed Mr. Griddle unexpectedly.
    â€œOh, I should never have wished to do that,” cried Leonora with some