Читать книгу Regency: Innocents & Intrigues: Marrying Miss Monkton / Beauty in Breeches - Хелен Диксон, Хелен Диксон, Helen Dickson - Страница 7

‘There is something you wish to ask about the journey?’ Charles asked.

‘No, not that. It is about Colonel Winston. Why do you dislike him so much?’

Charles’s face hardened and the perfectly amicable expression in his eyes disappeared. ‘My dislike is neither here nor there. I am not concerned about Colonel Winston. Can you not at least show some gratitude towards the people who are trying to help you?’

Maria raised her head. ‘Yes, of course I am grateful, and it was ill mannered of me not to show it. I apologise, but please do not abuse Colonel Winston to me.’

‘I will not abuse him to you and nor will I offend your ears with matters that are beyond your comprehension, but I strongly urge you not to marry him.’

Maria’s eyes were suddenly bright with anger. ‘You say this to me. You, a perfect stranger.’ She saw the sudden anger flare in his eyes. Her chin lifted haughtily and she favoured him with a glance of biting contempt. ‘My father was a good judge of character and thought well of him. He would never have agreed to the betrothal if he was not of good character.’

‘And you, Miss Monkton? How well do you know your betrothed?’

‘I have got to know him through his letters.’

‘That is hardly the same.’

‘It is good enough for me.’

Charles sighed, turning away. ‘Who can claim to know what moves a woman’s heart? At all events,’ he went on in a harder voice, looking back at her, ‘your betrothed is not a fit person to wed a decently bred girl, but it is none of my business, of course. I have said my piece. I can do no more just now.’

He saw the lovely face turn white with anger, and he knew a fraction of a second before she raised her hand what she intended. His own hand shot up and he caught her wrist before she could deal the blow to his cheek. She gasped at the quickness of his reaction and to her fury he unexpectedly laughed.

‘I see I have misjudged you. Perhaps you will be a good match for Colonel Winston after all.’ Releasing her wrist, he turned on his heel and proceeded to walk away.

Maria watched him go, the bright colour flaming up in her cheeks. ‘One more thing, sir,’ she said to his retreating back. ‘I heard what you said to my aunt about me cherishing a romantic and childish attachment for Colonel Winston. How dare you presume to know that?’

Charles’s jaw tightened, his humour of a moment before gone. So this girl thought she could impose on him with her queenly airs. Furious with himself, more than with her, he took refuge in anger. ‘So much the worse for you,’ he said grimly. ‘I will not mention it again. I will escort you to England and Colonel Winston, but I will not go so far as to wish you joy in your union.’

Coldly furious, Charles had no intention of exerting himself further in this matter just now. Having seen much service with the army in India and returning to England on the death of his father, when a prominent member of the Whig opposition found him about to travel to France on his mother’s bequest to see how her relatives fared during these troubled times, he had asked him to secretly collect and report information on the events in Paris. Happy to oblige an old friend, Charles had agreed.

With this and other things on his mind, he’d had little time to think about the problem of Colonel Winston’s bride. Having fulfilled his commitments, travelling miles out of his way to Alsace to collect Miss Monkton, he had done what he thought was right by informing her guardian of certain aspects of Colonel Winston’s character. As far as he was concerned he had discharged this office and his conscience was clear. But he was encouraged, for, despite her youth, Miss Monkton clearly possessed both character and courage, and was quite capable of breaking off the engagement at the last minute if necessary.

Maria arrived at the inn at first light. She rode her favourite horse, her intention being to leave it at the inn where a groom would collect it later. She was dismounting when she caught sight of the dark forbidding figure striding towards her with the silent sureness of a wolf. This morning he seemed even taller, lean and superbly fit. In fact, if it were not for the arrogant authority stamped in his firm jawline and the cynicism in his cold eyes, Maria would have thought him breathtakingly handsome.

Looking her up at down and satisfied that she would not attract any untoward attention in her plain black woollen dress, which she had obtained from her maid with another carefully packed with other items necessary for such a long journey in her valise, he said brusquely, ‘Come. It is time.’

Their departure occasioned no remark. Once in the inn yard, they were caught up in a fierce gust of wind that blew rain into their faces. Maria breathed in deeply with a sudden exhilaration. The wind smacked of freedom, of England and home, and suddenly she discovered a new meaning to her flight.

Her initial thought when Charles Osbourne had told her of his plans had been undoubtedly to go home, but now as she felt the wind on her face it came to her suddenly that there was a fierce joy in severing all ties with Chateau Feroc and France. Impulsively she threw back her head and laughed, as if she were offering herself up to be carried away by it.

Her effervescent laughter caused Charles to look at her in fascination and curiosity. ‘I imagined you would be apprehensive about the journey. It will be a hard flight.’

‘I don’t care,’ she said, still laughing. ‘I love the wind. And besides, I am happy. I am going home, which is what I have dreamed about for so long.’

The rigid lines of Charles’s face relaxed. ‘I know. Come—wife.’

His eyes twinkled somewhat wickedly in the grey morning light. Maria looked at him sharply. ‘Only for the duration of the journey to Calais,’ she quipped, quick to resent his easy dismissal of her grudge against him. And yet despite her attempt to remain cool and detached, her heart beat out an uncontrollable rhythm of excitement.

‘I hope you don’t harbour an aversion to being alone with me for such a lengthy period,’ he said, taking her hand to assist her into the coach.

‘Why should I?’ Maria enquired quizzically, pausing with her foot on the step to look at him. ‘Unless, of course, you are a rogue at heart.’

‘I may well be,’ Charles acknowledged, lifting to his lips the slender fingers of his assumed wife, letting his warm, moist mouth linger on her knuckles in a slow, sensual caress.

Maria became aware of a strange quivering in the pit of her body and realised her breath was being snatched inwards when his lips came into contact with her skin. Sliding her hand from his, she lifted her skirts to step aboard and immediately felt her companion’s hand beneath her elbow aiding her ascent. She settled herself on the seat while striving to control her composure.

His eyes danced teasingly up into hers, his lips curved into a smile. ‘You could be in danger. You are by far the most enticing female I have seen in a long time.’

As Maria listened to the warm and mellow tone of his voice, and her gaze lit upon that handsomely chiselled visage, her eyes were drawn into the snare, and for a moment she found herself susceptible to the appeal of that wondrous smile. She glanced at him reflectively, wondering if she should read anything into his statement, and raised her brows meaningfully.

‘Perhaps I should warn you that if warranted, I am not above defending myself.’

Charles had the feeling that what she said was true—and her intended slap the day before proved that. He laughed to ease her fears, while his glowing eyes delved into hers. ‘I am sure you could do so admirably, so be confident of my good intentions. I shall take care to treat you as I would a wife—with the utmost respect.’

Maria cast an apprehensive eye toward him as he climbed in, but much to her relief, he settled across from her. As he caught her gaze, he grinned.

‘I fear the nearness of you would completely destroy my good intentions. It is safer if I sit here.’

Maria relaxed back in the seat. She could only hope that his restraint would continue and her resistance would not be tested.

The carriage was discreet, with no outward signs of wealth beyond a pair of post horses. The driver, Pierre Lamont, who knew them by their assumed names and had been paid an enormous amount of money to drive them to Calais, clicked his tongue as the whip curved gracefully through the air and the conveyance lurched into motion. When they had passed from the cobbled inn yard, the long journey back to Gravely had begun.

Maria had left Chateau Feroc without regret. However, despite the cold reserve with which her aunt and Constance had always treated her, she did feel a slight pang of remorse. Even at the last minute her aunt had refused to give way to sentiment and embrace her, but Maria was surprised to see how much distress Constance displayed.

Constance did embrace her, her eyes in her white face wide and full of tears. Maria felt her tremble as she clung to her. It was only then that she realised how afraid her cousin was of remaining at the chateau and that she secretly wished she was leaving for England with Maria.

In that one brief moment Maria saw Constance not as the self-obsessed cousin, whose sole interest lay in her pretty face and her ability to attract the sons of the nobility as well-to-do as themselves, but as a young girl frightened for her life. Maria had held her, surprised to feel her own throat constrict with pain and tears brimming in her eyes.

‘I wish I was going with you,’ Constance had whispered earnestly, ‘but Mama won’t hear of it.’

‘Then defy your mother, Constance.’

‘I cannot. I could not go unless she came too.’

‘I wish you were coming with me,’ Maria had replied with heartfelt understanding. ‘If you can persuade her and you manage to get out of France, you must come to me at Gravely. Do you promise?’

With tears running down her cheeks, Constance had clung fiercely to Maria for a moment longer, and then, tearing herself free, she fled into the house.

Maria had turned away, too afraid to think of her cousin’s fate.

As the driver urged the horses into a faster pace, Maria braced herself against the sway of the carriage. Glancing across at her companion, she was suddenly reminded that she was going to be completely alone with a man for the first time in her life, a man who was as handsome of face as he was of physique—and with a boldness that gave her a sense of unease.

She knew nothing about him, and what, she asked herself, was he doing in France at this present time? She could not exactly understand what she was doing with him and why this stranger should have interested himself in her affairs to the extent of coming halfway across France to find her. Had he some ulterior motive? He might even be a spy—British or French, she had no way of knowing, since she knew nothing about spying.

During the journey perhaps she could turn the conversation to draw him out, to get him to talk about himself. In some strange way he both attracted and intrigued her. She looked into his light blue eyes and the expression there made her heart trip and beat a little faster. His long compassionate mouth curled in a slight smile.

‘We have a long way to go,’ he said, when they were settled, ‘so don’t make this harder on yourself than it need be. You’re stuck with me for a few days so you may as well accept it. Shall we declare a truce for the duration of the journey?’

‘Yes, I think we must,’ she concurred.

‘We shall also forgo formality and use our given names. It is for the best, you understand.’

‘Of course,’ she replied, removing her bonnet and dropping it on the seat beside her.

‘I’m sorry the Countess and her daughter would not come with us.’

Maria felt a small tremor of misgiving. ‘You fear the chateau will be attacked?’

He nodded gravely. ‘It is only a matter of time. Your aunt is a stubborn woman.’

‘Yes, yes, she is. I sincerely hope they come to no harm.’ Maria stared out of the window at the passing scenery. It was all familiar, but soon they would pass into fresh territory that was alien to her. In the grey light it looked dismal. ‘I hate France,’ she said in a small voice, her expression subdued.

‘I sense you were not happy at Chateau Feroc?’

‘I do not mean to sound ungrateful or uncharitable but, indeed, I could not wait to leave. It is a cold, joyless place with no laughter.’

‘And you like to laugh, do you?’

‘Yes, although I have been at the chateau so long I fear I might have forgotten how to.’ Inexplicably the laughter rekindled in her eyes and she laughed again, just for the sheer joy of laughing, and when she looked into her companion’s eyes, she experienced a sudden relief of tension.

Charles smiled a little crookedly, thinking her courageous and fresh and very lovely. Despite her youth and inexperience she was no vapourish miss who would swoon at the first hurdle. ‘You should laugh more often,’ he murmured softly. ‘It suits you.’

She sighed. ‘There is nothing to feel happy about in France just now. What will happen, do you think? You have been to Paris?’ He nodded. ‘Was it very bad?’

‘I saw much blood shed by the mob. I have had to ask myself, where has the dignity, the self-control, the resolution gone in the France of today? But the people have their grievances—it would seem with some justification. The rise in prices and rents, as well as the taxes they have to pay, are increasingly burdensome. It is only right and natural that they want change.

‘I agree absolutely and the demands of the people must be listened to and acted on. Privilege must be abolished, and all men should be taxed equally, according to their wealth.’

Maria looked at him with interest. ‘Anything else?’

‘These and a hundred others.’

‘You speak like a politician. Is that what you are?’

A cynical smile curved his lips. ‘No.’

‘Then what do you do?’

‘Do I have to do anything?’

‘I suspect you are not the sort of man who would be content to idle his days away doing nothing.’ She looked out of the window. ‘You have to do something.’

‘I dabble.’

‘In what?’

He shrugged nonchalantly. ‘This and that.’

She took her eyes off the passing scenery and regarded him intently. ‘You mean you’re a businessman?’

He grinned. ‘You might say that.’

‘And is your business respectable?’

Her question brought a humorous gleam to his eyes, and a tantalising smile played on his lips. ‘Perfectly respectable,’ he declared, ‘but if I were to tell you more of what I do, we will have nothing to talk about, and we have a long way to go.’

‘You may not consider the question important, but it is to me. My life is very important to me. Since I have entrusted it to someone I know nothing about, it is perfectly natural that I want to know everything there is to know about you.’

He stared at her, one black brow raised interrogatively. There was a direct challenge in his eyes, which she found most disturbing.

‘Everything?’ he enquired silkily, and Maria could sense the sleeping animal within him begin to stir.

Her thoughts were thrown into chaos, for she had not expected such an uncompromising response to her hasty remark. She glanced away, trying to regain her composure, and then looked up to meet his eyes.

‘I do not wish to offend you, but I do not know you, so how do I know I can trust you?’

‘What exactly do you fear?’ he asked. ‘That I am not equal to the task of escorting you to England?’

‘I am naturally apprehensive. If you were in my place, wouldn’t you want some indication of your good faith? Since when did businessmen risk their lives by coming to a country torn by strife?’

‘When they have family they are concerned about.’

She looked at him with interest, her green eyes wide and questioning, her lips parted slightly in surprise. ‘Your family live in France?’

‘In the south—the Côte d’Azure. My mother is French.’

‘I see. So that explains why you speak French like a native. I did wonder. Did you manage to see your family?’

‘Yes.’

‘And are they all right?’

‘When I left them they were in perfect health.’ His eyes darkened. ‘Whether they will remain so remains to be seen.’

‘Why? What are you afraid of?’

‘They are connected to the nobility. That connection could well bring about their death—and my own. Anyone found assisting suspected royalists will be ruthlessly condemned. The life of a noble is not worth a candle in France. I believe that every noble family and many of the richer bourgeois will suffer unless they flee the country.’

‘And your mother?’

‘She is safe in England, thank God.’

‘Do you have siblings living in France?’

He shook his head. ‘I have two sisters, both of them happily married in England.’

‘And—do you have a wife waiting for you in England?’

He laughed easily and dusted the knee of his breeches. ‘No. And were you always so inquisitive about others, or is it just me?’

She smiled and gave him a coy look. ‘I’m sorry. I suppose it must seem like that to you. It’s just that it’s so long since I talked to another English person, apart from my aunt and Constance, that I forget my manners.’

Charles thought that Maria Monkton had a truly breathtaking smile. It glowed in her eyes and lit up her entire face, transforming what was already a pretty face into one that was captivating. He was intrigued, but he did not let it show in his face, for as much as he would like to taste and relish at first hand what was before his eyes, to throw caution to the four winds and dally to his heart’s content, he had to consider at what cost he’d be doing so.

‘Please don’t apologise. I am not offended.’ His chuckle sounded low and deep. ‘Our journey to England will be long and arduous, but I can see that with you I will never be bored.’

She met his eyes. ‘Like you said, we have a long way to go. Things change. Must we speak French all the time?’

‘Yes. The less attention we attract to ourselves the safer it will be. When we are within earshot of the driver if we address each other as Charles and Maria he will be none the wiser.’

Maria felt comfortable with Pierre. There was a look about his square face that inspired trust while the steady gaze of his blue eyes compelled honesty. ‘I think he can be trusted. What do you think?’

He shrugged. ‘Who can one trust nowadays? One can never be sure. He seems trustworthy enough and was glad of the work. The coach belongs to him and I have paid him a handsome sum—with the promise of more if he gets us to Calais safely.’

‘I would like to thank you for helping me, Charles. Is there a reason for this—apart from our fathers being friends?’

‘I have reason to be beholden to Sir Edward.’

‘Oh?’

‘He saved my life—and my mother’s. It was during the monsoon season, when my mother and I were going to join my father in Bengal. We were crossing a fast-flowing river when our boat went out of control—several people perished. From the shore your father saw what was happening and commandeered a boat to come to our aid. Not once while he was helping us to safety did he consider the possibility that he might lose his life. I fell into the river and was in danger of being washed away when he jumped in after me. Somehow he managed to get me back on board.’ His features softened with remembrance. ‘I owe him my life. You should be proud of him.’

‘I am, and I realise how you must have felt honour bound to come to my rescue.’

‘Something like that. I realised it was the least I could do for Sir Edward—to see his daughter safely out of France. It is my way of saying thank you to an exceedingly brave man.’

‘Yes, I can understand that. Thank you for telling me.’

‘My pleasure.’

A familiar, slow smile played on his lips and he fell silent. He was relaxed, and there was no mistaking the provocative way in which his gaze lingered on her eyes, her hair and her soft lips.

Feeling his warmly glowing eyes devouring her as if he were strongly tempted to do more than just stare, a sudden flush mounted Maria’s cheeks, and she said abruptly, ‘I am sorry about—almost slapping you. It was unforgivable of me and I should not have done it.’

‘But entirely understandable,’ Charles answered gravely. ‘Think nothing of it. It is forgotten.’

Maria waited, expecting him to apologise for the things he had said about Colonel Winston, confident that now she had given him an opening to do so, he would hopefully retract them, but he remained silent.

Beneath the shadow of her long lashes her eyes passed slowly over her companion. His broad shoulders filled his dark blue coat, and the grey breeches were close-fitting to display a superb length of firmly muscled limbs. It was obvious at a mere glance that he was an arrogant man, bold and self-assured, and much to her aggravation, she realised he would be the standard by which she would eventually measure her betrothed.

The clouds were suddenly swept away and the sun rose, bathing Maria’s face in its soft, golden light. She knew Charles continued to watch her, for she felt the heat of his gaze more firmly than the warmth of the sun. The countryside along the way failed to hold her interest, for his close presence wiped everything else from her mind. His gaze was persistent and touched her warmly. A smile was in his eyes and on his lips.

There was that quality about her companion that made her wonder if he were something more than what he appeared. It was as if his eyes could penetrate her flesh, and she wondered if she would ever cease to feel the unsettling vulnerability and wariness she experienced in his presence.

There was one time when the road was choked with peasants and vagabonds and carts and horses, when they had no choice but to go with the flow of things. At times the people were openly aggressive. Danger was in the air. Maria was a realist, knowing that they might be apprehended at any time. No one was safe. It was a relief to know that Charles was armed, with a plentiful supply of ammunition.

Thankfully they were offered no violence and their carriage went unmolested.

Halfway through the journey of their first day on the road, the carriage clattered and rocked over cobbles and Maria, glad of the opportunity to stretch her legs, descended stiffly to pace around the coaching-house yard while the steaming horses who had brought them so far were unharnessed and a fresh pair put to.

Getting back inside the carriage, she had to wait for Charles, who was in conversation with Pierre. Leaning a little closer to the window to study her companion when he was unaware that he was being observed, she gazed at him, her green eyes becoming darker, her soft skin a little pinker, her lips parting as she breathed faster, caught up in a sensation she herself did not understand.

As though somehow he had sensed her curiosity, he suddenly turned. And there was something about the way he looked at her that made Maria shudder before snatching her gaze away from him. He had no right to look at her in that way—that openly bold and dangerous way. No right at all. There was something about him that made her feel odd and nervous and excited, tingling with the rush of unfamiliar sensations invading her body. That feeling made her angry with herself and even more angry with him for being the cause of it.

Then they were off again.

It was dark when they reached the inn where they were to stay for the night. Pierre followed his passengers inside, carrying the valises. The inn was serviceable and clean, the air permeated with a delicious smell of food. The public room was full of people, mostly men drinking and discussing the worsening state of affairs in Paris. Their entrance attracted looks—secretive, sideways looks, suspicious, unreadable minds behind expressionless faces. Maria shuddered, having no desire to come into contact with any of them. Charles managed to engage two rooms.

‘I think I’ll go straight to my room,’ Maria said. ‘I would like my meal sent up if it can be arranged. I’ve had nothing to eat since midday and I am dying of hunger.’

Charles smiled at this youthful appetite. ‘I’ll see to it. I’ll stay and have supper with Pierre. Go on up. The maid will show you to your room. I’ll see you later.’

As she headed for the stairs an untidily garbed peasant who had imbibed too much rose from a table and came to stand in front of her as she followed the maid, his smile a lecherous leer. He swept her a low, clumsy bow.

‘Mademoiselle,’ he declared. ‘And who do you belong to, pretty wench?’

‘Madame,’ she corrected him coldly, remembering her part and looking away disdainfully.

The man sought to move. His limbs refused to respond as they should and he teetered precariously on one leg before toppling on to a nearby stool. He raised his gaze, but, seeing only the tall, powerful and glowering figure of the young woman’s husband where the daintier form had been a moment before, he blinked, his eyes owl-like.

The gentleman stood there, smiling his icy smile. ‘The pretty wench belongs to me. She is my wife, so if you know what is good for you you won’t follow her. Understand?’

The man glowered in sullen resentment and looked away. Charles watched Maria climb the stairs, and only then did he turn away to seek out the driver of their coach.

After eating her meal, Maria sat before the bright fire, her thoughts flitting between her aunt and Constance at Chateau Feroc and her home in England. Gradually the night grew quiet. After preparing for bed she slipped between the sheets, thinking it would take her a long time to fall asleep, but after the fatigues of the long journey, added to the comfort of the soft warm bed, she was plunged at once into a deep sleep.

When she woke up in the darkness, it took her a while to realise where she was. She lay listening to the wind rattling against the window panes, but underlying this she heard the sound of gentle breathing. Troubled and uneasy, she lay quite still. The sound came again—a low snore. Fear stirred inside her. There was someone in the room with her. She sat up swiftly, rendered motionless by the scene that confronted her, for in the light of the still-glowing embers of the fire she was horrified to see her escort stretched out in a chair, his legs propped on the chair opposite.

‘Oh!’ she gasped, deeply shocked by the indignity of this discovery.

She had not taken in the sense of his last remark to her when they had parted—that he would see her later, and in the confusion of their arrival, she had forgotten that people who were married shared the same room—and the same bed. She realised that although their marriage was a sham, to allay any awkward questions from suspicious travellers, it was imperative for them to keep up appearances—but he didn’t have to take it so literally—did he?

Quite suddenly the numbness left her and gave way to sheer horror and panic. Scrambling out of bed, she crossed towards him. He had removed his boots and was attired in his breeches and white lawn shirt. She stared at him with disbelieving eyes, not knowing what to think or how to feel. His dark hair was ruffled and a stray lock fell across his brow, and the hard planes of his face were softer in sleep. Without the cynical twist to his mouth, he looked vulnerable and incredibly youthful, and she noticed how outrageously thick his eyelashes were.

For a man who was involved in the dangerous business of reaching Calais unmolested, each road they took beset with dangers, he seemed offensively at ease.

Sensing her closeness, he was suddenly alert and his eyes snapped open. As he met her hostile gaze, his brows arched in surprise, and a slow appreciative smile spread across his lips.

It was a disconcertingly pleasant smile, and the fact that even through a haze of social embarrassment she could recognise it as such, increased rather than diminished her hostility.

‘You cannot be aware of the impropriety of such a visit to a lady’s bedchamber at this hour, or you would scarcely have ventured to knock on my door, let alone admit yourself.’

‘When I came in you looked in a state of delicious comfort and I certainly had no intention of disturbing you.’

Maria flushed. She didn’t like to think he might have stood watching her as she slept. Not knowing how to deal with a situation of this nature, she tried to distract herself from her inner turmoil and avoid his gaze that seemed to burn into her by watching the occasional spark erupt from the glowing embers in the hearth, but she found it impossible when every fibre of her being was on full alert to Charles’s presence.

When she saw his eyes sweep over her body, even though her nightdress was concealing, she felt her modesty, so long intact, was being invaded by this man’s gaze, this stranger, who was beginning to alarm her awkward, unawakened senses.

Folding her arms across her chest in an attempt to protect her modesty and fervently wishing she had a shawl or something else to throw over her nightdress, she glowered at him.

‘Unfortunately I have nothing with which to cover myself.’

Charles chuckled softly. Even in these extreme circumstances she felt it unspeakably shocking that he should see her like this. If she knew how long he had ogled her during her sleep, she’d realise it was far too late for her to try to salvage her modesty.

‘That’s a bit like closing the stable door after the horse has bolted. I assure you, it would not wipe from my mind the loveliness I savoured when I came in.’

Maria gasped, her cheeks burning. ‘Have you no shame? How long did you stand there looking at me?’

It took an Herculean effort for Charles to drag his gaze away from the shape of her body outlined beneath her nightdress in order to meet her gaze. ‘Long enough to know that the sight of you in your bed was sufficient to waken the slumbering dragon in me that I fear will not be easily appeased.’

In spite of his unrelenting stare, his glowing eyes devouring her as if he were strongly tempted to do more than just stare, Maria was distracted and felt a frisson of alarm when she saw he had his long fingers clasped round the butt of a pistol by his side. Her throat went dry. ‘Do you make a habit of sleeping with a pistol?’

‘Only when I deem it necessary.’

‘And is it—tonight, I mean?’

‘I think so. I have no wish to alarm you, but it’s as well to be on our guard at all times.’ He placed the pistol on the table beside him.

‘Charles, you must leave my room. You cannot sleep here. Not with me. It—it’s just not right.’

He sat up, dropping his feet to the floor and pushing his hair back from his face. ‘My apologies, Maria. I did not mean to startle you. As I said, you were soundly asleep when I came in. I did not want to wake you.’

‘Well, you should have done,’ she flared, unconscious of the vision she presented as her hair tumbled about her shoulders in loose array. ‘How dare you take such liberties? You will certainly destroy my reputation if you continue to indulge in such foolery.’

A slow smile touched his lips. ‘It is not foolery—anything but. If you could see past that pretty little nose of yours, you would realise I am only trying to help you. Do not forget that I am here to protect you.’

Mutiny still showed in her countenance. ‘When we embarked on the journey I confess that I did not give much thought to what the sleeping arrangements would be while we are en route. Indeed, the matter never entered my head. My aunt would be aghast if she knew we were sharing a room.’

‘I dare say she would be, and yet I made her aware you would be travelling as my wife. Your reputation is the last thing you should be worrying about right now. I believe,’ he began solicitously, the humour in his voice disguised by a disapproving frown, ‘that you are somehow trying my ability to protect you.’

‘I am not—and I am indeed grateful—but … Oh,’ she gasped in frustration, ‘why could you not have made me your sister—or—or your cousin—anything—anything but your wife?’

‘Because as my wife you have my complete protection at all times. Of what use would I be to you if that oaf who accosted you earlier should take it into his sodden head to seek feminine company and remember you? From what I recall of some of the overpainted, disreputable women I saw in the public room when we arrived, you are by far the most desirable, so who could blame him? You are a rare prize for any man, Maria.’

His gaze never wavered from hers, but when it dipped downwards, Maria saw the light that flared in his eyes, again making her conscious of her lack of modesty. When she glanced quickly down, her fears were realised when she saw the soft, rosy peaks of her bosom straining against the delicate fabric of her nightdress. Raising her head, she met his gaze. Her heart seemed to leap in her throat in a ridiculous, choking way, and she chided herself for being so foolish as to believe he liked what he saw.

‘There is a lock on the door. He would not get in.’

‘He would find a way if he wanted to.’ The sight of her flushed cheeks and the way she had wrapped her arms around her waist in an unconscious act of self-protection brought home to Charles for the first time the fact that his proceedings might be considered shockingly unorthodox to a young woman who had been protected from the opposite sex and the ways of the world for the whole of her life.

Getting up, he towered over her, looking down at her apprehensive, upturned face. ‘You have led a sheltered life under the harsh eye of your aunt, who has rigid rules when it comes to raising young ladies of breeding and class. May I give you a word of advice, Maria? Common sense will always stand you in better stead than a slavish adherence to conventions.’

The shamed colour faded from Maria’s cheeks and the hostility in her eyes was replaced by interest. ‘If common sense is preferable to convention, then it is a point of view in complete opposition to the teachings of my aunt and the many governesses who had charge of Constance and me over the years.’

‘It is my point of view, and I know I’m right—otherwise what do you think would have happened had I not apprehended your drunken admirer when I saw him come up the stairs and approach your door?’

She stared at him in horror, her hand going to her throat. ‘He wasn’t! You mean he actually intended to come in here? But—no man would dare to come to a lady’s room, knowing they might encounter an irate husband.’

Charles nodded gravely. ‘He most certainly was—until I—persuaded him to think again.’

‘And the pistol? Is that part of the remedy to use against that—that oaf?’

‘If need be—which I doubt.’ His eyes glinted wickedly. ‘The man is no longer in any fit state to climb the stairs, let alone molest a young woman in her bed.’

Her eyes widened with alarm. ‘Why, what have you done to him?’

‘Let’s just say that at this time he will be sleeping like the proverbial babe.’ He looked at her through narrowed eyes, his firm lips curving in a gently mocking smile. ‘You left your door unlocked, otherwise how do you think I got in?’

‘But you should not be here.’

A crooked smile accompanied his reply. ‘And where would you have me go—to sleep outside your door, perhaps, which would be considered by some to be most odd and raise more than a few eyebrows? And if you’re thinking of your aunt,’ he said, his voice a conspiratorial whisper, as if he expected the formidable woman to emerge at any minute, ‘don’t. She need never know.’

On consideration, Maria had to admit that he was right. ‘I never had a very high opinion of my aunt. It never occurred to me to question her authority and her rightness on her view on behaviour and etiquette. It just wasn’t done.’

‘I understand that, and in an ideal France, as it is in England, it isn’t the practice for young ladies to question their elders. But these are not ideal times—far from it. People are finding themselves in all kinds of different, often violent, situations. No doubt your aunt will look upon what I consider to be eminently sensible proceedings as entirely scandalous.’

‘And she would have regarded me, as the recipient of them, as something close to a fallen woman. With her inflexible code of what is right, when placed in the balance against the strict preservation of the social conventions, she would rather you had abandoned me to the advances of that oaf downstairs than for you to spend the entire night alone with me in this room.’

‘So you do accept that my point of view is infinitely more practical than your aunt’s?’

A smile broke out on her lips that brought a dimple in the gentle curve of her cheek. She nodded. ‘Yes,’ she whispered, conscious of a sudden sense of being released from a kind of bondage, as though some mental steel thread that still tethered her to the Chateau Feroc had snapped.

Watching her, it was the first time that Charles had seen her really smile since she had left the chateau. But he did not return it. Gazing down at her, she seemed older somehow. Her face was gently flushed, and the shadows under the wide dark eyes made them appear even larger. The whiteness of her modest nightdress was stark against the looseness of her hair that tumbled about her in rippling profusion, glinting with blue lights in the dimly lit room.

Charles had a sudden and disturbing vision of her betrothed, of the degenerate roué, Henry Winston, of his moist fingers twining themselves in that soft, sweetly scented hair, sliding over her bare shoulders, his mouth devouring those soft lips. He turned from her abruptly, his head slightly bowed as he gazed into the hearth.

‘Go back to bed. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow and it is imperative that you get your rest. You have my word that you are quite safe,’ he assured her.

‘But what about you?’ she asked hesitantly. ‘It will be a long day for you also. You cannot be comfortable sleeping in that chair.’

He turned and looked at her, smiling crookedly, a roguish gleam in his eyes. ‘Where else would you have me sleep? With you, perhaps?’

Charles searched her eyes for barely an instant before the dark orbs went chasing off in another direction. Smiling, he leaned forwards to speak over her ear. ‘The idea of sharing your bed with me doesn’t frighten you, does it, Maria?’

‘No, of course not,’ she denied in a frantic rush, stepping back in an effort to put some distance between them. Her retreat was necessary to cool her burning cheeks and to ease to some small degree the unruly pace of her heart. ‘But that is out of the question.’

‘It needn’t be.’

‘Forgive me for ever thinking you were a gentleman,’ she derided. ‘So far you’ve done much to prove yourself as big a roué as any I have met—in addition to your impertinence in ogling me and suggesting I appease your—your dragon.’

Charles curbed a grin. ‘Worry not, Maria, you are quite safe. But if you should have a change of heart and take pity on me, I can promise you such delight as you’ve never before imagined.’

Maria was shocked to the core that he should be speaking to her like this. ‘Will you please stop?’ she flared irately, lifting her eyes to his face in time to see his eyes dip into her breasts. ‘You seem to forget that I am promised to another. You behave as if you really are my husband.’

Charles chuckled softly. ‘Who knows what will come from our association? I may just decide to forget that I am a gentleman, to forget about Henry Winston, and behave as your husband just to show you what delights can be had between a married couple.’

‘Except that we’re not. You engaged two rooms, as I recall.’

‘I did—one for Pierre.’ Tilting his head to one side, half frowning, half smiling, he peered at her. ‘His room is big enough to accommodate me if you would like me to leave you to sleep alone. Is that what you want?’

She bit her lip. The moment to tell him to go and leave her in peace was at hand, yet for the life of her she could not do so, for the fear of that drunken oaf coming to her room remained.

‘No. I would like you to stay.’ Without a word Maria went to the bed and removed one of the blankets and placed it on the chair.

‘You might as well be warm while you sleep. Thank you, Charles,’ she said stiffly. ‘You are being very good to me—when you aren’t trying to seduce me.’ Why she wasn’t outraged by his audacity was a mystery beyond her comprehension just then.

He looked at her, the firelight flickering in his light blue eyes. ‘Why wouldn’t I be? Our fathers were friends, were they not? There is no reason why we should be any different.’

‘No, of course not.’

Standing in such close proximity, Maria thought Charles looked very appealing—and very handsome. A warm trickle of an unfamiliar sensation ran through her body, a stirring she had never felt before. Her heart quickened within her breast, and her blood seemed to melt, turning her insides into a river of heat. She shivered. Charles noticed.

‘Are you cold?’ he asked, a crease of worry between his brows.

He reached to clasp her hand, his fingers very strong and sure. There was a faint white scar on the back of his hand, and Maria wondered how he had come by it. At the same time she realised she knew absolutely nothing about him. How could she? And maybe it wasn’t safe to know.

She withdrew her hand and turned her thoughts away from this new, dangerous direction. She felt a sudden stillness envelop them. Vividly aware of his closeness, the spicy scent of him, she was overwhelmingly conscious of him—and confused. She was slightly irritated by the way in which he skilfully cut through her superior attitude, the artificial posturing she often assumed to save herself from him. She knew she asked for it, but the magnetic attraction still remained beneath all the irritation.

‘I’m not cold,’ she said, her voice sharp.

‘Then go to bed.’

She did as she was bade and crawled back into the warm softness, allowing sleep to overtake her and her troubled thoughts.

Charles sat staring into the shifting, glowing lights in the dying embers of the fire, his mind wandering back to his young charge between the covers. A picture of a tumbling mass of blue-black hair swirled through his thoughts, of dark fringed green eyes that glowed with their own light, the colour of their depths forever changing like richly hued jewels. A nose was added to the lovely vision, slim and pert and a feature of perfection. A pair of lips floated into mind, gently curving and expressive; in his recollection he remembered the moment when they had left the inn to begin their journey and her lips had turned upwards and parted with laughter.

Let it be for ever so, he mused, but he knew it would not.

Thinking of the long and arduous journey ahead of them, he hoped they would reach their destination without mishap. Maria was depending on him, he reminded himself. She trusted him to get her to England safely. He owed it to her not to fail.