Читать книгу Lord Ravenscar's Inconvenient Betrothal - Lara Temple - Страница 12

Chapter Three

‘You’ll come by again tomorrow, Master Alan?’ Nanny Brisbane struggled to keep her eyes open.

‘Tomorrow,’ Alan assented and her eyelids sank on a long childish sigh and her worn hand relaxed in his.

There was nothing for it. He could stay in Keynsham for another night, pay a visit to the Hollywell solicitor and come by in the morning before he continued to Bristol. It was the very least he could do for the woman who had all but raised him and his sister and almost lost her life doing so.

Even in sleep Nanny had the face of a devout elf, caught between mischief and adulation. She should have married and had a dozen children instead of being saddled with two sad specimens of the breed. The love that would have spread easily among her potential brood had been concentrated on them and his parents whenever they chose to come out of their little scholarly world and until their deaths from putrid fever when he and Cat were young.

Cat was waiting for him in the low-ceilinged parlour, tidying up the remains of the tea she had prepared for Nanny. He waited until they left the cottage before speaking.

‘Are you certain she will be all right?’

Cat smiled and tucked her hand in his arm.

‘She is over the worst of it and one of the tenants’ wives, Mrs Mitchum, comes to tend to her every few hours.’

‘She looks so frail...’

‘She is getting old, Alan, but she is still strong. It is just this fever. Practically everyone in the region has fallen ill these past weeks, but it often passes as swiftly as it comes, sometimes as briefly as a day, and there have been very few deaths.’

‘Few... Albert was one of them, though. Were you ill as well?’

‘Grandmama and I were, at the same time. She was quick about it, but I was quite miserable for three days. Thank goodness Lily...Miss Wallace was here to help.’

‘The heiress?’ He couldn’t keep the incredulity out of his voice.

‘Why, yes. She may not be very easy-going, but she is utterly unshakeable, which is useful in a household descended into chaos.’

‘Unshakeable. I noticed that. From my meeting with her I would have guessed you would dislike her thoroughly.’

‘Well, you are not as clever as you think, Alan dear. Is it strange being back?’

‘I’m not back, Cat. A visit to Nanny Brisbane is my concession to childhood debts. That is all.’

‘Still, I thought you swore never to set foot on Rothwell territory as long as Grandmama is alive.’

‘I was never a reliable fellow; why expect me to stand by my word now?’

‘That’s not true, Alan.’

‘You’re too soft, Cat.’

She sighed.

‘I won’t be so obvious as to say you are too hard. I’m still glad you came to see Nanny. She misses you. What did you think about your meeting with Miss Wallace?’

‘Meeting isn’t quite the word I would use. The only thing I nearly met was the business end of a mace. What on earth is someone like her doing at Ravenscar and how is she Albert’s heir? This family is altogether too complicated. Is she another dreaded Rothwell? I thought they were all safely tucked away north of the wall.’

‘Goodness, no. Her mother was a distant cousin on Grandmama’s side and made what initially was a mésalliance with an impoverished young man, only to have him become one of the wealthiest men in South America. He died a year ago and now Miss Wallace has returned to England to marry... Oh, dear, I shouldn’t say anything because it is not yet announced. You mustn’t repeat that.’

‘I couldn’t be bothered to, Cat. It is no business of mine.’

‘Well, it might not happen anyway. Mr Marston is...’

‘Marston? She is to marry Philip Marston?’

‘You know him?’

‘Very well. We share ownership of several loom manufactories. This is a small world indeed. I had no idea he was contemplating marrying again, but I’m not surprised he has set his sights on an heiress. He is one of the savviest businessmen I know.’

‘I believe he is truly fond of her.’

‘Of course he is, Cat.’

She sighed.

‘You would do well to take a page from his book. Perhaps if you married, Grandmama would relent and change her will in your favour.’

‘We all know Jezebel won’t leave me a crust of bread, married or not. She and Grandfather were clear enough about that when I left.’

‘She might if you only tried to...to be conciliating and mend your ways. She has become much less rigid since Grandfather passed.’

He stopped for a moment, raising his brow, and Cat flushed.

‘Sorry. I know it is none of my concern. Well, it is, but it isn’t. But I think pride is a poor substitute for all this. It isn’t just the money, but the Hall. This is your home, Alan.’

Alan smiled grimly at her tenacity. Cat might not have the Rothwell temper, but she employed a water-dripping-on-stone approach to attaining her ends.

‘No, it ceased to be my home over a decade ago, or longer before that, when Grandfather forced our father to break the entail and disowned him for wanting to be a doctor. Let’s not rehash this. I have no intention of mending my ways, as you so quaintly phrase it. I like my ways and they like me. Since I have no intention of ever spawning heirs, the Hall would be wasted on me anyway. Our Hibernian cousins are welcome to the Hall and all things Rothwell. I have to go, Cat. I have some pressing affairs to see to.’

She tilted her head as they approached the stables where his gelding waited.

‘You’re probably wise not to linger with everyone feeling poorly. You wouldn’t want to fall ill.’

‘That’s not why and you know it!’

‘Nicky was feverish last night and woke up with a headache. I’m worried she might also have caught the infection. She begged me to let her see you in Keynsham before you disappear again, but I cannot risk her leaving her bed while she is so poorly.’

‘Blast you, Cat. Very well, I will see her quickly, but I’m not staying. I don’t know why you even stay here after what that old witch put us through.’

‘To be fair, it was mostly Grandfather. Yes, I know you can’t stand it when I defend her and she is a horrid old harpy sometimes, but Nicky actually cares for her and I have her future to think of; I cannot afford to be cut out of the will like you, Alan. It is my responsibility to make my peace with her for Nicky’s sake.’

‘I can provide for you. I have enough to leave you and Nicky comfortable when someone finally puts a bullet through me.’

Cat wrinkled her nose.

‘All from that mill you won gambling.’

He laughed.

‘How the devil is my sister such a prude? My money is quite the same colour as Jezebel’s, believe me.’

‘Even so, who’s to say you might not marry, and then where will Nicky be?’

‘Let’s just say there’s more likelihood of my forgiving Jezebel than of my willingly entering a state of matrimony, Cat.’

‘Oh, good.’

He sighed.

‘I surrender. Come, I will sit with Nicky for a while and then I must leave. But we are entering by the back door.’

* * *

The sight that confronted them when Cat opened the door to Nicky’s bedroom was not entirely that of a sickroom. Nicky was indeed in her bed, propped up against a mountain of pillows, her dark brown hair down about her shoulders and a glass with a viscous liquid on a tray by the bed, but she was laughing and she wasn’t the only occupant of the bed.

‘That’s just silly—’ Nicky stopped when Cat and Alan entered the room, crying out joyously, ‘Uncle Alan, you came!’

Alan directed a wary look at Miss Wallace, who was leaning against the headboard with her feet tucked under her and a book in her lap. He walked around the other side of the bed and bent to kiss his niece on the forehead.

‘Of course I came. Not that there seems to be much wrong with you, pumpkin.’

‘My head feels like I’m wearing a bonnet three sizes too small and I can hardly hold up my book and I had a fever last night and Lily says fevers often worsen in the evening. Are you staying? Please say you are.’

Lily. The name was far too whimsical and delicate for the spoilt heiress who had addressed his harridan of a grandmother so impudently. He sat on the bed and took his niece’s hand, wondering why the heiress was still sitting there. Anyone with the least manners would have removed herself. She didn’t even make way for Cat. Clearly she was used to the world arranging itself to suit her rather than the other way around. He focused his attention on Nicky.

‘I can’t stay, Nicky.’

‘Because of Grandmama? If I ask her, she might let you. Shall I ask her?’

‘You saw me last month when I came by your school.’

‘That was last month. Just for a little while? You must hear this story. It’s called The Mysteries of Udolpho and it is even funnier than The Romance of the Forest.’

‘I didn’t realise Mrs Radcliffe wrote comedies.’

‘Well, they aren’t really, but Lily makes them so. Especially the swooning and the groaning.’

Alan raised his brows and turned to the heiress. Any normal, proper young woman would have been off the bed and out the room like a scalded cat the moment he entered; instead she was curled up like a kitten against the pillows, her fingers tracing the gilded lettering on the leather-bound book, and her honey-brown eyes warm with laughter. The presence of his niece in the bed as well should have made her look less like a very expensive mistress holding court in her boudoir, but his unruly imagination compensated. His mind had already pulled the pins and ribbons from her glossy hair and set it tumbling over her shoulders, cleared the room of his sister and niece, and significantly enlarged the bed. Now he was left to imagine what she might look like under the fine powder-blue sprigged muslin, if the sleek lines of her figure were spare or carried some pliant padding waiting to be warmed, softened.

Cat’s assessment came back to him—unshakeable. It was a sad trait of his that he hadn’t yet met a cage he didn’t want to rattle and right now the thought of shaking this pert heiress out of her amused condescension was adding fuel to an undeniable physical curiosity. He caught her gaze with his.

‘Groaning? Is it that kind of novel?’

If he had expected to finally shock her, the shimmer of laughter in her honey-gold eyes at his suggestive question sent that hope to grass. Here was the same gleam of mischief in her eyes he had glimpsed in Albert’s library and it had the same impact on his hunting instincts. He reined them in reluctantly. This was a game without a prize.

‘I don’t know what novels you are wont to read, Lord Ravenscar, but in this book the groaning and creaking is confined to the castles,’ she answered, and her voice, at least, was prim.

‘Still, hardly suitable reading material for a girl of twelve, don’t you think?’

‘Oh, but everyone reads her novels at school, Uncle Alan,’ Nicky interjected. ‘There’s even a girl who swoons when we read them at night.’

‘I think it is a very healthy sign that a twelve-year-old finds such novels amusing,’ the heiress added.

‘Are you speaking from experience, Miss Wallace? Were you also a voracious novel reader as a schoolgirl, then? That might explain it.’

‘Explain what?’ Nicky asked.

‘I think your uncle is referring to my flair for dramatics, Nicky.’

‘I would amend that to histrionics.’

‘Would you? I believe I was rather calm in the face of a ransacked library and an intruder with a punishing left hook.’

‘If being calm is brandishing a mace at a stranger, then, yes, you qualify. Besides, you didn’t know about my boxing prowess until your burly protector arrived.’

‘That is true. I dare say you would have thought better of me had I shrieked and swooned like a heroine from a novel. Would that have gratified your male pride and preconceptions of proper female behaviour?’

‘It would have certainly been less tiring. Conversing with you is like going ten rounds with Belcher.’

‘Alan,’ Cat admonished, but without much conviction.

‘Who is Belcher?’ Nicky giggled.

‘Belcher is someone who would have given your uncle the black eye he deserves, Nicky.’ Lily laughed and again he found himself wondering whether there was anything that could truly unsettle this peculiar young woman. Either her defences were legion or she was truly without any depth and took nothing seriously.

It shouldn’t matter and he should know better than to treat her laughing dismissal of his barbs as a challenge, but he leaned towards her, his weight on his arm, his fingers just skimming the spread of her skirt where it fanned out on the bed, pressing it into the coverlet, the embroidered blue flowers silky bumps against the pads of his fingers.

‘If you are so bent on blackening my eye, go ahead. I won’t retaliate.’

Lily Wallace’s eyes narrowed, assessing, and he wondered if she might actually try to meet his dare. Her gaze scanned his face, as if she was searching for the right spot to place the invited blow. He should have been amused, but instead he felt a peculiar rise of heat follow the path of her inspection, pinching at his skin, and with a sense of shock he realised he was blushing. It had nothing to do with embarrassment and everything with a spike of undiluted lust thrusting through his body. Until now the heat of attraction had been speculative, familiar, unthreatening. In an instant it flared beyond that, like brushfire after a drought, unexpected and cataclysmic. It took every ounce of his self-control not to draw back from the fire, to keep his breathing even. It cost him, though, both his body and his vanity suffering—he should be well past the age for such conflagrations.

‘I would never be so uncouth as to strike a man while I am a guest under his roof,’ she said, but her eyes did slide away from his, her first sign of disquiet. It should have gratified him, but it just added to this unexpected agony. His mind reached for the lifeline of anger at her words.

‘This isn’t my roof, thank God. Ravenscar Hall is no longer entailed and I am certain old Jezebel has enlightened you that she would rather see it razed to the ground than left to the profligate Rakehell Raven.’

There was no amusement in her eyes now, but the emotions in them were anything but gratifying—he needed neither contrition nor pity, certainly not from someone like her. She turned to slip off the bed and for a moment her skirt caught beneath his fingers, riding up her legs, exposing the sleek line of her calf and the shadowed indentation of her ankle before escaping him.

Just like Nicky’s headache, his skin felt far too small on him. The absurdity of reacting to the glimmer of a smile and the glimpse of a woman’s ankle as if he had never seen an inch of female flesh in his life when just a few nights ago he had seen in full naked glory the whole extent of another woman’s anatomy was not as obvious to his body as to his mind. He tried to look away but didn’t, watching as she extended her leg to put on her slipper, like a dancer. What would she be like to dance with, this strange girl? In some dark room, music entering from outside so he could be alone with her and explore those curves under the expensive fabrics, test their softness, whether he could make the unshakeable Miss Lily Wallace quiver...

‘We can continue reading this later, Nicky. Enjoy your time with your uncle.’ Her gaze lifted to his from the preoccupation of putting on her slippers. For a moment she stood there and then turned and left, closing the door quietly behind her.

Then it was just the old nursery room that had been Cat’s until her marriage, with her books and now Nicky’s dolls on the shelves. The last time he had been here had been twelve years ago, the very last day he had set foot in the Hall until today. It had hardly changed, but he had. It was important to remember that.

He gathered himself and smiled at Nicky. She and Cat and his friends and his work were all that mattered in his life. In a few moments he would leave this house and hopefully never set foot in it again at the very least until the witch was dead and buried.