Читать книгу Regency Surrender: Passion And Rebellion - Энни Берроуз, Louise Allen - Страница 17

Chapter Seven

He tumbled them both on to the bed and kissed her with an ardour that left her breathless. And strangely comforted.

Even though he’d only chosen her with his head, not his heart, he had chosen her. There must be dozens of poor, plain, penniless orphans in London, yet he hadn’t looked any further once he’d met her.

And, yes, maybe that was only because he was in such a hurry to get married, but...

With a moan that was half distress, half desperation, she curled her fingers into the luxuriant softness of his hair and kissed him back for all she was worth.

They were married now. Did it really matter how it had come about? No. It was what they made of their future that mattered.

Her response brought a feral growl of appreciation from his throat. And then, for a few moments, it was as though he had been let off some invisible leash. His hands were all over her while his body strained against hers in a way that thrilled her to the soles of her boots.

His excitement called to something buried deep in the heart of her. Something wild and wanton that came roaring to life and swept aside her every inhibition. Her hands were every bit as greedy as his, seeking and stroking and learning. She couldn’t get close enough to him. She wanted to wrap herself round him. Press every single inch of her against every marvellously thrilling inch of him.

Until, quite without warning, he reared back.

‘This is going too fast,’ he panted, frowning.

‘What do you mean?’ It all felt perfectly wonderful to her.

‘This is your first time,’ he gritted out between clenched teeth. ‘I should be taking it far more slowly. Making it good for you.’

Well, she couldn’t argue with that. After all the horrible things she’d read on that list, the dreadful afternoon she’d spent sitting alone, cold and brutally wounded, the least he could do was make this part of their marriage good.

He’d closed his eyes on a grimace. When he opened them again, only a few seconds later, he’d calmed down considerably.

‘I didn’t even pause to get our shoes off.’ He sighed, with a shake of his head.

He sat up, scooted down the bed and rapidly unlaced her rather worn leather half-boots. Aunt Pargetter had wanted to get her some dainty footwear to go with her wedding finery, but there hadn’t been time. And she’d thought her own comfortable boots would stand her in better stead, considering the coldness of the season. Only now did she wish she’d taken them off herself, during the hours he’d been away seeing his lawyers.

He didn’t say anything about the patched soles, or the worn-down heels, but his frown did deepen once his fingers encountered her stockinged feet.

‘Your feet are like ice! Well, that won’t do.’ Taking her left foot between both hands, he first chafed it, then raised it to his mouth to plant a hot kiss on the sole. The action sent her skirts slithering up her legs.

His hot eyes followed their movement. Swiftly followed by his hands.

‘I need to get these stockings off,’ he said, as though warning her of his intent.

She shivered with pleasure when he deftly undid her garter, then slid one stocking down.

‘Cold?’

She shook her head. Far from it. It felt as though a bolt of lightning streaked from the heat of his hands against her bared skin, right to her very core. She subsided into the pillows again, luxuriating in the sensations he evoked whilst removing her other stocking—with slow deliberation.

Her eyes half-closed, she watched with growing interest as he got up, shrugged off his jacket, undid his shirt and yanked it impatiently off over his head.

He had, without doubt, the most impressive masculine torso she’d ever seen. And she had seen many. Sailors often worked in just their ragged breeches, when loading and unloading ships during the hottest months of the year.

But she’d always averted her gaze and hurried past. She’d never been even remotely tempted to pause and drink her fill of any single one of them. She hadn’t struggled to keep her hands neatly placed at her sides, rather than reaching out and running her fingers over each clearly delineated muscle. Or thought about letting her tongue follow in the wake of her fingers. Or got a mad urge to lick her way up that strong column of a masculine throat to the stubbled texture of his chin.

Not that she was bold enough to do any such thing. Besides, he’d just said he was going to make it good for her. And part of her, the part that was still smarting over the things she’d read on the list, wanted him to exert himself to make it up to her. Not that he would be aware he was doing any such thing, but still, she would know.

Anyway, he inadvertently helped her to resist the temptation by sitting down on the edge of the bed to remove his boots, which gave her eyes an entirely new view to appreciate. His back. The broad shoulders, the ridges of muscle down either side of his spine, which disappeared into the narrow waistband of his breeches.

She was a little disappointed when he drew the line at removing them. Although perhaps it was only fair. After all, she was still in her gown. Not that it took him long to take it off her once he set to it. My, but he certainly knew his way round lacings, and corsets.

Her heart was beating nineteen to the dozen by the time he lay down beside her and put his arm about her shoulders. The dexterity he’d just displayed with her clothing convinced her that he truly could make this experience good for her.

Even though he wasn’t all that proficient at flirting and charming his way into a woman’s bed, it didn’t mean he hadn’t had encounters of an...earthy nature, with willing women.

Willing? Oh, what an inadequate word. If any of them had guessed what kind of body he concealed beneath his casually comfortable clothing, plenty of them would have ripped them off just to get their greedy hands on it.

Just as she wanted to get her own hands on it.

She was so glad he didn’t wear the kind of clothing that showed his stunning physique to better advantage. If he’d needed a couple of valets to peel a tightly fitted coat from those bulging biceps, she would have missed the enthralling spectacle of him gradually revealing more and more of his masculinity for her eyes alone.

He wouldn’t have been able to just take her to bed because he felt it was time, either. She liked that they could be spontaneous about this, rather than having to involve servants.

She reached for him as he ran his fingers through her hair—hair that had come out of its fastenings during their first bout of kissing on this bed.

As she ran her hands down his back, glorying in the fact that there were no longer any clothes to impede her exploration, it occurred to her that a ‘modest’ woman wouldn’t be doing this. Wouldn’t have clawed her way under his waistcoat and writhed up against him like some kind of snake when he’d tumbled her on to the bed earlier, either. Nor would a ‘modest’ woman let her husband strip her naked at four in the afternoon—even if daylight was fading—and be glad of the way firelight bathed the room in a warm glow, so she could feast her eyes on her new husband’s magnificent masculine nakedness.

But then, nor would a man who truly wanted a modest wife be looking at her like that—as if he wanted to devour her.

Which was pretty much what he did next, tasting and nibbling her all over as though she was some rare delicacy. He didn’t leave an inch of her unexplored. And everywhere he put his mouth, he left behind such glorious feelings she didn’t know how to describe them.

She bit down on her lower lip when he finally stroked her legs apart and began trailing kisses up the inside of her thighs.

Her aunt Pargetter had warned her, during a private little talk the night before, that the things her husband might wish to do to her, once in the marriage bed, might seem strange and perhaps a little frightening at first. She had advised her against resisting, or protesting, because nine times out of ten he would have more of an idea what would end up making it lovely.

It was all she could do not to laugh out loud. Resist him? Protest about this? Oh, no. The slow slide of his tongue, the little nips of his teeth, combined with the firm caresses of those strong hands, those knowing fingers, were exactly what she wanted.

Oh, very well, so her aunt had got part of it right. He did know more than her about this.

And he was taking the time to make it lovely for her, too. Which was somewhat surprising, considering he’d so far given the impression of always being in a hurry to get things done.

There was just one awkward little interlude, after he’d shucked off his breeches, where what he did hurt quite a bit, but then he brought the lovely feelings back, with skill, with patience, until...until...oh, utter rapture. It was as if she had completely left her body behind. She was floating somewhere—somewhere he’d taken her. And he was there, too. She could tell. His whole body was quivering with it. Pulsing with it.

‘Mary.’ He sighed, as she began to drift back to reality. A reality that had somehow been transformed, though she couldn’t have explained how. And anyway, she felt too peaceful to rack her brains over what had changed between them, or within her, or...

He shifted his weight to one side and dropped a kiss on her forehead. Though how he found the energy to move so much as one eyelid, she couldn’t imagine. She felt as though all her bones had melted. And as for muscles—there was not one left, in her entire body, that wasn’t completely and utterly drained.

‘Thank you for being so generous,’ she heard him murmur, as he tucked her into his side.

Just before she drifted into sated oblivion.

* * *

There was no need to panic. He’d managed to bite back his urge to tell her that the way they’d reached the pinnacle of rapture together had been just about the most blissful experience of his life. He’d turned it into a far more temperate expression of gratitude, thank God.

And he was grateful. Grateful that they were so compatible, sexually. He’d specifically sought a woman he could enjoy taking to bed, hadn’t he? So that getting an heir wouldn’t be a hardship. She’d just ticked off another item on the list, that was all. His heart wasn’t going to be at risk, just because he’d had a momentary, overwhelming feeling of rightness. Of belonging.

No. It just meant he’d made a very sensible choice of bride.

* * *

The next time Mary opened her eyes, it was because someone was insistently shaking her shoulder, pulling her up from a dream that featured her new husband, shirtless, skilfully skating away from her and disappearing into a thick swirling fog while her own useless legs melted away from under her.

‘I am a little sorry to have to wake you,’ said Lord Havelock gruffly.

She blinked up at him sleepily. Last thing she knew he’d been wrapped round her like a living blanket. Now there was a real blanket tucked up to her chin, and he was... She frowned. He was dressed and standing over her looking a touch reproachful.

‘Lying there like that you look...’

He paused, searching no doubt for a polite way to tell her she looked a mess, with not a single pin remaining in her hair, which was more than half over her face. Still, at least that would be concealing the sleep creases she’d no doubt have from the embroidered pillow slip.

‘Absolutely edible,’ he finished with a wicked grin. ‘And speaking of edible, while you slept I ordered that supper I promised you earlier. And it’s arrived. I’m having them set it out in the sitting room, if you’d care to join me?’

He indicated the foot of the bed, where, to her astonishment, she saw the nightgown and wrap her cousins had given her, because, they’d said, her much darned and patched nightgown and a woollen shawl would simply not do for her wedding night.

The nightgown was of the sheerest lawn she’d ever seen. Even when she’d folded it into her portmanteau she’d been able to see the outline of her hand through it. And the wrap was of scarlet silk, patterned all over with lush oriental flowers of some sort.

But he was indicating he wanted her to wear them and join him for supper in the sitting room.

‘I thought you’d prefer a private supper, up here, rather than go through all the bother of getting fully dressed and dining in one of the public rooms.’

Well, there was that.

And also, she’d like to see how he reacted when she walked around wearing a nightgown that revealed as much as it covered. With her hair loose, she suddenly decided, and flowing unbound all the way down her back to her waist. She’d wager he wouldn’t reprove her for not being modest. Given the way he was watching the blankets now, which were only just covering her breasts, he was more likely to enjoy the show.

But all she said was ‘That was very thoughtful of you.’ Because, to be fair, it did sound as if he’d actually thought about how she might feel. This once.

‘I will join you in a moment.’

After catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror, she had to steel herself to walk into the next room. It wasn’t as easy to walk about wearing attire that was outrageously seductive as it had been to roll about on the bed stark naked.

But she wasn’t, most definitely wasn’t, going to let him get away with claiming he wanted a modest bride, when his behaviour earlier had shown it was the exact opposite.

She made it to the threshold, and paused, certain that her face had gone the same shade of scarlet as the silken wrap. For it wasn’t only her husband who could see her in her scanty nightclothes. But also the two waiters who were setting out their supper.

‘Ah, here she is now,’ he said, drawing the eyes of the two male staff in her direction. Her face went a shade hotter as they looked her up and down before swiftly bending their heads to concentrate on their tasks.

As if that wasn’t bad enough, she now noticed that he wasn’t fully dressed at all, but only wearing his breeches and the shirt he’d earlier tossed on to the floor.

‘You can be off,’ he said to the waiters, without the slightest hint of self-consciousness. ‘I will serve my wife.’

She supposed people who worked in hotels must be used to having guests who wandered around half-dressed, at all hours of the day. Who’d very clearly spent most of the afternoon in bed. But she couldn’t bring herself to look their way as they melted out of the room, dreading what she might see written in their faces.

‘You certainly look like a bride now,’ said Lord Havelock, in a tone that had her lifting her head again. Just as she’d hoped, his eyes were gleaming with appreciation as they roamed her diaphanous gown.

‘How do you feel?’

Embarrassed. Rather foolish. Out of her depth, for trying to play the wanton, only to run aground on the shoals of slippery-eyed waiters.

He crossed the room to her, tilted her chin up with one finger and planted a brief kiss on her flaming cheek. And she no longer felt anything but aware of him, standing so close. His warm breath on her face. And the way he’d made her feel in the bed that was only a few faltering footsteps away.

But before she could summon up the words to express even a tithe of what she was feeling, her stomach rumbled. Rather loudly.

He grinned. ‘Hungry! Good. So am I. I hope you like what I’ve ordered,’ he said, taking her hand and leading her across to the table the waiters had been so busy over just moments before.

‘It...it certainly all looks lovely,’ she managed to stammer. The table had been set for two, with fine linen and sparkling crystal, delicate china and fresh flowers. The fire, she also noted, had been stoked up again so that the room was warm enough for them to sit about in a state of undress.

She was excruciatingly aware of his body now. Of exactly where it was and how it all felt. Whenever his legs so much as brushed against the hem of her nightgown, under the table, it brought back how they’d felt, pushing her own sleeker, softer legs apart. The muscles bunching and flexing as he’d...

He’d apparently lost the ability to talk, as well. In fact, the atmosphere reminded her very much of the time they’d striven in vain to make some sort of conversation over the supper table at the Crimmers’. Except that now it was charged with sexual awareness.

His as well as hers, she would stake her life on it.

He might be frowning as he spooned a helping of fricassee on to her plate, but it wasn’t the frown of an angry man. She’d spent years studying her father, learning his moods in the faint hope she could avoid the worst of them. And that frown wasn’t one of displeasure.

If anything, she would say he felt awkward. Though that was absurd! He’d wandered around earlier, ordering the waiters about as though it meant nothing....

But now they were alone.

And he’d readily admitted, that night at the Crimmers’, that he didn’t know how to converse freely with ladies.

Particularly not to ones he’d just married, apparently.

Perhaps it wasn’t so surprising he’d got friends to help him compile a list when he’d decided he had to get married.

Perhaps she’d overreacted when she’d found and read it. He hadn’t intended her to know he’d resorted to such lengths, after all.

And hadn’t she already decided that she ought not to dwell on how this marriage had come about? But to just make the most of what they had?

And when it came right down to it, wouldn’t she rather be married to him, with all his faults, than a glib-tongued man whose charm marked him down as a seasoned womaniser?

So she met his eye and gave him a tentative smile.

He smiled back, his shoulders dropping a good inch as some of his tension melted away.

I did that. I put him at ease.

Her aunt Pargetter had hinted that if their marriage was to be a happy one, it would be up to her. She hadn’t seen how that could possibly be true, but already, today, she’d made a start. She could have flung the list at him when he returned from the lawyers and demanded an explanation, and an apology. She wouldn’t have received one. Instead of making such wondrous love together, they would have had a fight. They wouldn’t be sitting here, remembering how good it had been, and wondering when they could do it again, either. They would be at daggers drawn.

Not that she would ever let him treat her with such disrespect in future. She was not a mouse. And she had no intention of letting him turn her into one. The thought she might ever end up like her mother, too scared to draw a breath without the permission of her tyrannical husband, had almost made her cry off altogether.

Except that she’d seen Lord Havelock was nothing like her father. And they weren’t eloping, in the face of opposition from both their families. They’d come together for very practical reasons.

Not that she felt very practical about him at this moment. Her mind was a whirling jumble of emotions and desire and, above all, hope.

All of a sudden, Lord Havelock broke into her musings by uttering an oath and throwing the serving spoon back into the dish with a clatter.

‘I should have taken you out to the theatre, or something, shouldn’t I? Not kept you cooped up indoors all evening, with only me for company.’

And that was the nub of the matter. He wasn’t an unkind man. Only a touch thoughtless.

And apparently willing to learn to do better.

‘It was just,’ he said, seizing her hand across the table, his face screwed up with contrition, ‘that I’d planned on getting an early night.’

When she flushed, and dropped her head to gaze at her plate, she heard him chuckle.

‘Not because of that. Well, not only that. You see...’ he gave her hand a slight squeeze ‘...we need to get on the road as early as we can, with the days being so short. I don’t want you to have to put up at any of the inns on our way. And if we make an early enough start, providing we don’t encounter any problems, we should be able to make it in one stage.’

‘Yes, I see. Well...um...’ Her heart was pounding so hard she was amazed he couldn’t hear it.

‘I...I don’t mind having an early night,’ she finally managed to confess, shooting him a coy look from under her eyelashes.

‘Well, yes, but that was before my patience ran out and I swept you off to bed the minute I got back from the lawyers. And...’ He cleared his throat. ‘It probably isn’t such a good idea to attempt... I mean...’ He coughed. ‘You are probably a bit... That is, I’ve heard...’ he flushed ‘...that the first time can leave a lady feeling a bit, um, sore.’

‘I don’t feel sore.’ What she did feel, had started to feel from the moment he’d hinted he wanted to take her again, was an ache. An ache that she knew only he could assuage. ‘You were so careful with me that I...’

‘I will be careful again,’ he vowed, cutting her hesitant response off so swiftly, and with such fervour, that she could tell he wanted her as much as she wanted him.

It was the greatest compliment he could have paid her.

Holding both her hands in his, he looked straight into her eyes.

‘That is, if you want to... I mean, I don’t expect you to...only hope that you...’

He pulled himself up straight, giving his head a little shake, then laughing ruefully.

‘Here’s the thing. Lady Havelock, I would like to invite you to come to my room now, for an evening of...exploration, let’s call it that. I’d like to find out what gives you pleasure. So if, at any time, anything I do causes you discomfort, you have only to tell me, and I will stop. And move on until we find something that you do enjoy. Will you...will you come with me?’

He wanted to spend the evening discovering what gave her pleasure?

How could she possibly refuse?

For one thing, he was only inviting her to do exactly what she’d wanted from the moment she’d woken up, naked, to find him standing over her.

For another, he’d warned her that this stage of their married life might not last long. One of them might take the other in dislike and then all this ardour would cool.

But most of all, only an idiot wouldn’t make the most of having a man like Lord Havelock take her to bed.

And she most certainly wasn’t an idiot.

* * *

It was still dark when the porter came next morning with hot water for her husband to wash. She slid as far beneath the blankets as she could, until he’d gone, then flung back the covers with grim determination and sashayed across the room to pick up her robe, which was lying in a scarlet puddle by the door.

‘I will go to my own room to wash and dress,’ she said as she plunged her arms into the sleeves and fumbled for the sash. It was all very well, she’d discovered, attempting to flout his hope she would behave modestly, but she really didn’t have the stomach for it.

From his bank of pillows, her husband stretched and gave her a lazy smile.

‘I will meet you back in the sitting room. They’ll be setting out breakfast in there, so you might want to, um...’ He indicated the neckline of the robe, which was revealing rather more of her than she’d like.

She gripped the edges close over her throat, leaving the room to the sound of her husband’s throaty chuckle.

It didn’t take her long to wash and dress.

* * *

‘You’d better make the most of this,’ he said, indicating the array of dishes set out on the table when she joined him. ‘I won’t be making long stops on the way, if I can avoid it. Besides, none of the inns I’ve ever tried on the way to Mayfield can offer anything half so good.’

Mary dipped her head as she sat down. How could he be talking in such a matter-of-fact way when she was feeling so...so awkward? So vulnerable? Didn’t he care?

Or hadn’t he noticed how hard this was for her?

Though perhaps that was for the best. After all, she’d vowed he would never have cause to think of her as a mouse.

And anyway, he was at least explaining his reasons for making the travelling arrangements the way he had. Which sounded as though he was looking out for her, in his own way.

She sat up a little straighter and began to nibble at a slice of toast while he demolished a vast quantity of steak and eggs, and ale and coffee. Lord, but he had a healthy appetite.

In more ways than one. She flushed as her mind flew back to the boundless energy he’d displayed the night before. The inventiveness, and the patience, and the amazing stamina...

He looked up and caught her looking at him in a sort of sexual haze. His fork faltered halfway to his mouth.

‘Eat up,’ he said gruffly. ‘You need to keep your strength up. It will be a long and arduous day, and after such a long and...energetic night...’

She lowered her head and slid a mound of fluffy scrambled egg on to her fork. It wasn’t easy to sit at table with a man who’d had his hands and mouth all over her. She knew this was what married people did—and quite a few people who weren’t married, too—but how did they hold conversations, as though they hadn’t done the most shocking things to each other under cover of darkness?

She raised the fork to her mouth. As she parted her lips, her husband gave a strange, choking sort of sigh. When she raised her eyes to his in enquiry, she saw him looking at her lips. His fingers were clenched tightly round his own fork, which hadn’t travelled any nearer to his own mouth.

So he wasn’t as unaffected by their night of intimacy as she’d at first thought. With a little inward smile, she reached for her cup and took a delicate sip of tea, shooting him what she hoped was a saucy look over the rim as she drank. The look he sent her back was heated enough to make her toes curl.

* * *

It kept her warm for the rest of the morning. As did his constant care for her comfort. Though he’d warned her that the journey was likely to be arduous, she found it the least unpleasant she’d ever undertaken. For one thing, she was sitting in a comfortable post-chaise, swathed in travelling furs with a hot brick at her feet, next to a man she...really liked. A man who kept her entertained with a fund of anecdotes about adventures he’d had whilst travelling this route before. It was a far cry from being cooped up inside the common stage with a bunch of malodorous strangers. Then again, wherever they stopped, the landlords gave him swift and respectful service. No waiting around in draughty public rooms, suffering rude stares and coarse remarks. They made good speed and dusk was only just descending into true night by the time their carriage swept through the gates of what he told her was to be her new home.

‘I am sorry you cannot see very much of it,’ he said as they bounced up a lengthy drive. ‘I will show you around tomorrow. The horses should have settled in by then. I had them sent on ahead, by easy stages, the minute I knew we’d be coming down.’

She turned, slowly, and looked at him. He’d sent his horses by easy stages, but pushed her to make the journey in one day?

Just when she’d made allowances for him writing that dreadful list, he...he...

She drew in a deep breath, grappling with the wave of hurt that had almost made her lash out at him. She would not take his casual remark about his horses as a sign he didn’t care about her. Hadn’t he proved that, in his own way, he did? As he’d related all those tales about adventures he’d had in the posting inns on the way here, she’d seen exactly why he hadn’t wanted her staying at any of them.

She’d got to stop looking for signs that he was going to turn out to be just like her father.

‘There are some decent rides on the estate itself, but we can hack across country if you like, see a bit of the surrounding area, too. You’ll want to know where the nearest town is, get the lie of the land, and so forth....’

‘Oh, no,’ she said, lifting her chin. ‘I cannot ride.’

‘You cannot ride?’ He looked thunderstruck. And then crestfallen. And then resigned.

Funny, but she’d never noticed what an expressive face he had before. He’d warned her he was blunt, but not that he was incapable of hiding his feelings.

Which gave her food for thought. He might be thoughtless, even inconsiderate, but she would always know exactly where she was with him. And he would never be able to lie to her.

And though she hadn’t known she’d been carrying it, she certainly felt it when a layer of tension slithered off her shoulders. She hadn’t been able to help worrying about what kind of husband he was going to be.

But so far he’d shown her more courtesy than any other man ever had.

Eventually they drew up in front of a large, and completely dark, bulk of masonry. He muttered an oath and sprang from the carriage with a ferocious scowl. ‘Where is everyone?’ He strode away and pounded on the front door with one fist while she clambered out of the vehicle unaided.

It was so very like the way her father would have behaved, after a long and tiring journey, that it resurrected a few bad memories that made her feel, just for a moment, the way she had as a girl. That there was always something more important, more interesting, for a man to do than care for his wife and child.

‘I wrote to the Brownlows, the couple who act as caretakers, warning them I would be coming down and bringing my bride with me.’

With a determined effort, she shook off the shadow of past experience as Lord Havelock took a step back, craning his neck up to the upper storeys of his house. ‘I can’t see any lights anywhere,’ he said. ‘Did you see any lights, perchance, as we were driving up?’

‘No.’

‘What the devil,’ he said, planting his fists on his hips and glaring at her, ‘is going on, that’s what I want to know?’

‘I have no idea.’ He wasn’t like her father. He wasn’t yelling at her because he blamed her for whatever was going wrong. He was just...baffled, and frustrated, that was all. For all she knew, he might really be asking her what she thought was going on.

Well, there was only one way to find out.

‘Well, perhaps...’

‘Yes? What?’

‘Perhaps they didn’t get your letter.’

‘Nonsense! Why shouldn’t they get it? Never had any trouble with the post before.’

It wasn’t nonsense. He’d arranged their marriage really quickly. And written dozens of letters, to judge from the state of his desk at the hotel.

‘Are you quite sure you wrote to them?’

‘Of course I did,’ he said, snatching off his hat and running his fingers through his hair.

‘Well, then, perhaps, if they were not expecting you...not in the habit of expecting you to call unexpectedly, that is, they may have gone away.’

‘Gone away? Why on earth should they want to do any such thing? I pay them to live here and take care of the place.’

‘Because it is almost Christmas? Don’t you permit your staff to take holidays?’

She had his full attention now. But from the way his eyes had narrowed at her dry tone, she was about to find out how far his temper might stretch before snapping.

‘Begging your pardon, my lord,’ said one of the post-boys, as he deposited the last of their luggage on the step. ‘But since you seem not to be expected here, will you be wanting us to take you to the inn where we’ll be racking up for the night?’

Lord Havelock rounded on the poor man, his eyes really spitting fire now.

‘I’m not taking my wife to the Dog and Ferret!’

‘No, my lord, of course not, my lord,’ said the hapless individual, shooting Mary a pitying look.

She supposed she ought not to despise them for turning tail and fleeing. But, really! What kind of men abandoned a woman, outside a deserted house, in the sole charge of a husband whose temper was verging on volcanic?

And then, just when she’d thought things couldn’t get any worse, an eddy of wind tugged at her bonnet, sprinkling her cheeks with light, yet distinct drops of rain.