Читать книгу Prejudice in Regency Society: An Impulsive Debutante / A Question of Impropriety - Michelle Styles, Michelle Styles - Страница 14

Chapter Seven

‘Oy, you in there, get up. We need the room. You only paid until morning. It’s first light now!’

A steady pounding on the door opposite them woke Lottie from her slumber. She pushed at the unaccustomed weight of an arm around her middle and suddenly realised that yesterday had been no dream. She was married. And Tristan was in bed with her. Not only in bed, but her bottom was snuggled up against him in a suggestive manner and her whole being infused with the warmth of him as his breath tickled the nape of her neck.

He must have come in some time in the night. And so great was her exhaustion that she hadn’t woken. She should have done. Lottie bit her lip, regretting her late- night thoughts, regretting her damp pillow.

Had he noticed?

She resolved to be a better wife. She would give him no cause to run away and play cards. Her mother must have been right and her passionate response to his kiss disgusted him. She longed to have been wrong.

Half-turning her head, she caught his deep dark gaze watching her. The sight took her breath away and took all thoughts from her head. She could only drown in his eyes as deep hunger grew within her.

‘Good morning,’ he said, running a finger down her arm and sending a warm sensation pulsating through her. ‘You were sleeping like an angel when I came to bed.’

‘There is someone banging on all the doors,’ Lottie said, hanging on to the last remnant of common sense. ‘He wants money. Do we owe him money?’

‘He won’t come in here.’

‘I rather think he means business. He will kick the door down.’ Lottie fought against the tide of rising panic that threatened to engulf.

‘He wouldn’t want to damage his own property.’ His breath tickled her neck.

‘Tristan!’ Lottie covered her ears with her hands.

‘If you insist, I will see what can be done to preserve your sensibilities.’

Tristan removed his arm and stood up, totally unconcerned about his nakedness. His skin gleamed golden in the morning light. Lottie looked at his chest with its sprinkling of dark hair and then forced her eyes higher. She had been sleeping with a naked man and had brazenly pushed herself up against him. Was she a wanton creature?

He pulled his trousers on, and did up the buttons.

‘How can you be so casual about this?’ Lottie clutched the sheet and raised it to her chin. ‘We will be disgraced! He is only next door. I am sure of it!’

‘The room! Or more money!’ The pounding increased. ‘I will have the law on you.’

‘We will leave in less time than it takes to get the constable!’ a man shouted back. And a woman’s voice hurled abuse at the innkeeper.

‘Quit your blathering! You will wake the dead!’ another yelled.

‘Are you telling me to get the constable? I will and I will have every man Jack of you out of this inn. This here inn is a respectable place.’

Lottie regarded the door with horror. What was happening out there? Was the innkeeper demanding money from everyone? Was she going to be treated like some wastrel?

‘Please, Tristan, I beg you—do something.’ She made a little gesture as insults were exchanged between the innkeeper and the unknown guest. ‘I am not decent. Goodness knows what sort of mood the innkeeper will be in when he knocks on our door. Please, Tristan.’

‘Relax, Lottie. I have taken care of matters. We are safe, but if you are worried…’ He opened the door, and stepped outside, closing the door behind him. ‘Is there some problem?’

The reply was muffled, but the knocking ceased abruptly and the innkeeper went off, grumbling. Lottie rested her head against her chest. She was safe. She was not going to face the humiliation of being thrown out of the inn without any clothes on. But would the innkeeper come back? She tucked a strand behind her ear and tried to collect her thoughts.

Tristan came back to bed and put his hands on either side of her face. ‘He has gone now, Lottie. You can stop trembling with fear. You won’t have the innkeeper barging in.’

‘The shame of it. I couldn’t stand the shame.’ She concentrated on taking steady breaths. ‘That poor couple. Do you think they had just married?’

‘I have no idea. They have nothing to do with me. I did not want you to be fearful of the innkeeper.’

‘Thank you.’ Lottie watched the muscles ripple on his shoulder and her lips ached.

‘Perhaps I should have come back to bed earlier. Then you could have expressed your gratitude more properly.’ He trailed a hand down her arm. ‘But it is too late for regrets. We have to move. The day is wasting.’

‘Where are we going?’ Lottie asked quickly. If his hand continued to stroke her arm, she would lose all power of movement. All her resolutions would be forgotten before she had even risen from the bed. ‘What are your plans?’

‘To Gortner Hall, the house I inherited in the North Tyne Valley.’ Tristan withdrew his hands and stood up. He picked his shirt up from the end of the bed. ‘Where we shall spend our days.’

‘There is to be no wedding trip, then?’ Lottie hated the plaintive note to her voice. She knew their wedding was unorthodox, but she had thought they might have a trip, go somewhere before she was buried in the country. Even Henry had taken Lucy to France. A week in Calais. She was going nowhere. There were no doubt some who would say the punishment was justified, but she had always dreamt of a splendid wedding trip.

‘I had not planned to marry. There are things that need my attention. The estate was left vacant for a long period. There is much to do. It will be restored to its former glory.’

‘Lord Thorngrafton’s coachman has gone.’ Lottie wrapped her arms about her knees. She had to be practical. She had to put aside her girlish fantasies, even if it pained her to do so. She had not married a fairy-tale prince; she had married Tristan, a man who had inherited a small, vacant estate. In time, things would improve. She had to be practical, but there remained a little piece of her that wished she didn’t. The sooner they arrived at Gortner Hall, the better. A long, low wail resounded through the room and gave Lottie an idea. ‘Shall we take the express? There is one that runs to Carlisle. I overheard Henry speaking about it the other night at dinner. The speeds are incredible—over forty miles per hour in some places. The first-class carriage has real armchairs.’

Tristan’s hands stilled on his shirt buttons and his face once again wore his remote look. Lottie shifted slightly. Had her tongue run away with her again? What was wrong with the train? It was surely practical. She had not suggested buying a new carriage.

‘That train costs large sums of money. A third of a month’s wage for a labourer.’

‘But you are not a labourer.’ Lottie swallowed hard and struggled to breathe normally. What was Tristan saying? How poor were they? ‘You are a gentleman. You were born one.’

‘You have not seen what needs to be done on the estate.’ He gave a slight shrug. ‘My hands will soon become as rough as any farmer’s.’

‘You are not suggesting we walk all the way there?’ Lottie strove for a laugh.

‘Walking is one way of travelling. Country folk do it all the time.’

‘Yes, but—’ She thought about her slippers and wished she had brought her boots. She had never considered the possibility of walking. Surely he had to be joking. Her slippers would not make it and her feet would be cut to ribbons. If they were going to walk, she’d need stout boots. A train journey would cost less than stout boots. It had to. ‘Gortner Hall is…in the North Tyne and we are in Scotland. It took us all night to drive here from Gilsland and we travelled with fast horses. How long would it take us to walk that distance and more? A day? Two?’

‘Don’t you fancy a night or two out on the open countryside— you, me and a friendly haystack?’ His dark eyes danced as he expertly did up his cravat. He had once again become remote. It was as if suddenly there was a wall between them.

‘Surely we are not reduced to begging.’ The blanket she had been clutching to her chest fell unheeded as Lottie realised the potential. Begging. Being classed as a vagrant. Maybe if she was very unlucky, being thrown in the stocks. She would become one of the despised. There had to be a way of avoiding that fate. ‘My settlement…we can borrow against that. It will be more than enough to take the first- class express.’

‘I have no idea what your settlement will be.’ Tristan finished dressing. The golden god of this morning had vanished and in its place was the remote man from the carriage, the one who had left her standing in the inn’s yard. ‘Your brother and I did not have time to discuss it. I have no doubt your brother will be fair when the time comes. Until my banker tells me it is there, Lottie, I have no wish to borrow against it. It is a good way to end up in Newgate or one of the other debtors’ prisons.’