Читать книгу Loves Me, Loves Me Not - Romantic Association Novelist's - Страница 11

It was a fact universally acknowledged in the village of Marston Priors that Amanda, Lady Marston, although young, was the unchallenged arbiter of good manners.

‘For,’ as Mrs Duke said to Mrs Davy, ‘if Lady Marston feels it is inappropriate to travel even the shortest distance in a carriage without one’s personal maid, I am sure that you will never see me defying convention by going out alone.’ Mrs Davy, who could not afford to employ a lady’s maid, agreed glumly.

Amanda Marston woke slowly and luxuriously that morning. She knew that the day was well advanced because Benson had drawn back the curtains and the spring sunshine was drawing out the rich and vivid colours from the beautiful new Axminster carpet. She knew she had an eye for design. It was one of her greatest accomplishments.

The scent of the hot chocolate lured her and she reached out a languid hand for the cup. Her fingers brushed the crisp parchment of a letter and she picked it up, still mulling over whether the bed drapes required refurbishment and whether pale green gauze might look dangerously like a harlot’s boudoir…Not that she knew anything of such things…

She read the first line of the letter with vague attention, the second with concentration and the third with outrage.

My dear Amanda

It is with great pleasure that I can inform you that I have eloped with Mr Sampson. I have always hankered after participating in an elopement so you may imagine my pleasure. I believe that the usual form of words on these occasions is: ‘Pray do not come after us.’ I am of age several times over and know my own mind, so there is no point in either you or Hugo trying to fetch me back. Indeed,

I hope you will both wish me happy.

Your loving grandmother-in-law, Eleanor Pevensey

Amanda shrieked, an action that startled her as much as it did the footman on the landing outside. Amanda never screamed, not even in a ladylike manner over a dead mouse or small spider. She had always considered having the vapours to be a vulgar way of attracting attention. Now, however, she shrieked again.

Lady Pevensey had eloped.

Lady Pevensey was entrusting herself and all her lovely fortune into the hands of a penniless curate.

Of all the outrages perpetrated by her husband’s seventy-seven-year-old grandmother, this was by far the most shocking. Lady Pevensey had been living at Marston Hall for six months and Amanda had found her a serious trial. Lady Pevensey rode to hounds, swore like a trooper and forgot all about visiting hours.

But none of these offences against propriety was as dreadfully scandalous as an elopement.

Amanda actually spilt drops of chocolate on the beautiful linen of her bedclothes. Never had she felt so overset, not even when the silk for her new evening gown had been quite the wrong shade of rose-pink.

She shoved the chocolate cup aside and tumbled from the bed, grabbing her swansdown-trimmed wrap and hurrying to the door that connected her room to that of her husband.

She turned the knob. The door was locked. She remembered that it had not been used in the past six months and only at very irregular intervals in the three years of her marriage. For some reason this state of affairs suddenly made her feel more than a little troubled.

She ran barefoot to the door onto the landing, only to be confronted by the footman, whose Adam’s apple bobbed with shock at the sight of her ladyship en déshabillée. Normally Lady Marston would not emerge from her room until she was immaculately attired. This was unprecedented.

‘Where is Lord Marston?’ Amanda demanded, waving the letter agitatedly in the footman’s face. ‘I require to speak with him immediately!’

The footman boggled. Lady Marston never required to know where her husband was, treating his whereabouts as a matter of utmost indifference. Red to the tips of his ears, he managed to stammer that Lord Marston had breakfasted several hours earlier and, he believed, was out on the estate.

‘Then pray send to find him,’ Amanda snapped, ‘and send for Crockett. At once!’

Choosing her morning outfit was usually one of Amanda’s favourite occupations but this morning she found that the merits of her cherry-red promenade dress or her pale yellow muslin did not interest her. She had grabbed a lilac gown when her maid arrived and dressed with a lack of care that startled the poor woman severely. When Crockett enquired how she would like her hair arranged, Amanda said, ‘I do not have the time!’ scooped up the letter and positively ran down the stairs.

Lord Marston had not yet been found but Amanda remembered vaguely that he had said something about his sheep at dinner the previous night and so she set off towards where she imagined the pastures might be. Following a mixture of bleating and hammering, she located Lord Marston a good mile away, by which time her dainty slippers were ruined and the hem of her lilac gown three inches deep in mud.

Amanda did not notice, however, for as she drew near she realised that it was Hugo himself who was hammering in fence posts. His jacket discarded, his rolled up shirtsleeves revealed strong, bronzed forearms. The muscles moved beneath his skin as he worked with grace and precision. Amanda, who had been about to exclaim over the inappropriateness of her husband undertaking manual work, discovered that her mouth was suddenly dry.

Hugo caught sight of her and straightened. In the spring sunshine his eyes gleamed vivid blue in his tanned face. He rubbed his brow and Amanda saw a drop of sweat run down the strong brown column of his neck. She should feel disgusted but suddenly there was a curl of something quite other than disgust in the pit of her stomach. Why had she never noticed before that Hugo was so attractive?

‘Amanda?’ Hugo came up to her and caught her elbow. The warmth of his hand seemed to burn through the silk of her gown. ‘What the devil are you doing here?’

His gaze, normally so inscrutable, slid from the tips of her muddy slippers to her flushed cheeks and lingered on the hair loose about her face. Suddenly there was something speculative and heated in his eyes that made Amanda feel even more light-headed. It was not the sort of look a man should give his wife of three years. She could not remember Hugo ever looking at her like that. It was not respectable. Nor was his bad language. But it seemed incredibly hard to drag her gaze away from his, let alone to correct him.

‘I…um…’ Amanda made a huge effort to remember why she had needed to talk to him. Lady Pevensey. She held out the letter. ‘Your grandmother, Hugo! The most disastrous thing! She has eloped with Mr Sampson! We simply have to stop her.’

Hugo dipped his head over the note, affording her a most enjoyable view of his broad shoulders under the damp linen of his white shirt. He wore an old pair of breeches that Amanda would normally have scorned. But how well they fitted his muscular thighs and what a fine figure he had. She blinked. What on earth was wrong with her? Lady Pevensey’s elopement had overset her nerves, of course, and running around in the sunshine without a bonnet was very bad for her. She needed to lie down in a darkened room.

With Hugo.

The thought slipped into her mind and she was so shocked that she blushed. She saw that Hugo was watching her, a quizzical smile in his eyes. Another curl of excitement lit her blood, only stronger than before. To cover her embarrassment she snapped, ‘Well? What are you going to do, Hugo? Your grandmother has run off with a man half her age!’

The smile did not fade from Hugo’s eyes. ‘I do not think you are quite correct there, my dear. Mr Sampson came late to ordination and I believe he is now in his sixties—’

‘He is still young enough to be her son,’ Amanda said. ‘And that is not the point, Hugo. The point is—’

‘That she is rich and we wanted her money and now there is a danger she will leave it to her new husband instead,’ Hugo finished.

Amanda gaped. ‘How very vulgar you sound!’

Hugo shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘Is that not what you meant, Amanda?’

Amanda struggled. ‘Well, I suppose…But I would not have put it so bluntly.’

‘Why not?’ Hugo’s smooth tones seemed to hold the very slightest hint of mockery. ‘We both know that Grandmama’s twenty thousand pounds would be most welcome.’

‘Yes,’ Amanda said, still struggling, ‘but I wish to save her from a terrible mistake.’

‘Rot,’ Hugo said cheerfully. ‘The only mistake you wish to save her from is leaving her money away from us!’

Amanda wondered whether too much fresh air had gone to Hugo’s head. He never normally spoke to her like this. Usually he was courteous to the point of indifference. She felt an unexpected pang at the thought.

‘You are mistaken,’ she said carefully. ‘I do not think it right for Lady Pevensey to marry a man even twenty years her junior.’

‘Because of the scandal.’

‘For her personal happiness!’ Amanda burst out, though admitting to herself that her husband was absolutely right.

‘Oh, I should not worry about that. Sampson is a fit and vigorous gentleman for his years. I imagine he will make her very happy.’

‘Hugo!’ Amanda was appalled, her mind awash with most inappropriate images of Lady Pevensey and her new husband disporting themselves in the bedroom.

‘I mean that they have a shared interest in hunting and the outdoors,’ Hugo said, ‘as well as a lively interest in more academic matters. That is more than many couples can boast. Whatever did you think I meant, Amanda?’

‘Nothing!’ Amanda shook her head slightly, trying to dispel the images and at the same time trying not to take too personally Hugo’s comment about couples who had nothing in common.

‘Well,’ she said, ‘since it seems I cannot persuade you to try to prevent this elopement, Hugo, I shall set out for Gretna Green immediately.’

Hugo gave a crack of laughter. ‘You? You do not even know where Gretna Green is!’

‘The coachman will know,’ Amanda said, finding a temper she did not even know she possessed. ‘Really, Hugo, you are in a strange mood today! I shall travel with Crockett and if we make good time I am sure we may overtake them.’

‘And then what? On whose authority will you send them home?’ Hugo looked highly entertained. ‘You are not dealing with a recalcitrant schoolroom chit, Amanda!’

Amanda, thoroughly annoyed, made to stalk away. By now she was miserably aware of the state of her hem and the soaked material of her slippers. The wind had teased her hair to a haystack and she was cold.

But Hugo caught her hand. It felt warm and comforting but also intimate and exciting. Hugo never normally held her hand.

‘Wait,’ he said. ‘I cannot permit my wife to travel to Gretna unprotected. I will come with you. If we are fortunate we may even reach Oxford by tonight.’

Amanda was so surprised that she stepped into a puddle. Hugo swung her up in his arms. ‘Hugo!’ Amanda gasped, clutching his forearms, which felt remarkably hard and lean. ‘What on earth are you doing?’

‘Merely helping you over this muddy ground, my dear.’ His breath tickled her ear, sending goose bumps along her neck. Amanda could smell his scent—fresh air and sweat and the faint hint of sandalwood cologne. What could be the matter with her? She had thought that an unwashed male body would repel her rather than making her head spin. It was perhaps fortunate that Hugo’s shoulder was so close. She leaned her head against it and lay quiet all the way back to the house.

Once Amanda had recovered from being carried home she banished her husband to wash and change his clothes and hurried to do the same. There really was no time to waste, no matter how indulgent Hugo felt of his grandmama’s misdemeanours. Hugo was famously—infuriatingly—easy-going, but Amanda knew that Lady Pevensey’s elopement would be the talk of the county. Everyone would whisper and gossip and titter and commiserate and it would be intolerable. Lady Pevensey’s lack of decorum would reflect on her. Her position in Marston Priors might well be under threat. It was not to be borne.

It therefore took her a mere hour and a half to don her travelling gown, instruct Crockett on the packing of her portmanteaux and descend the stairs to find her husband waiting, immaculately dressed in jacket, pantaloons and Hessians. On seeing her, he checked his pocket watch.

‘Less than two hours. And only three cases! You are to be congratulated, my dear.’ His gaze fell on Crockett, attired in a plain cloak and grasping a small bag. ‘Alas, I fear we cannot accommodate your maid, my love. I have had the small carriage prepared for the sake of speed and there is room only for us—and your luggage, of course.’

Amanda halted. ‘But I cannot travel without Crockett! Hugo, it simply isn’t done. She must come!’

‘Nonsense,’ her husband said bracingly, steering her out of the door. ‘What could be more decorous than that you be escorted by your husband? I may act as lady’s maid.’ He gave her a look that Amanda could only think was provocative. ‘I am not inexperienced.’

‘Indeed?’ Amanda’s travelling gown suddenly felt a trifle too hot.

She was still wrestling with her unfamiliar and rather disconcerting awareness of Hugo as the carriage clattered through Marston Priors and onto the toll road as the Wiltshire Downs unrolled around them. She had been in a closed carriage with Hugo many times and had never suffered this affliction. Indeed, she realised, she had taken him for granted.

Brought up from an early age to see the acquisition of a husband as a desirable sign of standing, she had gained her married status at the age of one-and-twenty, a little late because she was particular. Hugo had been easy to reel in and she had thought they were well suited. He was handsome, titled, well connected and wealthy without being extravagantly rich. More importantly, he had an equable humour, he was generous and did not interfere in her running of the household. She had thought, until that moment in the hall ten minutes before, that he would always permit her to have her own way. As for intimate matters—Amanda blushed inwardly but forced herself to think about it—she had been pleased that after their honeymoon Hugo seemed not to want to trouble her with his attentions more than twice a month and latterly not at all. Her mama had explained that a lady must be decorous at all times, particularly in the marriage bed, and Amanda had tried to follow that advice. She had been aware of a disappointing result but had put it from her mind.

Now, though, regarding her husband as he lounged with elegant grace against the cushions, she felt a stab of anger. It seemed quite wrong that he should thwart her in the matter of the maid and, more importantly, that he should be so relaxed when she was in a state of advanced fluster. She had not been herself since seeing him in his shirt and breeches but that could not account for this uncomfortable awareness. After all, she had even seen him with no clothes on at all. But she had looked away, as a lady should. Heat and agitation made her shift on the seat and Hugo looked politely concerned.

‘Are you quite well?’

‘I feel a little strange,’ Amanda admitted. ‘I think I am anxious because we set off in such a rush.’

‘Of course,’ Hugo murmured, his bright blue gaze fixed on her in a manner that made the breath catch in her throat.

‘Tell me about your sheep.’ Amanda searched desperately for a distraction from her curious feelings. ‘Last night at dinner you said that you wished to buy a flock of a different breed.’

Hugo looked surprised. ‘I thought you were not attending. I was not aware that you had an interest.’

Amanda had, in fact, very little curiosity about sheep but she was prepared to express an interest in just about anything if it helped lessen the strangely intense atmosphere between them. And, after a while, she forgot she was indifferent to her husband’s interests. They chatted about everything from Hugo’s improvements to the estate to the literature preferred by Amanda as first Wantage and then Abingdon were passed, with a change of horses and some refreshment in both towns. There was no sign of Lady Pevensey and her beau, although an elderly lady eloping with a curate would surely seem noteworthy, and although they asked at every post house they reached Oxford with no news. Between Oxford and Banbury Amanda fell asleep and woke to discover that she was resting her head on Hugo’s shoulder and his arm was about her. She raised her face to see him smiling down at her as he smoothed the tumbled hair away from her face.

‘I do not recall you ever venturing out without your hair in some sort of complicated arrangement,’ he commented, toying with the end of the ribbon that held her curls. ‘This is vastly more becoming and I am less likely to be stabbed by some ornament when I am close.’

The carriage lurched to a stop and he kissed her lightly before releasing her and moving to open the door.

‘Where are we?’ Amanda stammered, disconcerted to feel her lips tingle from the imprint of his.

‘At the King’s Head in Banbury. I will bespeak a room for the night.’

It was only when the groom was helping her down that Amanda realised he had said one room rather than two and prickles of excitement and apprehension raced through her. But when the landlady had shown them up the stairs to the spotlessly clean bedchamber, she found her husband as adamant on the subject of the room as he had been on the subject of the maid.

‘Two rooms?’ A dangerous light lurked in his eyes. ‘Out of the question, my love. Although this is a most respectable inn, I could not endanger either your life or your virtue by leaving you alone. You must sleep with me and then you will be quite safe.’

‘You must sleep in the chair,’ Amanda argued, panic building in her throat as Hugo slipped off his coat and loosened his neck cloth. He seemed so at ease, so confident, so thoroughly in control. It was making her nervous.

He laughed. ‘Have a heart, my sweet! I have lurched over bad roads all day on a wild goose chase. The least you can do is let me share your bed. I am your husband and it is perfectly respectable.’

It felt quite improper to Amanda, unaccustomed to such close proximity with her husband, but he pressed a glass into her hands and she did not argue. The wine had been warmed and it tasted strong and sweet. Amanda felt the colour bloom in her cheeks and delicious warmth spread through her. The knot of tension inside her started slowly to unravel.

The landlady brought a rich beef stew into their private parlour. Amanda was surprised to discover it tasty. She was yawning, which was unforgivably rude, but when she tried to apologise Hugo only laughed and filled her glass again. By the time the meal was over she was almost asleep and her elbow kept sliding off the table. Eventually Hugo scooped her up and carried her through to the bedchamber.

‘You seem to have been sweeping me off my feet all day,’ Amanda whispered, aware that she was now extremely cast away and that the room was spinning slowly. She looked up into his face and could see the shadow of every individual eyelash cast against the hard line of his cheek. She raised a hand and ran her fingers over his cheek, fascinated by the roughness of his stubble. His eyes closed and she saw a muscle tighten beneath her caress, but then he set her down and started to unfasten her gown with brisk, impersonal movements. She felt his fingers against the nape of her neck, then lower, down her back. The gown eased and she stepped out of it, feeling abruptly and overwhelmingly shy. Gently, he sat her on the bed and knelt to remove her shoes and to roll down her stockings. The candlelight was in his blue eyes, his expression intent and serious and Amanda’s stomach dropped with longing and a feeling she identified, with absolute amazement, as lust.

She must have made a small sound, for he looked up and their eyes locked for a long moment. There was a hard, bright light in his that made her feel quite faint and then—she was never sure how it happened and afterwards she did not care—he rolled her on the bed and his hands were in her hair and she was reaching for him with a fever that equalled his own. He kissed her as though he was starving and she kissed him back and her ribbons and laces were wrenched apart and his clothes were thrown on the floor and they came together exultantly, desperately, with love and lust and no thought for propriety until they lay panting and astonished in each other’s arms.

Afterwards, when she had slept for a little and they had made love again more slowly, Amanda smiled to see her three portmanteaux, packed with respectable night clothes, sitting superfluously in the corner of the room.

‘You promised that it would be perfectly proper for you to share my bed,’ she said, ‘but that was decidedly improper.’

She felt Hugo’s chest move as he laughed. ‘I cannot dispute that. Did you like it?’

‘Yes!’ There was a great deal to be said for bursting out of the restraints of propriety. ‘I cannot think why I did not do that before. It was so much more fun when I join in.’

Hugo laughed again. ‘For me, too.’ He shifted so that he could look at her. ‘I am sorry, Manda.’ His affectionate use of her pet name made her smile. ‘I knew that you had been brought up to believe that physical intimacy was to be tolerated rather than enjoyed and I did not make sufficient effort to persuade you to a different point of view.’ He ran a hand over her bare shoulder and she shivered. ‘I was disappointed that you did not seem to want me and so I withdrew from you when I should have talked.’

Amanda snuggled closer. ‘I am sorry, too, Hugo. I was young and foolish and I thought that to catch a husband was the end of the process rather than the beginning.’

Hugo smiled. ‘We have wasted a lot of time.’

‘Yes, but we can make up for it.’ She kissed him. ‘How far is it to Gretna Green?’

‘Too far,’ Hugo said. ‘Rather than trying to prevent my grandmother from marrying again, I would rather return home and invest the time in getting to know my own wife properly.’

Amanda smiled. ‘I would like that extremely.’ She rubbed her fingers gently over his chest. ‘I love you, Hugo. In that respect I am happy to follow my mama’s advice that it is quite appropriate to have an affectionate regard for one’s husband.’

‘I love you, too.’ Hugo rolled over to kiss her properly.

‘Manda,’ Hugo said, as the carriage rolled back through the gates of Marston Hall next day, ‘I have something to confess.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Grandmama has not gone to Gretna. She is marrying Mr Sampson at Bath Abbey on the twenty-third of this month. She would very much like us to be there. She left me a note yesterday, too.’

Amanda stared. ‘But if you knew that, why on earth did you let us set out for Gretna…?’ She stopped.

‘I am sorry,’ Hugo said, smiling so charmingly that Amanda’s indignation started to melt like ice in the sun. ‘If you re-read the note that Grandmama left you, you will see that she never mentioned Gretna at all. When you made that assumption—and when you appeared not indifferent to me—I was determined to take the opportunity to try to mend matters between us.’ He smiled. ‘I would have gone all the way to Scotland if I needed to, Manda. You are that important to me.’

Amanda started to laugh until the tears rolled down her face and her stomach ached with great gales of mirth that her mother would surely have thought most unbecoming. When the coach drew up on the gravel she grabbed Hugo’s hand and dragged him into the hall.

‘You owe me something for that deception,’ she whispered, standing on tiptoe to kiss him. His arms went about her.

‘Anything, my love.’

Then both of them became aware, somewhat belatedly, of the presence of Mrs Duke and Mrs Davy, who had evidently called only a few moments before and were studying their amorous embrace with horrified expressions.

‘Mrs Davy, Mrs Duke!’ Hugo said. ‘I do apologise. Is it visiting time? Alas, Amanda is exhausted from our travels and needs to lie down immediately. As do I.’

And he carried his wife up the sweep of the stair and closed the bedroom door very firmly behind them.