Lord Hunter's Cinderella Heiress

Nell didn’t answer and the tense silence held until the butler entered with a tray bearing a pot of tea and a plate of sandwiches.

‘We don’t have any sweetmeats, I’m afraid, sir,’ he said as he placed the tray in front of Nell and she smiled gratefully.

‘Never mind. I don’t like sweetmeats. This is perfect.’

The butler’s brows rose, creating a row of arched wrinkles on his high forehead. Again she saw the glimmer of amusement in the glance he directed at his master.

‘You don’t like confectionery, miss?’ he asked as he poured the tea, and both the action and the question surprised her. ‘Such a distaste is uncommon in young women, if you pardon the impertinence, miss.’

The scent of steaming tea was heavenly and her mouth watered. It occurred to her this particular servant was allowed a great deal of latitude, which surprised her given Lord Hunter’s controlled demeanour.

‘If my aunt is to be believed, my not liking sweetmeats is the least of my peculiarities. Thank you.’ She took the cup and saucer he held out to her.

‘You’re welcome, miss. But eat those sandwiches, do. Anything else, sir?’

‘No, thank you, Biggs. That is more than enough.’

Nell once again heard the mocking note in Lord Hunter’s voice.

‘Very good, sir. Shall I also send a message that you are...otherwise engaged?’

A flash of annoyance crossed Hunter’s face.

‘Yes, do that.’

Biggs bowed and withdrew.

‘I’m sorry I ruined your plans, but really there’s no need...’

‘It doesn’t matter. Eat something and I’ll take you to Amelia.’

‘I really don’t think...’

‘We’ve established that already. Eat up. And next time you plan to stay alone at major posting houses, use an alias. I suggest “Mrs Jones, widow”. Widows are granted more leeway.’

Nell was tired in body and soul, and disheartened, and miserable, and his brusque, matter-of-fact approach pushed her over the edge. Even the sight of the food wasn’t enough to counter the fury that caught her. She put down her cup and saucer with more force than grace and stood up.

‘What useful advice. I will apply it at the next hostelry. In fact, I will try it right away. Goodnight, my lord. Have a lovely life and when you speak with my father tell him to have a lovely life as well.’

He blocked her path, his hand closing on her arms firmly but without force.

‘Don’t be a fool. Come, I will take you to my aunts and tomorrow we will figure out what to do with you.’

‘You will not figure out what to do with me. I am not a...a witless dummy to be manipulated. I promised myself years ago I will never again be bullied and I don’t care how tired and hungry and upset I am, because if you say just one more nasty thing to me I will walk out of here and if you try and stop me I will scream at the very top of my lungs and enjoy every second of it!’

Once again his fleeting smile flashed.

‘I’m certain you will, for a moment. But it’s not very practical, is it? You would probably call the Watch in on us and you look done in and I don’t think you want to spend the next hour explaining the whole story to magistrates and strangers, do you? Can we compromise?’

‘Compromise how?’

‘You eat up and I take you to my aunts and then tomorrow we discuss this. Calmly.’

‘That isn’t a compromise since I still do what you want,’ she said, well aware she sounded like a resentful child.

‘Yes, but tomorrow you can send me to the devil and I will not lift a finger to stop you.’

‘That’s still not a compromise.’

‘Well, it feels like one to me. What on earth are you thinking of doing? You can’t go to the Peacock, especially now I’ve sent Hidgins for your baggage, and if you are contemplating doing something so rash, I just might choose to communicate some interesting information to the landlord that will make your stay more uncomfortable than it already appears to be.’

‘You wouldn’t!’

‘Try me. I’m damned if I’m going to have someone whose name has been tied with mine in an unfortunately public manner make a fool of herself in one of the busiest hostelries in the city.’

‘So you are threatening to compound my folly with yours? That doesn’t make much sense.’

‘Don’t start preaching sense to me, young woman. Well?’

She raised her chin, trying to find a better solution and failing.

‘Fine. For one night. Your aunts will probably think you drunk or mad and I won’t blame them.’

He smiled.

‘Not them. They’re used to my eccentricities.’

Nell felt a snide comment wavering at the edge of her tongue, but held back and sat down again. It felt so very good to lose her temper, a luxury she rarely indulged, but the truth was that he was right—she was hungry and tired and upset and more than willing to postpone coping with the consequences of her actions until tomorrow.

‘Fine. And please stop swearing at me. It is very improper.’

‘Fine. Eat up.’

* * *

Hunter watched as she finally did as she was told and took one of Biggs’s bread and cheese creations. He walked to pour himself a glass of port so she wouldn’t see his smile. Admittedly when he and Sir Henry had agreed on the betrothal four years ago he hadn’t been at his best, but he wondered how his memory could be so seriously flawed. He knew people changed a great deal in four years, he certainly had, and not for the better, but the contrast between this young woman and that girl was extreme. Despite her height she had struck him as rather mousy, all long limbs and very little else, her pale hair showing a distinct tendency to fall out of its pins and obscure her face. She hadn’t been ugly, just...awkward. He remembered her expressions more than her face, from the joyful light after that incredible gallop on Petra to the sheer terror when she had come under her aunt’s attack. Then, in that last minute when she had marched out of the drawing room, there had been something else—for a moment she had taken full advantage of her height and looked almost regal.

She wasn’t a beauty, but mousy or gawky were definitely not the right words to describe her. He wasn’t quite certain what words were applicable, but those blue-grey eyes, sparked with the fire of temper and determination and with a faint catlike slant, were anything but plain, and though she was still lean and athletic, as her limber recovery from the fall on his steps indicated, even under her countrified cloak he could see that her girlish slimness had filled out quite nicely.

In fact, as far as looks went, she was much more appealing than he remembered. But what she had gained in looks, she had lost in temperament. He certainly hadn’t remembered she was such a prickly thing, though now he could recall some of her critical comments during that ride four years ago which should have forewarned him. It appeared he had as thoroughly misread her character as he had been mistaken about her appearance.

It hadn’t taken him long to regret his agreement with Tilney, but he had comforted himself that at least he would be gaining not only Bascombe but a docile, compliant wife grateful to be saved from her less-than-satisfactory life, content to stay in Hampshire and leave him to pursue his work and other interests in London. Well, that conviction was clearly nothing more than a fantasy. There was still something skittish about her and her words about bullying were telling, but she was about as docile as she was mousy.

He savoured his port as he watched her. She might not like sweets, but she was certainly doing justice to Biggs’s sandwiches. She put down her empty plate with a slight sigh and he smiled involuntarily. She was a strange little thing. No, not little.

‘Better?’

Her mouth wavered, as if she was contemplating holding on to her anger, and then settled into a rueful smile.

‘That was the best sandwich I have ever eaten, I think.’

‘I will inform Biggs of your appreciation. He takes bread and cheese very seriously.’

‘A sensible man.’ Her smile widened and he could see that girl again who had slid off Petra after her gallop, confident and confiding, but then she was gone again.

‘He is. Now that you are fed, I have a suggestion to make. When I go to Wilton I will confer with your father and when I return we will all sit down—’

‘Wilton? You’re going to the breeders’ fair?’ Nell asked, leaning forward.

Hunter raised his brow at the interruption. Her face had transformed again and was now alight and eager.

‘Yes. I’ve gone for the past couple of years. I’m looking for a stallion to breed with Petra. Why?’

Her gaze remained fixed on him, but he could have sworn that for a moment she wasn’t there, had left her body and travelled to some place lovely and warm because her cheeks and lips lost their pallor, warming to a shade of a very edible peach, and her pupils shrank, turning her eyes more silver than grey. For a split second he thought this is what she might look like after she climaxed, full of warmth and light, afloat. Then it was gone; she looked down at her hands and pressed them together as if about to pray.

‘I will agree to your compromise. On condition.’

Oh, hell. Somehow he thought he wouldn’t like this.

‘What condition?’

‘I will come with you to Wilton.’

It was not a request. This girl was definitely not turning into the biddable bride he had thought she would be.

‘I am not saying that I agree, but may I ask why?’

She shrugged and tugged at her gloves.

‘Well, clearly we need to speak with Father about repudiating this rumour and if he isn’t in London he has most likely gone to Wilton early. Surely there is no harm in merely driving with you since we are, for the moment at least, engaged. Well?’

Well, indeed? Why should every one of his instincts be on alert? Ever since Kate had shoved the newspaper with that blasted gossip at him he had known his life was going to take a distinct turn for the worse, but somehow he had hoped he could put off dealing with this particular commitment for a little while longer. He was used to the occasional sniping column about his affairs and activities and accepted them as part of his choice of lifestyle, but the deluge that had appeared in today’s papers following the appearance of those two sentences about his purported betrothal was trying his patience. It didn’t help that Biggs had indulged his sense of humour by acquiring several newspapers and spreading them around the house carefully folded open to the most damning, including one entitled ‘Wild Hunter Bagged at Last!’, which had been borderline libellous and peppered with the initials of the women reputed to be mourning his removal from the field.

All told he had been looking forward to confronting Tilney at Wilton and telling him what he thought of his management of this affair. What he had not counted on was that Tilney had clearly never told his daughter about the arrangement or that she would descend on him from the wilds of the Lake District demanding a disavowal. He walked over to the fireplace and shoved in another log. She wanted conditions, fine.

He stood and brushed the slivers of wood from his hands.

‘Very well. As long as you meet my conditions as well. Unfortunately, as far as the world is concerned we are betrothed and to deny that now will cause precisely the scandal we’re trying to avoid. So while at Wilton we present ourselves as such until we can consider how to end this engagement without turning us into a laughing stock. In addition, my co-operation is conditional upon reaching some reasonable long-term agreement about the water rights. I’ll be da—dashed if I have to negotiate yearly fee agreements with my once betrothed or your bridegroom of choice when eventually you decide to marry.’

Hunter trailed off as she blushed so hotly she might as well have been wearing her heart fully emblazoned on her sleeve. No wonder she wanted out of this betrothal. His forced fiancée clearly already had a bridegroom in mind.

As the blush faded she canted her head to one side.

‘Somehow that amounts to quite a few more conditions than mine.’

‘I’m not negotiating. Well?’

She gave a brisk nod and he relaxed.

‘Good. Off we go, then. Just keep your hood pulled low. I prefer not to be seen abroad with such a reckless character as yourself at this late hour.’

She laughed and stood, pulling on her hood, and he felt a twinge of regret. He reached out and arranged her hood so that it better covered the silver-gold glints of her hair. Her eyes rose to his in surprise and he didn’t immediately release the soft fabric. Her irises were an interesting combination of shades of grey and blue—from slate to ice to a rim of darker blue. This close he caught her scent, something warm, like a field of wildflowers in summer. His eyes glided down towards her mouth, slightly parted in surprise. A very generous mouth. For a moment he was tempted to taste that lush curve. The memory returned of her coming towards him on Petra, her hair tumbled and her face alight, except that now his imagination embellished, it was no longer a girl but this young woman coming towards him, and now he was drawing her down onto the grass, spreading that fairy hair out on the wildflowers her scent evoked...

He didn’t move, noting with cynical amusement the enthusiastic response of his body. Trust it to show interest now that he was within arm’s reach of escaping this engagement. Whatever the case, he had no intention of acting on the urge. He stepped back and held out his arm.

‘Shall we?’

Chapter Two

Nell obediently kept her head down as they descended from the hackney cab. At least that had been her intention, but a quick glance at the building they approached made her look up in swift surprise and her hood slipped back. She grabbed at it, but stood staring upwards. She had expected a house similar to Lord Hunter’s or like her father’s more modest town house. This looked more like a rambling school and took up half the road on this side.

Lord Hunter noticed her shocked expression.

‘I know, not ideal, but it’s the best I can do at such short notice. Aunt Sephy and Aunt Amelia live in a separate apartment. Their entrance is down this alleyway.’

He took her hand and placed it on his arm, leading her towards a narrow gap between the building and a row of modest-looking houses scantily lit by a single oil lamp at the corner. His arm was very warm under her gloved hand and it spread a pleasant heat through her, like the comforting animal warmth of leaning against a horse in a cold stable.

She smiled at the thought. Lord Hunter would probably not appreciate being compared with a horse. In fact, she had no idea what he might appreciate. He was not at all what she had expected. Neither the perplexing young man she remembered nor Mrs Sturges’s debauched rake. There was still that rather irreverent amusement hovering in the background, and sometimes not so far in the background, but she certainly didn’t feel threatened by him. Perhaps just a little when he had helped her with her hood; something unsettling in his eyes had set off alarms, but it had come and gone too quickly for her to act on her need to draw back.

Still, it wasn’t wise to trust this man and she shouldn’t presume that she understood him simply because he was so unfashionably blunt. As someone who kept most of herself firmly out of public view, she had a good eye for identifying people whose surface differed from their interior. She could see beyond painfully shy or boisterously loud exteriors and she had used this skill time and again helping Mrs Petheridge with the schoolgirls and even with recalcitrant or challenging horses. Not that he appeared to be masking vulnerability or fear, but there was definitely something behind the urbane façade that outweighed it, and until she understood what it was she would do well not to take him at face value, no matter how charming the face.

As they weaved their way into the gloom she realised she was being all too complaisant about being led into a dark alley by a man she hardly knew. Admittedly the mention of an Aunt Sephy and Aunt Amelia didn’t exactly invoke images of rape and pillage, but still...

‘What is this place?’ she asked in a whisper, slowing her steps, but just then the alley curved into a small courtyard set around a single tree. The cobblestones glistened with the remains of the drizzle and light shone through curtains which were definitely pink and embroidered with flowers. Even in that weak light Nell could see the façade here was well tended and the tree surrounded with chrysanthemums. It was so far removed from the dour impression of the front of the building that she couldn’t help staring.

Hunter stopped as well and his hand covered hers where it lay on his arm. He stood with his back to the faint light from the window, once again a dark-on-dark shape like that first moment he had opened the door, but this time it was a different kind of shock that spurted through her. There was enough light to infuse his eyes with a startling burn of gold and his smile was so enticing that her hand began to turn under his. She froze before she could complete the gesture, but she was incapable of doing anything else but waiting for his move, as surely as if this was a game of chess and these the iron rules of a game they had engaged in.

He wasn’t doing anything, just looking down at her, but in her weary and overwhelmed state he seemed to grow, take on the dark of the night, expand and envelop her. She had never been fanciful but she imagined Lucifer might look like this the moment before he claimed a failing soul for his own. It would feel like this, too: hot, terrifying, all encompassing, seductive. If she leaned forward she might fall into that heat and be consumed by it, claimed and changed for ever. It would be inescapable.

Then he spoke and the moment broke.

‘A bit of a surprise, isn’t it?’ he said and there was nothing in his voice to reflect the swirling heat of the moment. She stepped back, pulling her hand away. It must be the weariness and the confusion, that was all. More proof that she should not trust him, even if that moment had been merely her imagination.

‘I can’t go in there!’ She heard the panic in her voice, but couldn’t help it.

He took her hand again, layering it between his own. This was no longer Lucifer, and though the warmth flowed through her, now it was soothing.

‘It’s all right. You will like them and they will like you, I promise. There is nothing to be afraid of.’

She tried to resent being spoken to like a child except that it wasn’t the patronising tone of some of the schoolmistresses. It was an offer, but the decision would have to be hers. She glanced at the pink curtains and nodded. She had little choice, after all.

He tapped lightly on a lion’s-paw knocker and the door was opened immediately by a round little man who bowed and stood back.

‘Good evening, my lord. Miss Amelia is waiting for you in the parlour. Miss Sephy has of course retired.’

Lord Hunter urged Nell up the stairs into the well-lit hall.

‘Thank goodness for that, Bassett.’

The butler’s mouth relaxed as he opened the door into a room at the back of the house and stood back to let them enter.

‘Indeed, my lord. May I bring refreshments?’

‘You may. Tea for Miss Tilney and something stronger for me.’

Nell cringed at the trouble she was causing and almost began apologising, but Lord Hunter ushered her into the parlour where a woman moved towards them with a smile in honey-brown eyes that clearly were a shared family trait. She also had her nephew’s strong brows and slightly aquiline nose. It was a formidable face, but contrarily Nell didn’t feel at all intimidated. In fact, and very uncharacteristically, Nell liked her on sight and met the woman’s smile with one of her own.

‘Amelia, this is Miss Helen Tilney. Miss Tilney, this is my aunt, Miss Amelia Calthorpe. She lives here with my other aunt, Miss Seraphina Calthorpe, who is thankfully asleep because her rampant curiosity would keep you awake until dawn if let loose. Amelia, we have an emergency. Miss Tilney needs a place to stay for a few days until she decides on her future path. May she stay here? I’ve sent Hidgins to collect her luggage from the posting house, but if he’s delayed she might need to borrow some gear from you.’

Nell was grateful for the soft light, though she was sure her flush of shame was still as apparent as in broad daylight, but Amelia’s face betrayed none of the shock and scorn Nell had expected.

‘Of course you may,’ Amelia said without hesitation, holding out her hand to Nell. ‘And you needn’t worry about your baggage. It reminds me I once lost my trunk and I was miserable because I had just bought the loveliest bonnet. Do come with me and we will have something warm to drink while Bassett is preparing the guest room. Did you travel far today?’

Nell followed her in something of a daze.

‘I...from Keswick...’

‘Oh, of course. I just realised who you are! I am not very good with the papers, but Sephy did show me the column in the Post today, or was it yesterday? I have been meaning to write you a note, Gabriel. Why didn’t you tell me this is the woman you are engaged to?’

‘Not any more. Miss Tilney plans to jilt me as soon as we can do so with minimal fuss.’

‘Dear me, what a pity. Was it something you said?’

‘I think it might be something I didn’t say.’

‘Of course. I quite understand, Miss Tilney, and I must say that though I personally adore Gabriel, I can see your point. From the age of four he was always one to go his own way and let the world follow if it can. Oh, thank you, Bassett. Just put it on the table. I will pour.’

Nell accepted the cup of tea Miss Calthorpe handed her, trying very hard not to give in to the urge to giggle at this increasingly improbable scene. She looked away and met Gabriel’s eyes and the lazy invitation to share in his amusement evoked an involuntary response in her. If ever a look said ‘I told you so’ without exciting the least resentment, this was it. She drank her tea, answering Miss Amelia’s questions as faithfully as possible, but without much awareness of what she said. She laid down her cup on the small round table by her chair, but it tilted alarmingly and the cup and saucer slid away as she watched, too tired and sluggish to even realise what was about to happen. But Lord Hunter leaned forward with a swiftness that made her jerk awake and caught the cup and saucer with a smooth motion.

‘Thank you,’ she murmured, flushing, and his eyes moved over her, intense and questioning.

‘You’re tired. I’ll go see if Bassett is done.’

‘Please, don’t bother...’ she began, but luckily Bassett entered.

‘Miss Tilney’s room is ready, Miss Amelia.’

‘Thank you, Bassett. Come along, Miss Tilney. May I call you Helen, or is it Nell? Leave your cloak. Bassett will give it a good brushing. Goodnight, Gabriel. You may come by tomorrow.’

Nell allowed herself to be propelled out of the drawing room and up the stairs, resisting the childish urge to remain with Lord Hunter. It was a sign of how shaky she was that she was beginning to consider an irreverent rake a safe haven.

Chapter Three

‘He wandered, lost and dreaming of his love...’

Hunter turned with a resigned sigh as a tall dark figure crossed the street towards him.

‘And so it begins. Want to lampoon me out here, Raven? Or shall we wait until you can entertain Stanton as well?’

‘Both, thank you. This merits quite a bit more ribbing than can be accomplished on a doorstep. Besides, I need a drink. I just walked over from Jenny’s and I’m frozen through.’

‘Didn’t she warm you sufficiently? Either you or she is slipping, Raven. Good evening, Dunberry,’ Hunter greeted Stanton’s butler.

‘Speaking of slipping, I frankly never thought you’d take the plunge; it was a bit of a shock to have that gossip in the Morning Post pointed out to me.’