Regency

Christmas Proposals

Christmas at Mulberry Hall

Carole Mortimer

The Soldier’s Christmas Miracle

Gayle Wilson

Snowbound and Seduced

Amanda McCabe

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Acclaim for the authors of REGENCY CHRISTMAS PROPOSALS

CAROLE MORTIMER

Lady Arabella’s Scandalous Marriage

“Mortimer excels at producing strong, independent heroines, and Arabella, the pampered youngest sister of three older brothers, fits the bill when she comes up against London’s most notorious rake.”

—RT Book Reviews

Snowbound with the Billionaire

“Carole Mortimer’s intensely passionate romances …have been enchanting and enthralling readers for more than thirty years. [This] novella …is an excellent example of this international bestselling author’s storytelling prowess!”

—Cataromance

GAYLE WILSON

Anne’s Perfect Husband

“This high-action plot careens along the edge between traditional

Regency and gritty, intense historical. This innovative mix carries themes on the healing powers of love and survival.”

—RT Book Reviews

The Heart’s Wager

“Gayle Wilson has achieved an uncommon, and uncommonly successful, hybrid of Regency, action-adventure and romance that makes for non-stop entertainment.”

—RT Book Reviews

AMANDA McCABE

High Seas Stowaway

“Amanda McCabe has gifted us twice over—nothing is better than hearing about friends from other stories. High Seas Stowaway is a fast-paced, exciting novel. Amanda McCabe has done it again—a wonderful tale!”

—Cataromance

A Sinful Alliance

“Scandal, seduction, spies, counter-spies, murder, love and loyalty are skilfully woven into the tapestry of the Tudor court. Richly detailed and brimming with historical events and personages, McCabe’s tale weaves together history and passion perfectly.”

—RT Book Reviews

About the Authors

USA TODAY international bestselling author CAROLE MORTIMER was born in England, the youngest of three children. She began writing in 1978, and has now written over one hundred and fifty books for Harlequin Mills & Boon. Carole has six sons: Matthew, Joshua, Timothy, Michael, David and Peter. She says, “I’m happily married to Peter senior; we’re best friends as well as lovers, which is probably the best recipe for a successful relationship. We live in a lovely part of England.”

GAYLE WILSON is a two-time RITA® Award winner. In addition to this, Gayle’s books have garnered more than fifty other awards and nominations, including the Daphne du Maurier Award for the Best Single Title Romantic Suspense of 2008, awarded to Victim, her most recent novel from MIRA Books.

Gayle has written forty-one novels and four novellas for Harlequin Mills & Boon. Please visit her website at www.BooksByGayleWilson.com.

AMANDA MCCABE wrote her first romance at the age of sixteen—a vast epic, starring all her friends as the characters, written secretly during algebra class. She’s never since used algebra, but her books have been nominated for many awards, including the RITA®, Romantic Times Reviewers’ Choice Award, the Booksellers Best, the National Readers’ Choice Award, and the Holt Medallion. She lives in Oklahoma with a menagerie of animals and loves dance classes, collecting cheesy travel souvenirs, and watching the Food Network—even though she doesn’t cook. Visit her at http://ammandamccabe.tripod.com and http://www.riskyregencies.blogspot.com

Christmas at Mulberry Hall

Carole Mortimer

Dear Reader,

Christmas is always a magical time of year for me, a time for family and friends, and writing a Christmas story set in Regency England was especially enjoyable. I could almost feel the coldness of the snow and smell the mistletoe and holly!

I have given Lord Gideon Grayson—Gray, a minor character in several books in the THE NOTORIOUS ST CLAIRES quartet—his own story, as he meets and falls in love with the woman destined only for him. You will also have a chance to catch a glimpse of the St Claire family as Gray and the woman he loves join the family at ducal Mulberry Hall for the Christmas holiday.

I hope you enjoy reading Gray’s story as much as I enjoyed writing about him!

A happy and peaceful Christmas to you all,

Carole

To all those readers who have come along with me on this wonderful journey as the members of the St Claire family and their friends find true love and happiness.

This one is for YOU.

Chapter One

December, 1817. Steadley Manor, Bedfordshire.

‘As I am holding a pistol, sir, and it is pointed directly at your heart, I advise you to stop exactly where you are! ‘

Gray stopped. But not because he was in the least daunted by the threat of having a pistol pointed at him. The cavernous entrance hall in which he was standing was in darkness, and the ghostly white figure at the top of the wide staircase was shadowy at best. Ergo, if Gray could not see the woman with any degree of clarity—a youngish woman by the youthful sound of her voice—then he very much doubted she could see him, either—let alone have a pistol pointed directly at his heart, as she claimed so dramatically. Which was not to say the chit was not in possession of a pistol, only that her aim, if she should choose to pull the trigger, would be far from accurate.

Having spent all day in his curricle, travelling from London to Steadley Manor, his estate in Bedfordshire—something he had realised, as it had begun snowing several hours ago, had not been the wisest of decisions for mid-December!—night had completely drawn in by the time Gray finally arrived. He had been less than pleased at being unable to find either groom or stableboy to attend to his weary horses. Nor, having seen to the stabling of his horses himself, a butler or footman to greet him once he had ascended the dozen steps up to the oak door fronting the house. Neither had he found candle and tinder on the table just inside that door once he had let himself in, leaving him no choice but to try to find his way in the semi-darkness.

Travelling to his estate in Bedfordshire had been something that Gray had been avoiding since he had come into its inheritance on the death of his older brother Perry some two and a half years ago, but to now arrive and find himself held at pistol-point—an event far too reminiscent of one that had occurred several weeks earlier, and in which a man had died—was beyond irritating. It was infuriating!

Too infuriating, after such a long and unpleasant day of travelling, to be borne a moment longer!

‘I told you to stop, sir!’ Amelia warned desperately, as after the briefest of pauses the man below began to stride purposefully—ominously!—across the hallway and began ascending the staircase towards her. ‘I will be forced to shoot you if you do not stop, sir.’ Her voice rose as the man did not so much as hesitate but continued to take the stairs two at a time. Each step bringing him ever closer to where Amelia stood at the top of that wide staircase.

White teeth gleamed up at her in the darkness in a parody of a grin. ‘A word of advice, sweeting—never threaten a man with a loaded pistol unless you fully intend to pull the trigger!’

This man was actually mocking her!

He had broken into the house, no doubt with robbery or worse in mind, and now he had the unmitigated gall to laugh at Amelia’s efforts to defend herself.

Amelia had come to live at Steadley Manor some three years ago, on the marriage of her mother to Lord Perry Grayson. Only to have her mother die only months after the marriage, followed several months later by the death of her stepfather. Their deaths had left Amelia to the guardianship of her stepfather’s younger brother, Lord Gideon Grayson. A man who had not troubled himself to visit her once during the past two and a half years. Being left to live here alone, apart from a paid companion, had been unbearable, but to now find herself the source of amusement for a burglar was intolerable!

Too much so for Amelia to allow that amusement to go unpunished …

Her heart thundered in her chest as her back stiffened with both indignation and purpose. Eyes narrowing, she straightened her arms out in front of her, her hands tightly gripping the pistol as she carefully aimed and fired.

‘Why, you little—!’

Strong fingers reached out to wrest the smoking gun from Amelia’s hands. At the same time she was knocked off balance by the recoil of the pistol and deafened by the force of the blast as it reverberated around the cavernous entrance hall. She landed on her bottom. Painfully. Humiliatingly. She looked up to find the man looming over her in the darkness, giving all the appearance of an avenging angel, the pistol now held securely in his much larger hands.

Amelia was sure a weaker woman might have fainted. That even a strong woman, such as she considered herself to be, might have done so in an effort to escape the obvious wrath of the man who now towered over her so threateningly. Amelia was made of sterner stuff, however, and as such she had no intention of showing any sign of weakness to the man who had broken into the house in the middle of the night.

‘It will do you no good to point that pistol at me, sir, when it has already been fired,’ she told him with satisfaction, and she gathered herself up to stand unsteadily upon her slippered feet.

Gray wasn’t sure whether to beat this woman for her recklessness in accosting a man she obviously believed to be a burglar, or to remonstrate with her for her impudence. After brief consideration, he decided to do neither of those things …

His eyesight had now adjusted to the gloomy, moonlit hallway, allowing him to see that the woman now facing him, with all the courage of an indignant bantam hen, in reality barely reached the height of his broad shoulders. She was in possession of an abundance of what looked to be either gold or silver-coloured hair, framing a small and pale heart-shaped face before it fell in soft curls down the length of her spine to what, if Gray was not mistaken, was a very shapely little bottom.

Although he could not actually see the colour of her eyes, the challenging glitter in them as she continued to glare up at him was unmistakable. A challenge that no red-blooded man—even one who had been travelling for most of the day—could have withstood!

‘I—What are you doing, sir?’ The little hellion’s tone was slightly panicked as Gray dropped the empty pistol on the table beside them before pulling her effortlessly into his arms.

He grinned down at her wolfishly as he held her easily. ‘I would have thought my intent was obvious, madam!’

It was more than obvious, Amelia acknowledged as her slender and virtually naked body was pressed—moulded—against a much harder one. And she realised that her sense of outrage was edged with trembling excitement …!

The man who held her so tightly was incredibly tall. With a lean and muscled body that Amelia defied any woman—even one who had been scared half out of her wits only minutes ago—not to be completely aware of. He smelt of a light cologne and horse leather. Not the unpleasant smell it should have been, either, but somehow terribly male. Nerve-tinglingly so!

‘Release me at once, sir!’ Amelia was aware, as must this man be, that her protest was completely lacking in conviction.

Gray looked down at her mockingly. ‘I would, sweet—if I thought you really meant it!’

Her eyes stared up at him angrily as the woman struggled in his embrace. ‘But of course I mean it!’

He gave a slow shake of his head as the woman’s squirms only succeeded in pressing those lush and tender curves even more intimately against his own. ‘I think not.’

‘You are impertinent, sir!’

Gray found he had fixed his gaze upon her full and delicious lips rather than actually listening to what those lips were saying, and his arms were unyielding about the woman’s waist as he moulded her soft body into his own. One of his hands moved lower still to curve about the full roundness of her bottom as Gray pulled her into the hard throb of his arousal, the grinding of his thighs against hers easing a little of his hunger.

Amelia was filled with a strange, heady delight as she felt the hard press of this man against her; her breasts tingled, and her whole body was filled with a hot and burning ache …a yearning she had never known before.

A yearning that made her question her own sanity!

This man had broken into the house in the middle of the night. Had mocked her attempt to shoot him before holding her against him in this intimate manner. It was madness on Amelia’s part—sheer madness—to even consider allowing him further liberties. To allow herself to enjoy being held in his arms …!

Amelia glared up at him as she pushed against the hardness of his chest, and was able to distance herself, to feel the chill of the air against her heated body, as his arms fell back to his sides and he stepped lightly away from her. ‘I advise you to leave now, sir!’

‘You do?’

‘I do!’ Amelia took exception to the hard mockery she detected in his tone. ‘Before my—my husband appears and decides to beat you within an inch of your life!’

The man’s gaze became hooded. ‘Your husband, madam?’

Amelia, having impulsively made the claim, now felt slightly flustered. In her determination to best this man she had decided that a husband sounded much more threatening than a guardian—especially as her guardian was very much absent! So absent, in fact, that Amelia had never so much as set eyes upon Lord Gideon Grayson! Even so, her claim of being married might have been a little rash on her part.

Her chin rose challengingly. ‘You have broken into this house with the intention, no doubt, of stealing anything of value, you have—have taken liberties with me, and you are not even aware of whose house it is you have broken into!’ she accused impatiently.

This young woman looked magnificent in her anger, Gray acknowledged ruefully. Her eyes were glittering, her cheeks flushed from those ‘liberties’ he had taken.

A pity, then, that she was also a liar …!

Gray’s mouth tightened. ‘Is it necessary that I should know a man’s name in order to rob him?’

‘I would have thought it would have been something that interested you, yes!’

Gray shrugged. ‘Then perhaps you would care to enlighten me, sweeting?’

‘I am not your sweeting,’ the haughty little miss informed him agitatedly. ‘And Steadley Manor is owned by Lord Gideon Grayson, of course.’

A fact that Gray—the Lord Gideon Grayson in question—was all too aware of. As he was also aware that he did not possess a wife! ‘The man to whom you claim you are married …?’

‘To whom I am married, sir,’ Amelia confirmed firmly, only to frown once again as her claim was met with what could only be called a loaded silence. A silence Amelia found she did not much care for. ‘No doubt you have heard the tales of my—my husband’s gambling and womanising whilst he is in Town, but do not be fooled by his rakish reputation, sir. I assure you he is an excellent shot. Nor will he take kindly to the fact that you have—have taken liberties with his wife!’

‘Indeed?’ the intruder drawled dryly. ‘Your …husband would also appear to be something of a heavy sleeper …’

Having been rudely awoken herself only minutes ago, by the sound of footsteps crunching outside on the gravel driveway, Amelia had barely had time to locate the pistol she kept on her bedside table and pull on her robe over her night-rail before hurrying out into the hallway to confront this man. She was certainly in no mood to be trifled with. To be mocked. Especially by a man whose only weapon appeared to be her own no longer primed pistol.

Of course he could have a pistol of his own secreted somewhere about his person—indeed could be hiding several weapons under the many folds of his greatcoat. But as he had not produced any so far, Amelia did not believe he would do so this late in their encounter.

‘I assure you, sir, you will not find this situation so amusing if my husband appears, or one of the servants should decide to loose the dogs on you!’

‘My, my—a sleeping husband who, when awake, is nevertheless an excellent shot. And several dogs—fierce ones, no doubt?—who might also be loosed upon me,’ the infuriating man taunted mockingly. ‘Be assured I am quaking in my boots, madam!’

The devil sounded more amused than chastened, as Amelia had intended that he should. ‘You are insolent, sir!’

‘And you, madam—amongst other things—are a liar!’ he assured her grimly.

Amelia’s hands bunched into fists at her sides. ‘How dare you?’

‘Oh, I believe, if our acquaintance continues for any length of time—’

‘Which I sincerely hope it will not!’

‘—that you will find that I dare a lot of things, dear lady,’ he continued undaunted.

‘I am not your—’

‘But first—’ the man harshly overrode her protest ‘—I must dispute your claim of being mistress of this house. I have it on good authority that Lord Gideon Grayson is not, nor has he ever been, in possession of a wife!’

‘You have …? Then you have been sadly misinformed, sir,’ Amelia blustered as she faced him down defiantly.

‘I have?’

He spoke mildly. Too mildly for Amelia’s comfort. ‘You have,’ she insisted firmly. ‘Lord Grayson and I were married in the church here in the village but six months ago,’ Amelia assured him haughtily. ‘A quiet ceremony, attended only by family and close friends,’ she added hastily—just on the off-chance this man did actually have ‘good authority’ with which to consult on the matter.

Not just a liar but a bare-faced one at that, Gray allowed exasperatedly, as the lies continued to trip so smoothly off this woman’s little pink tongue.

But, considering he was Lord Gideon Grayson—Gray to those close friends this woman talked of so knowledgeably, the same close friends, no doubt, with whom, when he was in Town he gambled and womanised—Gray knew exactly where he had been six months ago.

And it had certainly not been anywhere near Bedfordshire or this village, and certainly not in a church marrying this impudent chit of a woman …!

Chapter Two

All of which posed an interesting question—who the devil was she?

As far as Gray was aware, apart from his household servants—of which there had so far been neither sight nor sound—there were only two people currently in residence at the estate he had inherited on his brother’s death two and a half years ago: his young ward, Amelia, and her companion—a Miss Dorothy Little.

Although that name aptly suited the petite young woman standing before him, Gray considered her behaviour in confronting a man with a pistol in the middle of the night, whilst wearing nothing more than her nightclothes, to be reckless. Considering that Gray had ‘taken liberties’, as she called it, it had been reckless in the extreme!

As for this woman’s outrageous claim of being his wife …

Gray’s mouth tightened grimly. ‘I propose, madam, that we see to the lighting of a candle and begin this conversation anew.’

Amelia was completely nonplussed by the suggestion. This man should have turned tail and run the moment she’d confronted him with a loaded pistol. He certainly should not have mocked her or taken her in his arms, only to then remain completely undaunted by her warning concerning her husband’s prowess with a pistol and the threat of having the dogs loosed upon him.

The way he had spoken to her just now, and his proposal of lighting a candle before they recommenced their conversation, did not give Amelia the impression that he had been, or indeed was, any of those things!

She searched his face, her eyesight having adjusted slightly to the bathe of moonlight shining in through the windowed cupola high above them, and was able to see now that the man was possibly aged thirty, maybe a little younger, with dark hair that curled about a hard and roguishly handsome face. His light eyes were narrowed—the moonlight was still not sufficient for Amelia to see their exact colour—and glittering down at her.

The covering of the many-caped greatcoat he wore—the reason, no doubt, why he’d given every appearance of being an avenging angel towering over Amelia a few minutes ago—revealed only that he wore snowy-white linen at his throat, a dark tailored superfine, and pale pantaloons above black Hessians.

He looked, in fact, more like an arrogantly confident man of fashion than the burglar Amelia had initially assumed him to be. ‘Who are you, sir?’ She eyed him warily.

‘Should that not have been the first question you asked rather than the last?’ he said tautly.

Amelia allowed that, in view of this man’s unmistakable air of confidence and wealth, perhaps it should. However …‘Before or after you had broken into Steadley Manor in the middle of the night?’

‘I arrived in the middle of the night, madam, because it has taken me all day, travelling in the cold and the snow, in which to get here,’ he informed her harshly.

That dark and wondrously curling hair did look a trifle damp …

‘And I did not break in,’ the man continued disgustedly. ‘The lock on the front door was already broken, and for some inexplicable reason has not been mended!’

The reason for that was not inexplicable at all; the lock on the front door had remained broken because there was no one left at Steadley Manor, nor the money, to see to its repair. ‘That is beside the point—’

‘No, madam, that is precisely the point.’ Gray was fast coming to the state of losing his temper. Something he rarely, if ever, did. As the eligible Lord Gideon Grayson, a man spoilt and fêted by the ton, both for his wealth and his unmarried status, he found there were very few occasions upon which his will was thwarted. Something that this reckless companion of his young ward must be made aware of. ‘I require a candle be lit immediately, if you please,’ he repeated grimly.

‘But—’

‘If you please, madam!’

‘I am sure there is no need to shout—’

‘And I assure you I have not even begun to shout.’ Gray glowered down at her darkly. ‘The candle, madam!’

Deciding that it would perhaps be imprudent on her part to incite this man’s displeasure any further, Amelia turned obediently to where she kept an unlit candle in readiness on the table that fitted so neatly into the niche at the top of the stairs, her hand shaking slightly as she struck the tinder and lit the taper before holding it over the wick. She drew in a deep, steadying breath before lifting the candle in its holder and turning back to face the man whose forceful arrogance was rapidly giving her the impression that he might just have a perfect right to have entered Steadley Manor so confidently in the dead of night after all …

One look at that handsome but harshly hewn face, dominated by piercing grey eyes, and Amelia knew he did indeed have that right. No one more so, in fact, when his likeness to Lord Peregrine Grayson, the previous owner of the Steadley estate and Amelia’s own deceased stepfather, was so blatantly obvious.

‘Lord Gideon Grayson …?’ Amelia prompted with a sinking heart, even as she made an elegant curtsey. Something not easily achieved in one’s nightgown and robe!

‘Ma’am,’ he confirmed with a terse bow.

Oh, dear! Amelia inwardly cringed as she realised—acknowledged—that she had not, as she had assumed, fired her pistol at a burglar, but at the man who had inherited the title and Steadley Manor on his older brother’s death some two and a half years previously!

Those grey eyes continued to glower down at her. ‘Not your husband, after all …?’

Amelia felt the colour burn her cheeks. ‘I only said that because I thought it would—well, that a husband would be more of a deterrent.’

‘A deterrent to my taking further “liberties”, no doubt?’ he drawled.

‘Yes!’

‘Hmm.’ Lord Grayson scowled darkly. ‘Now that we have dispensed with the formalities, perhaps you would care to tell me why there appear to be no grooms in my stables and no servants in my house?’

Amelia was more than happy to have the conversation directed elsewhere other than her impetuous claim of being married to this man! ‘There are but two servants left on the whole of the estate, My Lord,’ she informed him ruefully. ‘Mrs Burdock, the cook, has been here for so many years now that she has assured me she is too old to find new employment. And Ned the gardener refuses to be parted from his prize roses.’ Her tone softened with affection as she spoke of the elderly gardener.

Gray eyed the young woman disapprovingly, more than ever convinced, now that he could see her clearly, that she could not be a suitable companion for his ward.

Her hair was indeed the rich, deep colour of gold, and fell in gloriously thick waves over and down her shoulders and spine above the thin white robe that was all she wore over her nightgown. The eyes that looked up at him so curiously were the deep blue of the Mediterranean Sea on a clear summer’s day, her complexion as white and unblemished as alabaster, and her lips a full bow, as red and inviting as the ripest of berries.

The robe—a flimsy and totally inappropriate garment for a paid companion to wear!—was draped over her nightgown, but not fastened, and revealed the full and deliciously tempting swell of those pert and creamy breasts that had been pressed against Gray’s own chest only minutes ago.

Circumstances being what they were, Gray had not as yet had the pleasure of meeting his young ward, but he could see at a glance that the woman standing before him was too seductively beautiful to be the paid companion of any young and no doubt impressionable girl.

In fact, after having enjoyed the lush curves of her body being pressed intimately against his, Gray believed her to be far more suited to being the paid ‘companion’ of any male member of the ton who might be on the hunt for a new mistress!

Considering that Gray’s older brother Perry had been married but a few months before he died, and by all accounts happily so, Gray could not help but wonder what his brother could have been about, hiring someone so young and so seductively feminine as companion to the young stepdaughter he had acquired upon his short but sweet marriage.

Gray’s mouth thinned as he looked down at the woman from between narrowed lids. ‘You have forgotten to list yourself in that number.’

Those blue eyes widened, before a frown of consternation appeared between those fine eyes. ‘Oh. Yes. I am here, too, of course.’

Gray nodded tersely. ‘Of course.’

Amelia worried her bottom lip between her teeth as she pondered how best to extract herself from this disastrous situation. Especially as the man in front of her did not look like a man capable of losing even one ounce of that arrogant pride that fitted him as perfectly as his impeccably tailored clothing!

An arrogant and wickedly handsome man who had held her in his arms only minutes ago …

Amelia moistened her lips before speaking. ‘I am unsure as to whether your bedchamber is suitable for habitation, My Lord. It is so long since anyone last slept in that particular bedchamber that I am afraid that even if the bed is made the sheets upon it are sure to be damp—’

‘I will see to my own sleeping arrangements shortly, thank you, madam.’ His pale eyes shimmered down at her in the candlelight. ‘At this moment I am more interested in why there should be only yourself and two other servants remaining on the Steadley estate?’

Amelia blinked her surprise at what was surely an unnecessary question. ‘Because they have all departed …’

‘Why?’

‘Because, My Lord, they had not been paid in six months or more …’

‘What?’ Lord Grayson glared down at her ominously.

She shook her head. ‘Mr Sanders had not been able to pay either the household staff or the gardeners and grooms for many months before he was forced to depart for greener pastures himself only days ago.’

Gray recalled that Sanders had been the name of his estate manager he had written to the previous week, informing him of his intention of arriving at Steadley Manor today …

Having deliberately stayed away from Steadley Manor these past two and a half years, Gray had never met the estate manager who had replaced Mr Davies upon the latter’s retirement a year ago. He had, in fact, put all the dealings of the estate, including the hiring of a new estate manager, into the capable hands of Worthington, his lawyer.

Because Gray had not wanted Steadley Manor, nor the estate, nor any of the other responsibilities—such as Perry’s recently acquired stepdaughter—that had been left in his charge when his brother had died. The only thing Gray had wanted was his brother back safe and well from the Battle of Waterloo. Something that was never going to happen now Perry had been left broken and dead on the battlefield.

Steadley Manor, the estate, even Perry’s dratted stepdaughter, were all just reminders to Gray that he would never see his beloved brother again. Easier by far, then, to ignore them all and simply continue to live his own life in London.

Until, that was, Gray had received a letter a fortnight ago, delivered to his London home one morning, from Daniel Wycliffe, the Earl of Stanford. The Earl’s estate was but twenty miles from Steadley Manor, and Daniel had been a childhood friend of Gray’s brother Perry. The fact that the other man had written to Gray at all had been cause for surprise, but the content of the letter had been even more so.

The Earl had heard rumours, he had written, that all was not well at Steadley Manor. That livestock was being sold and not replaced. The fields were left untended. The estate cottages were falling into a state of disrepair. The Earl had concluded with the statement that it was not for him to say whether or not these rumours were true, only that he felt he should bring them to Gray’s attention.

Gray had read through the letter several times, and each time he’d done so his annoyance had deepened at the Earl having had the audacity to write to him at all. He had no doubt as to why the other man had chosen to interfere—as a friend of Perry’s the Earl had decided it was high time that Gray saw to his responsibilities at Steadley Manor. It was an interference that Gray had deeply resented.

So much so that once he had finished his breakfast Gray had sat down and written the other man a terse reply, along the lines that he was perfectly capable of dealing with his own affairs, thank you very much!

Except …

The letter from the Earl of Stanford had arrived at a time when Gray, after years of working secretly as an agent of the crown, had been reflecting on what he should do with the rest of that life, recent events having left him feeling strangely restless and dissatisfied. After a further week of contemplation, of finding no answers to that restlessness, Gray had finally come to the conclusion that perhaps he should travel into Bedfordshire to see if his future lay there after all.

As much as Gray had had no real desire to travel to flat and uninteresting Bedfordshire at this cold and unwelcoming time of year, he’d also known that there was no more perfect a time for him to leave London, now that the majority of the ton had returned to their country estates in anticipation of the Christmas holiday in one week’s time.

He would visit his estate in Bedfordshire, Gray had decided, and see if there really was any basis for the rumours the Earl claimed to have heard, before travelling on to Gloucestershire in response to an invitation he had received from Hawk, Duke of Stourbridge, to spend Christmas there with the St Claire family.

Gray had not realised when he’d made those arrangements quite how serious the problems at Steadley Manor were. Servants not being paid. The departure of almost all those servants, both inside the house and out of it. How his young ward had been living alone here all this time—apart from the company of a woman Gray already considered totally unsuitable as companion to a young and impressionable girl.

All of them were things, Gray was now only too aware, that he would most certainly have known about—might have prevented from happening—if he had taken the slightest bit of interest in the running of his own estate since his brother died …

Gray scowled. Damn it all, he’d had other responsibilities—his duties to the crown to fulfil—without having to worry about something that should have been ably taken care of by the two men he had paid so generously to do it in his stead.

Which begged the question: if the money had not been paid into the hands of the household and the estate workers, then whose purse had it ended up in? Only his lawyer, Worthington, and the estate manager Sanders had handled the money before it was suitably dispersed to the men and women employed on the estate. As Gray had seen and spoken to Worthington only days ago—the older man had been delighted that Gray was at last taking some interest in his estate—it would appear that only Sanders, the man to whom Gray had written a week ago to inform him of his intention of arriving at the estate some time today, was no longer here to answer any of Gray’s questions …

His mouth firmed. ‘You did not feel the same need to absent yourself because of the non-payment of your own wages?’

‘I, My Lord?’ The woman blinked up at him innocently, instantly drawing attention to the long length of the dark lashes that surrounded those huge blue eyes.

Deliberately so?

Gray could not be sure. Nor did he wish to be! From what he had recently learnt he would have more than enough problems to deal with during the next few days, without having to concern himself with the flirtations of a young woman he did not consider fit to take care of one of his horses, let alone the development of his young ward.

He nodded tersely. ‘You, ma’am.’

Amelia looked up at him with a frown. She had to admit that Lord Gideon Grayson, with that stylish dark hair and those enigmatic grey eyes set in a face as masculine and perfect as a sketch she had once seen of one of Michelangelo’s sculptures, was one of the most handsome men she had ever set eyes upon.

Unfortunately, having now met him, Amelia realised he was also the most arrogantly forceful man she had ever encountered, too!

She gave a slight shake of her head. ‘I do not understand, My Lord …?’

He eyed her impatiently. ‘I am asking if you love your work here so much that you have been happy to do it all these months without payment?’

‘No, My Lord …’

Really—was Gray to add stupidity to the list of this woman’s character defects? It would be a pity if that were the case; even a woman as beautiful as she would do better in the world if she possessed at least some intelligence. ‘No, you do not love your work here? Or, no, you have not been happy to do it without receiving payment?’

She gave a tinklingly dismissive laugh, revealing tiny and perfectly straight white teeth between those plump red lips. ‘No, I do not work here at all, My Lord.’

‘You—?’ Gray gave an irritated frown. ‘Explain yourself, if you please!’

‘I am Amelia, My Lord—Amelia Ashford,’ she added lightly as Gray continued to stare down at her uncomprehendingly. ‘Your step-niece and ward.’

Gray was too startled—shocked!—by the revelation to even attempt to hide it, and he openly goggled down at her.

This beautiful and seductively lovely woman—a woman any man would relish taking to his bed—was the daughter of the genteel but impoverished widow his brother Perry had been married to for only months before her death, soon followed by Perry’s own death at Waterloo?

Chapter Three

It could not be!

There had to be an error of some sort. Amelia Ashford was a child—only seventeen years of age—whereas this young woman was—

Perry’s stepdaughter had been ‘only seventeen’ two and a half years ago …

Which would now make her in her twentieth year, not her eighteenth!

Circumstances beyond Gray’s control had meant that he had never met Perry’s wife Celia, nor her daughter Amelia. Perry had written to Gray at the time of his marriage, of course, assuring him of his joy in his wife, and of his delight in becoming stepfather to such a delightful child as Amelia.

There had not been time for Gray—nor opportunity—to visit the new family at their estate in Bedfordshire before Perry had written to Gray a second time, shortly before he’d had to depart for Waterloo, informing him of his complete devastation at the sudden death of his wife from influenza.

When the news had reached Gray, only weeks later, of his brother’s own demise during that last bloody battle he had felt absolutely no desire to visit the estate he had just inherited—to be at or see the place where he would be made aware of his brother’s absence the most.

Instead Gray had put the financial running of the estate into the hands of his lawyer, while concentrating his own energies on his duties in London. His only dealings with Steadley Manor during that time had been the twice-yearly meetings Worthington had insisted upon, so that the lawyer might present Gray with an account of estate business.

Never in all that time, Gray now realised uncomfortably, had he given even a thought to how Amelia Ashford had dealt with the sudden death of her mother, quickly followed by that of her stepfather. Let alone considered the loneliness of the life she must have led all this time, secluded away in rural Bedfordshire.

Gray studied her from between narrowed lids now, as he attempted to reconcile his previous image of a young girl on the brink of womanhood with the reality of the beautiful and seductive young woman who stood before him, wearing only her nightclothes. A young and tempting woman, who conjured up images of bedchambers and lithe and naked bodies intimately entwined amongst tangled sheets—

Damn it, Amelia Ashford was under Gray’s protection, and as such she was the last woman on earth that he should find himself having such intimate imaginings about! The last woman he should have held in his arms.

‘What is your companion Miss Little about,’ he rasped harshly, ‘that she allows you to run about the house at night dressed only in your nightclothes and brandishing a loaded pistol in order to challenge a man whom you believe to be a thief?’

Whatever Lord Grayson had been thinking during those last few minutes of silence, they had not been pleasant thoughts, Amelia decided ruefully as she heard the hardness of his tone. ‘I am afraid Dotty Little was amongst the first to leave your household.’

And although Dotty had been employed to be Amelia’s companion when she’d first come to live at Steadley Manor, she could not say she had been sorry when the fussy little woman had departed in a huff some months ago. It had become very tiresome to constantly be told, ‘No, that is not ladylike, Amelia,’ or, ‘No, a lady does not behave in that way, Amelia,’ or, even worse, ‘No, a lady does not look at a gentleman in that way, Amelia,’ if she should happen to glance admiringly at one of the handsome young men who attended the church services on a Sunday.

No, in spite of the occasional loneliness Amelia had suffered in the months since Dotty’s departure, it had been pleasant to be free of the constant restraint previously placed upon both her behaviour and thoughts.

Although she could tell by the thunderous scowl upon Lord Grayson’s brow that the knowledge of Dotty’s departure did not meet the same favour in his eyes.

‘When did Miss Little leave?’

‘Some weeks ago,’ Amelia dismissed uninterestedly. ‘You must be cold and hungry after your journey, My Lord, allow me to go down to the kitchen and prepare you a light repa—’

‘How many weeks ago?’

‘I am sure that there will be some of the thick stew and freshly baked bread left over from my own supper—’

‘How many weeks ago, Amelia?’

She looked up at him through the curtain of her long lashes. ‘There really is no need for you to raise your voice, My Lord,’ she reproved softly.

His young ward was, Gray realised, attempting to be everything that was sweetly innocent. Attempting—because after her earlier behaviour he was not fooled for a moment! Believing her to be other than who she was, Gray might have made a mistake in taking her in his arms, but there had been no doubting Amelia’s warm response!

‘Perhaps if you were to answer my question I would not feel the need to do so?’ he came back mildly—and just as insincerely! ‘Perhaps,’ he continued grimly, ‘if you had written to me at the time of Miss Little’s departure the situation here would not have become quite so dire as it is!’

Her eyes widened indignantly. ‘I trust you do not consider me to blame for the servants having departed?’

‘No,’ Gray allowed. ‘Only for choosing not to inform me of it.’ He was fully aware of who was to blame for the state of things at Steadley Manor. As he was also aware of the debt of gratitude he owed to Daniel Wycliffe for bringing those problems to his attention. Gray knew he owed the other man an apology at the earliest opportunity …

‘I did not—My Lord, there is blood upon the sleeve of your greatcoat!’ his ward gasped, her hand rising to her mouth in alarm, and a look of fascinated horror in those wide and incredulous blue eyes as she stared at his left arm.

Gray glanced down uninterestedly at the blood-soaked sleeve. ‘That is what usually happens when one has been shot, Amelia.’

Cheeks that were already smooth and pale as alabaster became even paler still as all the colour drained from his ward’s beautiful heart-shaped face. ‘I—You—Are you saying that I—that I aimed true …?’ Her breasts rapidly rose and fell as she breathed deeply and erratically.

Gray’s mouth twisted ruefully as Amelia reached out blindly to rest a steadying hand upon the banister. ‘You did not shoot me through the heart, as you threatened to do, but I do believe I have received a flesh wound upon my left arm that may need some attention. I trust you are not about to swoon, Amelia?’ He frowned darkly as he noticed the way his ward had begun to sway on her slippered feet.

Amelia was very much afraid she was about to do exactly that!

Except …

The look of impatient disgust she detected on Lord Grayson’s rakishly handsome face as he scowled down at her was enough to bring her back to her full senses.

For Amelia to pinch herself at the realisation that Lord Gideon Grayson was actually here, at Steadley Manor, at last.

Wonderful as her sense of freedom had been after Dotty’s departure, Amelia had recently begun to grow a little tired of languishing alone here in Bedfordshire. Now that Lord Grayson was here she certainly did not intend behaving like a complete ninny by fainting at his feet. Bad enough, surely, that after all the years of waiting for this moment she had actually shot Lord Grayson within minutes of first meeting him!

‘Certainly not, My Lord,’ Amelia assured him briskly. ‘I was merely overcome for a moment, that is all. We will go to my bedchamber—’

‘For what purpose, might I ask?’ He lowered dark and reproving brows.

She gave him a frowning glance. ‘Only because there is a fire alight in there to warm you and to ensure that you do not suffer from shock as well as loss of blood.’

The only shock that Gray was suffering was in finding that this seductive young woman—and she was most certainly a woman, and not a child!—was his ward. A woman he had held in his arms only minutes ago. Intimately.

‘The water remaining in the jug following my own ablutions should still be tepid, at least.’ She ignored Gray’s scowl as she moved to his side and placed his uninjured arm across her shoulders before picking up the candle to light their way.

Amelia Ashford was definitely a plucky little thing, Gray acknowledged with reluctance. Not that it had ever been in any doubt, after the way she had faced him down with a pistol earlier—and actually succeeded in pinking his arm, too!

Gray had been vaguely aware, following the retort of the pistol, of a little discomfort in his left arm, but as it had only been slight—like the stinging of an angry bee—he had as quickly dismissed it. It was, however, starting to hurt like the very devil now that he had been reminded of it!

Damn it, if any of Gray’s male acquaintances in the ton—heaven forbid any of his friends amongst the St Claire family!—ever learnt that he had been shot and wounded by his delicate slip of a ward, he would never live it down. Would find himself the butt of their jokes for years to come.

He attempted to extract his arm from about those slender shoulders. ‘I assure you it is only a flesh wound, Amelia—’

‘A flesh wound that needs to be bathed and bandaged.’ She continued to doggedly guide his progress along the shadowy hallway.

‘I am perfectly capable of walking unaided,’ Gray snapped in his irritation with the idea that Amelia seemed to have acquired that he in any way needed her questionable assistance.

Damn it, he was only eight and twenty—in the prime of his life—not some decrepit old man incapable of walking simply because he had received a graze upon his arm from a pistol shot. Besides, he had received and as quickly recovered from wounds that had been much more serious than this one …

‘I am sure that you are, Lord Grayson,’ that honeyed voice soothed patronisingly. ‘I am merely endeavouring, as you do not know the way, to guide you to my bedchamber.’

Good God, after holding her in his arms earlier, the last thing Gray wanted was to go to this young woman’s bedchamber! The marriage between her mother and Gray’s brother might have been of short duration, and the couple now both passed away, but Amelia had still been Perry’s stepdaughter. And, with no other relatives alive to care for her after her mother and stepfather had died, Gray had become—still was—her guardian.

A guardian who was only too aware of her beauty and her powers of seduction!

And Gray was only too aware now, as he attempted to distance himself, of the soft delicacy of her flesh beneath his arm and hand, the warmth of her body pressed so close alongside his own …!

‘This really will not do, Amelia—’

‘We have arrived now, My Lord.’ She raised no further protest as Gray at last managed to wrest his uninjured arm from across her supporting shoulders, and instead reached out to push open the door to her bedchamber.

A room Gray could not resist glancing into as he found himself filled with a curiosity to know if Amelia’s bedchamber would be as feminine as the woman herself.

It was.

Curtains of golden velvet hung at the two long windows, the furniture was of a pale cream and delicate in design, and the matching four-poster bed was draped in white satin and lace, with half a dozen matching pillows plumped up at its head. Pillows which Gray instantly knew would be a perfect foil for the spread of Amelia’s loosened gold hair—

Gray drew himself up sharply. ‘It is simply not done, Amelia, to invite a gentleman into your bedchamber!’

Her eyes widened at his cold vehemence, before those long dark lashes once again lowered to conceal the expression in the depths of those blue eyes. ‘I have invited my guardian into my bedchamber,’ she corrected huskily. ‘And surely if that man is a gentleman, and intends behaving as such, then there can be nothing wrong in a woman inviting him into her bedchamber …?’

Gray could not think of one gentleman of his acquaintance—several of them married!—who would be capable of behaving the gentleman if the lush and kissable Amelia were to invite them into her bedchamber!

‘Besides, My Lord, you are injured,’ she continued practically.

Injured, yes. Incapable of feeling male desire, no!

‘Suffering from a wound that I inflicted,’ she added with a pained grimace.

There was that, Gray accepted slowly, and he found himself unable to resist the appeal of those sea-blue eyes as she looked up at him so prettily. ‘Very well, Amelia.’ He sighed. ‘But I will remain only long enough for you to bathe and dress my wound.’

‘You are very forgiving, My Lord,’ she told him.

Forgiving or not—ward or not—Gray was still very aware that apart from the cook, Mrs Burdock, he was apparently completely alone in the house with Amelia Ashford. Completely alone in her bedchamber with the beautiful and seductive Amelia. A woman who had already caused his arousal to throb and ache once this evening …

Despite her earlier protestations, Amelia was less sure as to the correctness of Lord Grayson being in her bedchamber once he had removed his ruined greatcoat—Amelia doubted that amount of blood could ever be removed!—his superfine, his waistcoat, and finally his shirt, before then sitting down upon the side of her bed so that she might tend to the deep graze on his arm.

She had never seen a man unclothed before, but even so Amelia was certain that Lord Gideon Grayson was a very fine specimen indeed. She had already guessed as much, of course, when he had held her in his arms earlier, but she could be left in no doubt now, when confronted with this much naked male flesh …!

Hard and lightly tanned flesh that showed the evidence of several scars.

‘Have you fought many duels, My Lord?’ Amelia allowed the tips of her fingers to move lightly across the scars on his back and chest, and a puckered and circular blemish on his shoulder that looked as if it might have been caused by a bullet wound. There were several more vicious scars across his back and torso that might have been inflicted by a sword.

Lord Grayson shot her an irritated glance. ‘Why should you assume I have fought any?’

Because Amelia knew that Gideon Grayson, rather than joining the army, as a second son might be expected to do, had instead allowed his older brother to take up arms in defence of the family name, whilst he continued to live the life of the rake in London. Becoming involved in such exploits and scandals there that tales of his many mistresses and excessive gambling had even reached them here in the wilds of Bedfordshire.

Surprising, then, how tanned his skin was. How broad and powerful his shoulders. How the muscles of the bareness of his back, chest and stomach were so perfectly defined they rippled every time he moved. How that chest was covered in a light dusting of hair as dark and curling as that upon his head …

He smelled divine, too—like the outdoors. Earthy, and somehow untamed. And something else. Something indefinable. Something Amelia found wildly—deliciously—alluring.

Amelia met his gaze boldly. ‘Perhaps my assumption is based on the fact that you did not hesitate to take an unknown woman into your arms earlier—’

‘I believe you have cleansed my wound enough, Amelia!’ Lord Grayson scowled his displeasure as he shifted sharply away from her.

Amelia gave a guilty start as she realised that she had ceased bathing his arm long ago, and had instead been running her fingertips lightly over his scarred torso. Fascinated, simply enjoying the sensation, and watching as the muscles rippled beneath that tanned and taut skin each time she did so.

She turned away to wipe her hands upon the towel. ‘I will need to go downstairs and collect clean bandages.’ Her cheeks were flushed, her gaze lowered to avoiding meeting his piercing grey one as she turned away to place the soiled cloth into the bowl of water before carrying it back to the washstand.

Giving Gray a perfect view of the outline of her voluptuous breasts, her slender waist, and curvaceous hips and thighs, as the light from the candle placed upon the dresser was reflected through the thin material of her nightgown and robe.

The last ten minutes of being tended by his ward had been torture such as Gray had never experienced in his life before. Minutes when he’d had to sit on the side of her bed, completely unmoving, as Amelia stood so close to him that he had been aware of everything about her.

Her breath had been a warm and scented caress against his sensitive flesh. Her long and silky hair like spun gold as it hung loosely about her shoulders and down the length of her spine, on one memorable occasion caressing the bareness of his own shoulders and back as she’d tilted her head the better to tend the graze upon his arm.

And he had been all too aware of her complete nakedness beneath the nightgown and robe as she ran her fingers lightly across his back and chest. His breath had caught in his throat as the firm and creamy swell of her breasts had moved repeatedly within his line of vision, allowing him to discern the size and shape of them. Once again he had been aware of the stirring, hardening, of his own body, and had found himself unable to look away from the tips of those breasts as they’d pressed against the diaphanous material. Tiny twin buds, as tempting and dark as ripe berries—berries that would be sweet and juicy against his lips—

Gray stood up abruptly. ‘I will see to bandaging my own arm.’ His voice was a harsh rasp as he glowered across the room at her. ‘I believe, Amelia, that you have caused me enough discomfort for one evening!’ And in ways Gray did not even wish to even think about. If he did then he might decide not to leave her bedchamber at all tonight!

She blinked at his vehemence. ‘I doubt you will be able to manage alone—’

‘I have managed alone for eight and twenty years, Amelia. I believe I will be able to do so one more night, at least!’

‘But—’

‘I advise you to go to bed and sleep, Amelia,’ Gray instructed her coldly, even as he gathered up his blood-sodden clothes from the back of the chair where she had placed them earlier, to hold them firmly in front of the revealing bulge of his arousal. ‘No doubt the two of us will have much to discuss come morning.’

Amelia could only stand and watch as Lord Grayson strode from her bedchamber without sparing her so much as a second glance, his roguishly handsome face set into cold and forbidding lines as he closed the door decisively behind him.

Chapter Four

‘By all that is—! What on earth are you about now, Amelia?’

Amelia was startled into turning her head sharply towards where her guardian stood in the doorway of the breakfast parlour as she knelt in front of the hearth, careful to keep her coal-blackened hands well away from her pale lemon gown as she sat back upon her slippered heels.

Lord Grayson appeared very large and imposing as he completely filled the parlour doorway. And, although there had been no mention the evening before of his valet having accompanied him, the white linen he wore was impeccable beneath his superfine, with a silver and black waistcoat beneath, and his legs long and muscular in buff-coloured breeches.

As so often happened in the cold month of December, despite it being a crisp and icily cold day outside, the sun was shining on the snow that lay several inches thick upon the ground. The brightness of that sun now shone through the parlour windows, and allowed Amelia to see Gideon Grayson in the clear light of day.

And to see that he was even more incredibly handsome today than he had appeared the previous night!

The darkness of his hair fell in soft and fashionable waves onto his forehead and against the hardness of his cheeks, and those chilling grey eyes returned her gaze piercingly from beneath lowered dark brows. His sculptured mouth appeared both firm and sensual above a grimly arrogant jaw.

Lord Grayson was not just handsome, Amelia decided. He was wickedly, magnificently so!

‘Are you quite well this morning, My Lord?’ Amelia’s voice sounded as huskily breathless as she felt.

Gray supposed he was as well as any man could be when he had been shot in the arm the evening before, had proceeded to hold in his arms the one woman in the world he should not have so much as touched, and then spent a sleepless and uncomfortable night in a bedchamber that had not only been cold, because the fire he’d tried to light had refused to draw, but in which the bedlinen had also been as damp as Amelia had predicted it might be.

His arm also hurt like hell this morning. A dull and painful throb not unlike the discomfort he had suffered because of his inappropriate arousal the night before!

Damn it, Gray had promised himself he would not think again of the way he had held Amelia the previous evening—or of the time he had spent in her bedchamber, of how sensually alluring she had appeared to him as she’d tended to his arm. Of the light and enjoyable caress of her delicate fingers against his flesh. Of how his arousal had throbbed as he gazed upon her body through the thin material of her nightgown and robe.

He especially did not want to remember how his arousal had continued to throb and ache long after he had climbed between those damp and deuced uncomfortable sheets upon his bed …!

‘I asked you a question, Amelia,’ he reminded her brusquely.

‘I thought I would light the fire in here so that the room would be tolerably warm by the time you came down for your breakfast, My Lord.’ A questioning Amelia pushed up from her knees to stand before him, a slight and delicate figure in a woollen gown of the palest lemon.

She had confined that golden hair into a riot of gleaming curls this morning, but she looked no less beautiful because of it, as several of those wispy curls fell across her creamy brow, her lightly flushed cheeks, and her long and elegant nape.

It was a delicacy of appearance completely at odds with the feisty woman who had confronted Gray with a pistol yesterday evening before claiming to be his wife!

Gray’s mouth twisted mockingly. ‘How solicitous of you, my dear.’

‘I thought so, too, My Lord.’ Sparkling blue eyes returned his gaze impishly.

Gray’s gaze narrowed he strode into the parlour, his frown of irritation deepening as he took in the irrefutable evidence that Amelia had obviously become accustomed to lighting her own fires in Steadley Manor—these past few weeks, at least. ‘Why did you not write to me weeks—no, months—ago, Amelia, and tell me of the conditions under which you have been living at Steadley Manor?’

But Gray already knew the answer to that question. Knew exactly why this young woman—a woman so totally different from the young girl he had been expecting—had not written to him concerning happenings at his estate.

It had to be because she’d had no faith, no belief, that Gray would be in the least concerned. Either by her own plight or that of Steadley Manor. How could she have thought any other, when Gray had shown his uninterest so markedly?

Amelia took her time answering as she moved to the breakfast table to pick up a napkin and slowly wipe the coal dust from hands that had begun to tremble slightly after she had once again gazed upon Gideon Grayson’s arrogantly handsome countenance.

She had expected, after so many years of debauchery, that there would be signs of it upon his face and in his appearance that she had surely missed the evening before. A cynicism, perhaps, etched upon that wickedly handsome face? A sagging, a thickening of his body from imbibing too much alcohol and eating excessive amounts of rich food whilst taking no exercise but that which he found in the bedchamber.

There was none of those things. Instead of cynicism there was a confident arrogance and a shrewdness, an intelligence in those piercing grey eyes when he looked at her.

And she already knew that he possessed a strong and muscled body that had filled her with lustful thoughts the evening before as she’d bathed the wound upon his arm …!

Amelia replaced the napkin carefully on the table before turning back to face him. ‘You wish me to answer truthfully, My Lord?’

He grimaced. ‘I expect no less!’

She shrugged slender shoulders. ‘Then, My Lord, to put it simply, the freedom of no longer having to constantly answer to Miss Little for my every action was affording me too much pleasure for me to wish to bring it to an end.’

Exactly the answer Gray had not wished to hear! ‘In what ways, exactly, have you been enjoying this unexpected freedom …?’

Amelia wrinkled her nose. ‘I have walked. And ridden. Painted when the weather permitted. And eaten when I wished. Gone to bed when I wished.’

‘And have you—did you do all of these things completely alone?’ Gray found himself scowling as he waited for her answer. As he considered all the weeks this beautiful young woman had remained here unchaperoned. And vulnerable. So vulnerable that she had been taken advantage of by the first man—at least, Gray hoped he had been the first man!—to arrive at Steadley Manor.

‘I have already said that I—My Lord?’ Her gaze sharpened indignantly. ‘I trust you do not think—That you are not implying that because you—’

‘I was not implying anything,’ Gray assured her hastily, not wishing to dwell on the liberties he had taken with this woman the evening before. ‘But surely you must see how utterly foolish it was of you to have remained here so completely without protection?’ Once again he glared his disapproval of her behaviour.

Her little chin rose in challenge. ‘I did not see that I had any choice in the matter when my guardian had shown absolutely no interest in my wellbeing!’

It was, Gray knew, an accusation he well deserved. One he was also heartily ashamed of.

Just as he had been sickened earlier this morning, as he’d made an inventory of the house and the stables and seen the deplorable condition of both Steadley Manor itself and the surrounding estate. Perry, Gray knew, would be horrified if he could see how uncared for and derelict his former home had become.

How his beloved stepdaughter had been equally neglected …

Gray clasped his hands tightly behind his back as he straightened determinedly. ‘I assure you that all of that is now going to change, Amelia.’

She eyed him uncertainly. ‘It is …?’

‘It is.’ Gray nodded tersely. ‘I have already been outside and spoken to Ned this morning, and he has assured me that several of the servants and estate workers still living in the village have been unable to find other employment, and should be only too pleased to return to their previous positions here. Including the previous estate manager, Mr Davies, who is not in the least enjoying his retirement,’ he added with grim satisfaction.

‘I—But—Do you now have the money with which to pay the servants’ wages, My Lord …?’

Gray’s mouth firmed. ‘I have always had the money, Amelia.’

‘But—’

‘How well did you know Mr Sanders, Amelia?’

‘Mr Sanders …?’ She frowned her puzzlement. ‘Not terribly well. Though I did not like him very much—found him to be a dour and taciturn man whenever I chanced to speak with him. I am sure that my stepfather would never have employed him to replace Mr Davies—Oh!’ She looked up at Gray guiltily. ‘I apologise, My Lord. I did not mean to sound as if I were criticising—’

‘Criticise all you wish, Amelia; in this case it is as deserved as your earlier remonstrations concerning your own wellbeing.’ Gray’s expression remained grim as he began to pace the room restlessly. ‘Perhaps more so.’

Gray had risen from his bed at six o’clock that morning—he had seen no point in lingering any longer when sleep had eluded him for most of the night—to go to the study in search of the estate ledgers. Estate ledgers that completely matched the ones submitted to Worthington. Falsified ledgers in view of the fact that half—almost all!—the servants supposedly employed in the house and on the estate, just as supposedly collecting their wages, had left some time ago.

A fact that had no doubt—once Sanders had received Gray’s letter informing him to expect his arrival at the estate—caused the other man’s immediate and hurried departure!

‘The man was a thief,’ Gray revealed flatly, having every intention of hunting the man down and making him pay for his crime. ‘A thief and a liar. In fact, Amelia—’ once again his mouth tightened grimly ‘—if the man were still here, then I might feel inclined to load your pistol myself and let you loose in a room with him!’

Amelia felt the colour warm her cheeks at this reference to her less than ladylike behaviour of the evening before. At this reminder that Gideon Grayson himself had been the one to suffer the last time she’d held a pistol in her hands. ‘I had assumed—believed that—’

‘That I am such a reprobate that I must have squandered away the family fortune—including the money to pay the servants’ wages and for the upkeep of my estate— on gambling and womanising?’ Lord Grayson raised dark brows.

Amelia’s cheeks felt as if they were actually on fire as she recalled the circumstances under which she had made that particular comment. Of being held in this man’s arms. Of how, in defending herself, she had also laid claim to being this man’s wife …!

She knew by the mocking speculation in those shrewd grey eyes that Lord Grayson was thinking of at least one of those events as he allowed his gaze to move slowly over each of her features—and then lower still to the column of her throat and the pulse that beat so erratically there, the now rapid rise and fall of her breasts. Breasts that seemed to swell beneath the bodice of her gown. To ache. Filling Amelia with an unaccountable restlessness.

Gray caught himself up short as he realised exactly what he was doing. As he sternly reminded himself that Amelia was his ward and, as such, must be completely beyond his sexual interest.

He scowled darkly. ‘I shall be going out shortly, and I do not expect to be back until later this afternoon.’

‘I—But—I thought we were going to talk this morning, My Lord?’

Gray still had every intention of talking to Amelia—on several subjects, but not until he had all the appropriate answers to give in response to the questions she would no doubt ask him! ‘We will talk when I come back, Amelia,’ he assured her sternly.

‘Come back from where, My Lord?’

The problem of servants well in hand, as well as a locksmith to deal with the front door, it was Gray’s intention to ride over to Wycliffe Hall this morning to offer his apologies to the Earl of Stanford for not having believed the sincerity of the concerns voiced in the other man’s letter to him. It was the least Gray could do when he considered the terse reply he had sent two weeks ago!

It was also Gray’s hope that by his visiting Wycliffe in person the Earl’s bride of less than a year might be of some help in the problem of what Gray was to do with Amelia …

Something Gray did not feel the need to share with his overly curious ward! ‘I am not in the habit of having my movements questioned in this way, Amelia.’ He eyed her haughtily.

‘I was merely curious, My Lord.’

‘Then might I advise a little less curiosity and a little more discretion?’ Gray eyed her coldly. ‘It is time, Amelia—past time!—that you resumed your proper place in this household.’

‘My proper place, My Lord …?’

Exactly what was Amelia’s ‘proper place’ in his household? Gray considered. At nineteen, she perhaps believed herself too old to be referred to merely as his ward. But she certainly could not be referred to as the mistress of the house!

She raised curious blue eyes at Gray’s frowning silence. ‘My Lord?’

Gray’s irritation with this conversation grew. Along with his inability to find a suitable answer to her previous question …

‘Or perhaps I might call you Uncle now that we have finally met?’

‘Certainly not!’ Gray gave a shiver of revulsion at the mere idea of being addressed as ‘Uncle’ by this young lady. Damn it, it made him sound as old as Methuselah! ‘If you feel you must call me something else, then my associates usually refer to me simply as Gray,’ he invited stiffly.

‘If you please, My Lord, I believe I would rather call you Gideon …’

Gray stiffened. ‘No!’

Amelia eyes snapped mutinously at his obvious coldness. ‘I do not understand why not, when you call me Amelia …?’

‘I refer to you as Amelia because that is your name.’

‘And is Gideon not your own name …?’

It may well be, but no one ever called him by it. Not any more. Not since his brother Perry had died …

Amelia eyed Lord Grayson from beneath lowered lashes, aware that she must have said or done something to bring about that grimly bleak expression upon his rakishly handsome face. Simply because she had asked if she might call him Gideon …?

It had seemed like such a small thing to ask—especially as he had already given her permission to address him as Gray. ‘I had not meant to offend you, My Lord …’

He eyed her impatiently. ‘I am not in the least offended, Amelia, merely impatient to be about my business without further hindrance from you or anyone else!’

‘But should you not stay and have breakfast first—?’

‘Mrs Burdock supplied me with an ample breakfast several hours ago,’ he assured her quickly.

This did not fit in at all with Amelia’s image of Gideon Grayson as an inveterate rake and a gambler, either. Was it not the habit of rakes to remain out at their clubs or with their mistresses all night, before spending the day in bed sleeping off their excesses?

Perhaps rakes behaved differently when in the country?

Or perhaps Lord Gideon Grayson was not the rake and gambler he was reputed to be, after all …? His earlier mockery on the subject certainly seemed to indicate he was not.

Then what was he? How had he spent these last years in London? And could those pursuits possibly have something to do with the scars Amelia had discovered the evening before …?

Chapter Five

Gray was not in the best of moods as he handed the reins of his grey to the groom who had thankfully appeared as soon as he rode into the snow-covered stableyard on his return to Steadley Manor. Evidence that Ned, and hopefully Mr Davies, too, had been successful in persuading some of the servants into returning to the estate. As Gray strode purposefully towards the house he could only wish his own day had been spent as fruitfully.

To give the Earl of Stanford his due, the man had been only too happy to accept Gray’s apology—both for doubting the truth of his information and for Gray’s terse letter of response. And Alice, Stanford’s wife, had been warm in her sympathy. So warm and sympathetic, in fact, that after eating a delicious luncheon and imbibing far too much of a first-class wine Gray had felt comfortable enough in her company to broach the subject of Amelia. Most especially Gray’s immediate problem as to what to do with her whilst he spent Christmas at Mulberry Hall with the St Claire family.

A subject which in retrospect, Gray now accepted grimly, would have been far better left unsaid.

‘Will you join me for tea, Gideon …?’

Gray stiffened in the act of handing his hat and coat to the footman who had—again, thankfully—appeared as soon as Gray entered the house, slowly turning to face Amelia as she stood in the doorway of the Blue Salon. As usual she looked charmingly enticing, in a gown of cream silk, and the colour of her eyes was bright as she returned his gaze with innocent enquiry.

An innocence Gray would do well to remember in the future, he admonished himself firmly. ‘Tea?’ he repeated, with a delicate curl of his top lip.

‘Tea.’ Amelia gave a gracious inclination of her head. ‘Now that you are returned, I thought we might talk together as you suggested earlier …?’

The ride home had helped to dull some of the effects of the wine Gray had imbibed over lunch, but certainly not all of it. Neither was he any further forward—having totally dismissed Alice Wycliffe’s solution to the problem—in knowing what to do about Amelia whilst he travelled into Gloucestershire for Christmas.

‘We will only discuss how you wish to decorate the house for Christmas, if you would prefer, My Lord …?’ Amelia suggested tentatively as she obviously saw his frown of displeasure.

Gray’s scowl deepened just at the mention of Christmas, and he felt the beginnings of a headache pounding at his temple. ‘I have absolutely no interest in the subject of Christmas decorations!’

Amelia gave a lightly teasing laugh. ‘But we must at least bring in some holly and mistletoe! It will smell so wonderful, and—You had realised that Christmas is only a week away, Gideon?’

Of course Gray had realised. In truth, it had been part of his reason for visiting the Wycliffes. In the hope that they might offer to have Amelia with them at Wycliffe Hall for the holiday …

A hope that had been completely dashed once Daniel Wycliffe, a close friend of Hawk St Claire, Duke of Stourbridge, had informed Gray that he and his wife had also received and accepted an invitation to spend Christmas at Mulberry Hall. In fact it was their plan, due to Alice Wycliffe’s ‘delicate condition’, to begin a slow and leisurely four-day journey there on the morrow, in order that the Countess did not overtire herself.

‘You do intend being here for Christmas, Gideon …?’ Amelia looked uncertain at Gray’s continued silence.

That was a question Gray no longer had a straightforward answer to. His initial decision to come to Steadley Manor, deal with whatever needed dealing with here, ensure that his ward was being cared for, and then depart to Mulberry Hall for the Christmas holiday was no longer as clear-cut and decisive as it had once been.

Obviously some of the servants had returned to Steadley Manor whilst Gray had been with the Wycliffes, which would ensure Amelia’s comfort whilst he was away. But could Gray really just up and leave her here alone, apart from the servants, over Christmas? The warm and sympathetic Alice Wycliffe had not seemed to think it even a possibility.

The Countess’s solution to the problem?

Why, that Gray take Amelia to Mulberry Hall with him, of course! Which was utterly unacceptable!

‘Gideon …?’ Amelia prompted at his continued silence.

He did look wickedly handsome today, she acknowledged as a delicious shiver ran the length of her spine. So tall and darkly rakish, his hair slightly windswept from his ride, and his elegantly tailored clothes emphasising the width of his shoulders, the narrowness of his waist, and the long length of his muscled legs.

Elegantly tailored clothes that ably concealed that scarred chest and back …

And, of course, the bandage upon his arm, where Amelia had shot him the previous evening!

He gave her an impatient glance as he strode purposefully across the entrance hall. ‘I suggest we retire to the privacy of the Blue Salon for this discussion, Amelia.’

She did not much like the sound of that, Amelia acknowledged with a grimace as Gideon stood to one side to allow her to precede him into the blue and cream room. She had deliberately chosen this room in which to wait for his return, knowing that the blue drapes and chaise were a perfect match in colour for her eyes. An effect that, at the moment, seemed completely lost on the stiffly forbidding Lord Grayson.

‘Perhaps you prefer not to celebrate Christmas, Gideon …?’ Amelia sat down upon the blue chaise and leant forward to pour tea into the two cups she had requested in the hope that Gideon would return in time to join her.

Gray would prefer not to celebrate this particular Christmas! Would prefer to forget its very existence, in fact. ‘I believe I told you to call me Gray …?’

She gave a ruefully dismissive shake of her head, blonde curls brushing against her cheeks and nape. ‘I consider it too impersonal for our particular relationship—’

‘We do not have a relationship!’ Gray glared down at her fiercely as he stood with his hands clasped tightly together behind his back. And felt as if he had just kicked a defenceless kitten as he saw the sudden tears that welled in Amelia’s deep blue eyes at the fierceness of his tone. Except this young woman was anything but defenceless; she had shot him in the arm the previous evening!

She blinked long-lashed lids in an obvious effort to prevent those tears from falling. ‘It has become obvious to me that you resent having been burdened with my guardianship—’

‘I did not say that, damn it!’

She bowed her head, revealing the vulnerable curve of her nape as she murmured quietly, ‘You did not need to put it into words, My Lord.’

Gray did not need to do a lot of things. Mainly he did not need to take out his temper, his frustration with this situation, on someone who was completely innocent—at least in this particular matter. After all, Amelia had not asked to become his ward. Circumstances had placed her as much as he in their present position. Besides which, Gray could not stand to see those tears balanced so precariously upon the long sweep of her lashes …!

He crossed the room in long, impatient strides to sit down beside her on the chaise. ‘I am a surly devil this afternoon, Amelia. Please do not cry—’ He broke off abruptly as, with a choked sob, Amelia launched herself into his arms to bury her face against his chest, and her slender arms moved tightly about his waist as she clung to him.

Gray had managed, in his brief respite from Amelia’s physically disturbing presence, to convince himself that he had made too much of his attraction to her the previous evening. He had only felt it because he had thought to punish his ward’s companion for threatening to shoot him. The fact that he had enjoyed holding Amelia more than he ought was merely an indication, he had assured himself, of the fact that he had been too long without a woman.

Learning that the woman he had held in his arms and held so intimately was in fact his ward, should have completely nullified Gray’s response to her.

But now, as Gray’s arms moved slowly—against his every instinct for caution!—about the slenderness of Amelia’s waist, drawing the softness of her curves against him, her gold curls were an enticement he could not resist. He rested his cheek against their softness and knew that he had only been deceiving himself. That it was the creamy perfection of Amelia’s skin that tempted him, the touch of Amelia’s silky hair that enticed him, the heat of Amelia’s body through the soft material of her gown that aroused him and once again caused his thighs to harden and ache.

So much so that Gray wanted nothing more than to lay her down naked upon the chaise this very minute and make full and satisfying love to her!

Lord help him …!

Having spent several months revelling in not having to answer to anyone for anything she did or said, Amelia had surprisingly found herself missing Gideon Grayson’s forceful presence today.

No doubt, considering what he had revealed to her of Sanders’ behaviour, Gideon had been busy with further estate business. Indeed, the fact that so many of the servants had already returned to Steadley Manor, and that Mr Davies was once again about his business on the estate, including having arranged for a locksmith to come and repair the lock on the front door, showed Amelia just how busy Gideon had been in those hours before she had even come downstairs this morning.

There had been a welcoming rush and a bustle about the house all day and the maids had cleaned and polished all the main rooms downstairs, as well as lit all the fires. Mrs Burdock was preparing them a veritable feast for dinner this evening now that she had at least some of her kitchen maids to help her.

The fact that everyone about Amelia was so busy had only succeeded in her feeling her aloneness more keenly. To have had Gideon return so cold and so distant had only added to those feelings of alienation. A feeling that had disappeared the moment she’d pressed her cheek against the warmth of his chest and felt and heard the strong and steady beat of his heart.

She burrowed closer against that protective chest now. ‘I really am sorry that you have been burdened with my guardianship, Gideon,’ she told him emotionally, the tears still falling hotly down her cheeks, no doubt soaking his pristine white linen. ‘I would offer to relieve you of that burden—except I have no one else and nowhere else to go—’

‘Do not give it another thought, Amelia, please!’ His arms tightened about her. ‘I am the one who is at fault for having ignored my responsibility to you for so long.’

His responsibility …

Yes, Amelia accepted heavily, that was all she was to Gideon Grayson—a tiresome responsibility that had come about simply because his brother had been married to her mother for merely months before her sudden and unexpected death.

No wonder, then, that Gideon Grayson had chosen to ignore her very existence for all this time. No surprise, either, that he now found her presence here in his home irksome. He certainly could not be enjoying having her cry all over him and making such a mess of his elegant clothing!

Amelia raised her head slightly as she lifted a hand to wipe the tears from her cheeks before raising her lashes to look at him. Her breath caught in her throat and her lips parted in a silent oh as she instantly found herself mesmerised by the deep grey of Gideon’s eyes. Eyes that were fixed, intent upon her own slightly parted lips …

‘My Lord …?’ she breathed shallowly.

‘Gideon,’ he encouraged gruffly.

Amelia swallowed hard before obeying the invitation. ‘Gideon.’

He really did have the most beautiful mouth, Amelia decided breathlessly. She found herself unable to look away. So firm, and yet at the same time sensuous, the top lip slightly fuller than the bottom, hinting at a passionate nature. The passionate nature also hinted at the previous evening.

A passion she found herself longing to experience. To explore. To know. As she longed to experience the feel of that hard and yet sensual mouth moving passionately against her own …

He had to stop this now, Gray recognised in some alarm. He knew himself on the point of giving in to the temptation to lower his head and claim the fullness of Amelia’s parted and slightly raised lips with his own. He should distance himself now—before he stepped over a line he had no business stepping over.

Except …

There was always an except where this particular young woman was concerned, Gray realised self-disgustedly. A part of him that wanted to say to hell with it and kiss her anyway, before he explored and tasted the nakedness of her full and ripe body.

And once he had? What then? What would become of their tenuous connection then?

Amelia was his ward, a young and unmarried lady of quality—not an experienced or married woman of the ton whom Gray could dally and flirt with, possibly bed, before moving on to another conquest.

In a word, this attraction Gray felt towards Amelia Ashford was dangerous!

Holding her in his arms last night, when he’d had no idea who she was, had been a mistake. Kissing her now, knowing exactly who she was, would be nothing short of a catastrophe!

Damn it, if Gray had found any other man in this compromising position with his ward then he knew he would have had no choice but to either demand satisfaction or an offer of marriage from that man. He had no intention of offering either of those things!

Gray moved back abruptly, taking a grasp on the tops of Amelia’s arms to hold her firmly away as she would have swayed towards him. He had to shift slightly in order to ease the uncomfortable bulge in his pantaloons as she looked up at him in pouting disappointment.

Perhaps Alice Wycliffe’s suggestion was the right one after all …?

Obviously Gray could not remain here alone with Amelia any longer than he absolutely had to. Nor could he leave her to her own devices whilst he went on his way to Mulberry Hall. Perhaps the best thing would be to take Amelia with him.

No!

Every part of Gray flared up in protest at the idea of introducing Amelia to the St Claire family. Hawk St Claire, the aristocratic Duke of Stourbridge, was as austerely handsome as he was intimidating. Lucian St Claire was considered as broodingly attractive as he was taciturn, and had also been a hero at Waterloo. And Sebastian St Claire, a charming rake before his marriage, had been Gray’s closest friend and companion during those nights in Town when he had reputedly gambled and womanised!

Nor did Gray consider the wives of the three St Claire brothers to be any more of an example for Amelia to emulate. Jane, Hawk’s Duchess of just over a year, was a ravishingly beautiful redhead who cared little for the dictates and restraints of Society. Grace, Lucian’s recent bride, was as wilfully determined as she was beautiful. Sebastian, the wildest of the three brothers, had surprised everyone two months ago, when he had married Juliet, an ethereally lovely young widow who already carried his child.

As for the youngest member of the St Claire family …

Arabella, the young sister of the three St Claire brothers, despite now being married to the devilishly handsome Duke of Carlyne, was also a perfect hellion. And Gray knew firsthand exactly how managing and forthright the beautiful Arabella could be when she chose!

For Gray to take Amelia into the midst of that arrogant and aristocratic family would be complete madness on his part.

And he did not believe himself to have been driven completely mad as yet …

Chapter Six

Amelia knew just from looking at the hard implacability of Gideon’s expression as he turned to face her that she was not going to like what he said next. Any more than she liked the fact that he had moved away from her so abruptly when it had looked as if he might have been going to kiss her …!

‘You really have no one else to stay with?’ he rasped. ‘No other family? Grandparents? Uncles or aunts?’

Perhaps an old family friend, or even just an acquaintance, who might be persuaded into taking responsibility for her? Amelia inwardly finished with a proud straightening of her spine. ‘There is not even an old family dog who might be brought here to keep me company!’ Her eyes flashed.

Lord Grayson’s mouth firmed. ‘There is no need to take that tone, Amelia—’

‘There is every need if I have correctly understood your reluctance for my company!’ Amelia stood up abruptly. ‘But do not be alarmed, sir. I have my own rooms, and if necessary can easily remain in them for the duration of your stay here!’

She looked beautiful as she stared him down so proudly, Gray acknowledged ruefully. Every inch the lady she undoubtedly was. Every inch of her too beautiful and desirable for his own peace of mind.

‘Do not be so melodramatic, Amelia.’ Gray affected a bored tone. ‘The fact that you no longer have a companion here with you is, I admit, a little …inconvenient—’

‘It is not inconvenient to me, sir.’ She gave a determined shake of her head. ‘You can have no idea of the constraints that have been placed upon me since I first entered your brother’s household.’

A reminder, Gray recognised, of his complete lack of thought or understanding for what Amelia’s life might have been these past years. Or what her life had been before that time …

‘Tell me,’ he encouraged huskily. ‘I know nothing of either your mother or your own life before she and Perry were married.’ Gray’s admission caused him some discomfort as he acknowledged that he should have made more of an effort to meet his brother’s wife and stepdaughter. ‘Where did you and your mother live before you came here?’ He moved to sit in one of the pale blue chairs set beside the fire, crossing one leg over the other as he looked up at Amelia enquiringly.

Her shoulders lost some of their stiffness. ‘We had a cottage beside the sea in a small village on the Devonshire coast. My father’s family came from there originally. He was the son of a vicar, but always wanted to be a soldier.’ She gave a rueful smile at that irony.

A cottage set beside the sea in a village on the Devonshire coast …

The complete opposite, Gray acknowledged, to a manor house set alone in the flat and often bleak Bedfordshire countryside.

Amelia gave a shake of her head. ‘My mother was the daughter and only child of the local squire. He died before I was born, so I never knew him, but according to my mother he had high expectations of his only child making an advantageous marriage. He would not even entertain the idea of her marrying the soldier son of the local vicar! My mother and father ran away together, and were married when my mother was but seventeen. It was a happy marriage.’ Her chin rose defensively, as if she expected Gray to challenge the statement.

Which he had no intention of doing. ‘They returned to the village following their marriage …?’

‘Not immediately, no.’ Amelia gave a smile. ‘My mother accompanied my father on his campaigns for a year or more, and I believe it was only decided my mother must return to England once they knew she was expecting a child. Her father—my grandfather—had been killed in a hunting accident several months earlier, unfortunately without there having been any reconciliation between the two of them, which resulted in his leaving all his wealth to a distant cousin or some such.’ She shrugged delicate shoulders. ‘But, having returned alone to England, it was my mother’s wish to live in the village she knew, with people she was familiar with.’

‘That sounds …sensible.’ Gray nodded, having more of an understanding now of where Amelia had come by her indomitable spirit. With a soldier for a father, and a mother who had known and determined her own heart even in the face of parental disapproval, Amelia had been sure to be of similar determination and courage. That same determination and courage that had enabled her to face down an intruder with a pistol the evening before!

Amelia nodded. ‘I am sure that my mother must have missed my father deeply, but it was an idyllic childhood as far as I was concerned. Months when I had my mother completely to myself, followed by weeks of excitement and outings when my father, now a sergeant in his regiment, was able to join us.’

The wistfulness of her expression told Gray just how idyllic, how happy, that childhood had been.

Her chin rose proudly. ‘My father was killed four years ago. At which time his commanding officer, Major Lord Peregrine Grayson—’ she smiled affectionately ‘—wrote to my mother, expressing his deepest sympathy at the loss of such a gallant soldier as he considered my father to be, and promising that he would visit her in person as soon as he was able.’

That sounded like Perry, Gray acknowledged with sad affection, knowing that his brother had been a man who’d felt the loss of each and every man in his own regiment and, once it had been believed the fighting was over, had tried to visit the close relatives of all who had died whilst fighting alongside him during those bloody years of war.

‘Obviously it was a fortuitous visit …?’

Those blue eyes narrowed. ‘I trust you are not implying—’

‘I assure you I am not implying anything, Amelia.’ Gray held up silencing hands. ‘From Perry’s account of things, he and your mother fell in love with each other on sight.’

‘Yes.’ Amelia sighed sadly at the memory of how her mother’s second marriage to Lord Peregrine Grayson had lasted only for a few brief months before her mother was taken ill with influenza and as quickly died.

‘Which brings us back to here and now, and what to do with you.’

Amelia eyed Gideon Grayson warily. ‘What to do with me …?’

He gave an autocratic inclination of his head. ‘It has been suggested to me, as you are nineteen years of age, that come the spring you might like to have a Season in London.’

‘A Season? Really?’ Amelia eyes lit up with excitement at the prospect of going to London. Until she realised exactly what Gideon had said. ‘Been suggested by whom …?’ she prompted suspiciously.

He glanced down to brush a speck of lint from his perfectly tailored pantaloons. ‘An acquaintance.’

What acquaintance? Amelia wondered with a frown. And when and where had Gideon met this acquaintance? Had it been this morning? Or had this already been decided upon, discussed with a third party, before Gideon even came to Steadley Manor? Perhaps—Amelia felt a pained contraction of her chest—with the mistress in London who currently shared Gideon’s bed …?

‘That is the reason I asked a few minutes ago if you had any relatives—older female relatives, obviously—who might act as chaperone during that time,’ Gideon continued coolly.

‘I am sorry, no.’ There was a complete lack of apology in Amelia’s slightly defiant tone.

Gideon had discussed her—what to do with her!—with a third party. As if she were some unasked-for package that had been delivered to his door by mistake. An unasked-for and unwanted package that Gideon Grayson obviously now wished to rid himself of at the earliest opportunity!

Amelia looked at him coldly. ‘And is it your intention that during this Season I attempt to find myself a husband …?’

He looked momentarily disconcerted, before nodding abruptly. ‘If that is your wish, yes.’

Exactly as Amelia had suspected.

Gray could see by the rebellious glitter that suddenly entered Amelia’s expressive blue eyes that he had somehow spoken out of turn. Again. Although what could be wrong about following through on Alice Wycliffe’s suggestion that come the spring he take Amelia to London and rig her out with a complete new wardrobe before launching her into Society, Gray had absolutely no idea.

Although it had not occurred to him until Amelia questioned his motives that she might possibly procure herself a husband during that time …

Damn it, he should be the one who was put out by the very idea of having to introduce Amelia into Society, when doing so would mean having to put himself to the inconvenience of attending the numerous balls and parties given by the ton that he usually made such a point of avoiding. As a wealthy and titled bachelor, Gray knew that showing his face in Society meant that every marriage-minded mama in the country would trample over anyone who stood in her way in order that she might reach his side and extol the virtues of her daughter as his prospective future wife!

But, instead of appearing excited at the prospect, Amelia looked as if Gray were suggesting he accompany her to the gallows!

He stood up impatiently. ‘I am sure this is what my brother Perry and your mother intended for you—’

‘That is unfair!’ Those incredible blue eyes were once again awash with tears.

Gray shook his head. ‘I do not think so. My brother Perry left provision in his will for your marriage dowry—’

‘My marriage dowry!’ Amelia repeated incredulously.

‘Of course.’ Gray gave a haughty inclination of his head. ‘When your mother married my brother you became the stepdaughter of a lord, so—’

‘Do not touch me!’ She moved sharply away as Gray would have reached out and lightly grasped her arm, and raised her chin proudly as she looked down the length of her nose at him. ‘You have made your feelings very clear on the subject, and, as you are my guardian, if it is your wish that I go to London in the spring so that I might search for a husband, then of course I must go.’

‘You were the one who suggested that you might find yourself a husband!’ Gray glared his frustration with this conversation.

‘You were the one who mentioned a marriage dowry!’

‘I was merely—’

‘Putting forward a way in which you might be completely rid of all responsibility for me?’ Amelia finished scathingly.

Gray gave an exasperated snort. ‘I made no mention of being rid of you—’

‘You have made it perfectly clear that is your intention.’ She swept her gown to one side.

‘Damn it, Amelia—’

‘If you will excuse me, My Lord?’ She eyed him coldly. ‘I believe I would prefer to spend the time before dinner upstairs in my bedchamber.’

As far away from him as she could possibly be whilst still remaining in the same house, Gray acknowledged impatiently. ‘I have not finished talking to you yet, Amelia—’

‘But I have finished talking with you!’ she assured him, giving him one last scathing glance before walking from the room with her head held disdainfully high.

Leaving Gray no choice but to stare after her in complete frustration. Alice Wycliffe had assured him earlier that any young lady of nineteen years would be thrilled at the prospect of going to London and being introduced into Society. That she would be ecstatic at the suggestion of a new wardrobe. Of attending balls and parties and meeting all the handsome rakes with whom she might dance and behave the flirt.

Obviously when Alice had made this observation she’d had no personal knowledge of the stubborn and self-willed Amelia Ashford!

Chapter Seven

‘You look as if you wish that your aim had been truer than it was yesterday evening!’

Amelia looked down the length of the dining table at Gideon Grayson, very aware of Watkins, the butler, standing silently near the door. ‘Nothing so violent, I assure you, My Lord.’

‘No?’ He quirked a dark and disbelieving brow, looking very handsome in his black evening clothes.

It was true that when Amelia had reached her bedchamber earlier she had been so angry she had not known whether to throw something or simply to sit down and cry. In the end she had done neither of those things, but had instead paced her bedchamber as she tried to understand why it was she was feeling those contradictory emotions.

A Season in London, being introduced into Society and attending balls and parties in beautiful new gowns was surely every young woman’s dream? It had certainly been one of Amelia’s fantasies when she was growing up in Devonshire and had heard of the balls and pleasures to be had in London. But it was something as the daughter of a mere soldier and the disinherited daughter of a squire Amelia had known would only ever be that to her. A fantasy.

Amelia knew she should have been thrilled at Lord Grayson’s suggestion of taking her to London in the spring—aquiver with joy at the thought of buying new gowns in which to attend all those balls and parties, meeting and flirting with the ridiculously handsome men of the ton.

Instead Amelia felt angry. Disappointed. Hurt.

It was that latter emotion that troubled Amelia the most. And as to the reason why she felt so hurt at Gideon Grayson’s obvious effort to do what he believed was best for her …?

One look at his arrogantly handsome face before dinner, at how elegant he looked in his dark evening clothes, and Amelia had realised exactly why it was she felt the way she did. A London Season held no interest for her because she was already more than halfway in love with a ridiculously handsome man of the ton—with Gideon Grayson himself!

‘No,’ she assured him huskily now. ‘I may be a soldier’s daughter, My Lord, but I do not believe I have any real tendency towards violence.’

Gray eyed her sceptically. ‘Indeed? Then perhaps you made me the exception!’

A delicate blush heightened her cheeks, but her gaze remained very direct as she answered him. ‘Undoubtedly.’

Gray could not help but chuckle at the complete lack of apology in her tone. In truth, he was relieved that Amelia was at least talking to him once again; the first two courses of their dinner had been eaten in complete and awkward silence. ‘No matter what you may choose to believe, Amelia, you obviously have the makings of a bloodthirsty little baggage!’ He raised his wine glass in a toast to her before taking an appreciative sip.

An excellent wine, served to him by an attentive butler. And Watkins and two footmen had also served the delicious meal prepared for them this evening by Mrs Burdock. In fact, Gray noted with satisfaction, the household had been returned to at least a manageable state in just one day.

Now if only he could persuade Amelia into being as amenable …!

She looked very beautiful, in a gown of cream silk that left her throat and the swell of her breasts bare above an overlay of cream lace, making her skin appear the colour of ivory, her eyes bluer, and her mouth a perfect red bow. Her hair was dressed more elaborately this evening, too. A cascade of blonde curls was swept back from her face to fall enticingly against her nape and about the delicate shells of her ears and her temples.

Indeed, looking at her now from between narrowed lids, Gray could not help but appreciate how utterly and deliciously desirable Amelia appeared as she faced him down the length of the dining table …

‘I have not enquired concerning your—injury this evening, My Lord.’ Amelia had noticed, however, that his left arm appeared to be a little stiffer than the right. ‘It is healing well, I hope?’

His mouth firmed. ‘No doubt it will.’

Her brows rose at what she was certain was an evasive reply. ‘But you do not know …?’

He scowled darkly. ‘I said it would, Amelia!’

‘Has the dressing been changed since yesterday evening?’ she persisted.

‘I assure you that I am perfectly well, Amelia.’ He gaze was a frosty warning against pursuing the subject.

A warning Amelia chose to ignore. ‘You do not appear so to me, My Lord. You are pale, and your left arm seems to be a little …uncomfortable.’

He gave a dismissive shake of his head. ‘If my arm aches a little this evening then it is probably because I overtaxed it by riding for so long today.’

‘Perhaps I should see for myself—’

Those grey eyes glittered. ‘Amelia—’

‘Did you allow your valet to at least redress it today?’

‘Damn it, Amelia—’

‘Would you leave us, please, Watkins?’ Amelia turned to smile graciously at the butler. Having only secured his return a few hours ago, she did not think Gideon would appreciate having the butler leave again because he had taken offence at her tone! Besides, it was Gideon she was cross with, not Watkins. ‘I will ring when you are needed again,’ she assured the older man warmly, waiting as he had vacated the room and closed the door softly behind him before she placed her napkin upon the table and stood up.

‘Amelia—’

‘My Lord?’ She deliberately held Gideon Grayson’s gaze with her own as she walked slowly down the length of the room.

A nerve pulsed in his tightly clenched jaw as he watched her approach through narrowed lids. ‘I swear, Amelia, if you do not stop “My Lording” me in that superior tone—’

‘Shall I return to calling you Gideon, then?’ she murmured throatily as she halted beside him.

Gideon would not do, either!

Gray wished that Amelia were not standing quite so close beside his chair. So close, in fact, that he was once again assailed with that perfume that was uniquely Amelia: elusively floral and utterly feminine! So close that he could see the rapidly beating pulse at the base of her throat. So close that the ivory swell of her breasts was on a level only inches away from his narrowed gaze.

So close that just her proximity caused his body to stir!

‘You will need to once again remove your jacket, waistcoat and shirt, Gideon,’ she prompted.

Dear Lord …!

How much was a man expected to stand? Gray wondered achingly. To resist? And he must surely resist where Amelia of all women was concerned …!

‘I have absolutely no intention—What do you think you are doing?’ He turned to look at Amelia as she moved to the back of his chair and placed her hands upon the collar of his jacket.

She raised challenging brows. ‘Helping you, of course.’

‘Damn it, Amelia—’

‘You should not swear so often, Gideon.’ She tutted reprovingly.

‘Your stubbornness is enough to make even a saint swear, Amelia,’ he assured her through gritted teeth, and he resisted her efforts to tug the tightly tailored jacket back over his shoulders despite the added discomfort it gave to his aching arm.

She gave him an exasperated look. ‘And those scars upon your chest and back attest to your never having been that!’

Gray stilled at this reminder that Amelia had seen his scars the evening before. Honourable scars, if she did but know it, from injuries he had received during his years of working secretly for the crown. Years when Gray had necessarily allowed all who knew him—including his brother Perry and his family—to believe he was something of a rake and a wastrel who preferred not to involve himself in the messy business of war. No wonder, then, that Amelia had twice now referred to those scars as having been gained dishonourably rather than honourably …

‘Your waistcoat and shirt now, if you please,’ Amelia murmured with satisfaction, having taken advantage of Gideon Grayson’s brief distraction of thought to pull the jacket ably down his arms before removing it altogether.

‘I have no intention of taking off any more of my clothing in your presence—Amelia, cease this instant!’ He raised his voice as she moved to stand in front of him and deftly began to unfasten his waistcoat.

Amelia ceased. Not because Gideon had instructed her to, but because of a sudden awareness of the tension that emanated from him; his jaw was set grimly, eyes blazing darkly, and his hands were clenched into fists until the knuckles showed white as they rested on his muscled thighs.

She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. ‘I am only trying to help, Gideon …’

He breathed deeply as he continued to glare at her, that nerve pulsing rapidly now in his tightly clenched jaw. ‘What you are doing, Amelia, is playing with fire,’ he warned her harshly.

Amelia could barely breathe as she looked searchingly into that arrogantly handsome face. At the way the unhealthy pallor of Gideon’s skin gave his eyes a dark and dangerous appeal as they blazed up at her. At the grim set of his jaw and those sculptured and sensuous lips.

She began to tremble, to shake at how desperately she wanted to feel those lips against—devouring!—her own …

‘Do not, Amelia!’ Gray groaned as she stepped between his parted thighs and even the light brush of her gown became an unbearable torment against his ultrasensitive erection.

‘Do not what, Gideon …?’ She placed her gloved hands on his shoulders beneath the silk of his waistcoat.

A touch that instantly burned, seared through the thin material of Gray’s shirt. Making him long for there to be no barrier at all between Amelia’s hands and the bareness of his chest.

She easily held his gaze with hers as she stepped closer still, the warmth of her legs a delicious torment now as they pressed softly against the inside of Gray’s thighs, causing him to become harder still.

Gray had been in one state of arousal or another since first setting eyes on this beautiful and desirable woman. Physical. Emotional. Temporal. Amelia—with her courage, her honesty, her undeniable beauty—challenged him on each and every one of those levels.

He closed his eyes briefly before looking up again. ‘If you do not step away now, Amelia, I cannot be responsible for what happens next!’

Instead of doing as he asked, Amelia smiled. Slowly. Invitingly. The softness of her lips parting slightly as she moved so that the fullness of her lips were now mere inches away from Gray’s own.

‘Do not say I did not warn you …!’ Gray gave a brief, self-disgusted shake of his head even as his hands moved to fasten tightly about the slenderness of Amelia’s waist to pull her in tightly against him, so making her completely aware of the fullness of his erection.

Her eyes widened slightly as that arousal pressed revealingly against her, before her tongue once again moved moistly across those red and parted lips. ‘I promise to say nothing at all, Gideon, if you will only kiss me …!’ she invited breathlessly.

It was too much—Amelia herself was too much!—and with a low groan Gray moved the short distance that separated them and claimed her mouth with his own.

Amelia gave a deep and satisfied sigh in her throat, and her fingers clasped tightly onto Gray’s shoulders even as her lips parted beneath his. It was an invitation Gray readily accepted as he deepened the kiss.

She tasted of warmth and honey. Unlike anything Gray had ever tasted before. A taste as unique as Amelia was herself, and just as addictive …!

Gray drank of her hungrily, deeply, as he crushed her breasts against him, running his tongue lightly across her lips in warning before venturing inside the heat of her mouth. Her tongue met his shyly, gently duelling, before ceding to his dominance. Gray’s tongue surged inside, taking, claiming, in deep and rhythmic thrusts that matched the deep and aching throb of his thighs pressed so intimately against her.

As Gray had known would happen, he wanted more. Wanted to feel the silkiness of Amelia’s skin beneath his hands, to see and touch the ivory softness of her breasts.

Even as he continued to kiss her his hands were busy with the tiny buttons at the back of her gown. One. Two. Three. Until her gown was unbuttoned halfway down her back. A shift in position, an easing away, and Amelia’s gown fell gently down to her waist.

Gray dragged his mouth from hers, placing kisses upon her neck, her throat, before raising his head to look at the fullness of Amelia’s breasts revealed beneath the thin material of her chemise. His hands moved up instinctively to cup beneath those orbs. Her breasts seemed fuller tonight, heavier, and the nipples were already hard beneath her chemise.

A light tug of that material revealed those breasts in their full glory, allowing Gray to gaze upon her nipples, his breathing becoming ragged as he looked on their fullness and likened them to the colour and ripeness of raspberries.

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