A Regency Collection

In her youth, award-winning author ANN LETHBRIDGE reimagined the Regency romances she read and now she loves writing her own. Now living in Canada, Ann visits Britain every year, where family members understand, so they say, her need to poke around every antiquity within a hundred miles. Learn more about Ann or contact her at www.annlethbridge.com. She loves hearing from readers.

A Regency Courtesan’s Pride

More Than a Mistress

The Rake’s Inherited Courtesan

Ann Lethbridge

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Table of Contents

Cover

About the Author

Title Page

More Than a Mistress

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

The Rake’s Inherited Courtesan

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Endpage

Copyright

More Than a Mistress

Ann Lethbridge

Chapter One

January 1820

Only a man dedicated to duty travelled to Yorkshire in January. Hunkered against the cold, high on his curricle, Charles Henry Beltane Mountford, Marquis of Tonbridge, couldn’t miss the irony in his father’s proud words. What choice was there for Charlie, other than duty, if Robert was to be accepted back into the family? If he was found. No. Not if. When he was found.

Face stinging and ears buffeted by the wind, he lifted his gaze from the road to the leaden sky and bleak stretch of moors ahead. Three years and not one word from his wayward twin. While on some deep level, he knew his brother hadn’t come to physical harm, every time he recalled Robert’s face as he left, Charlie’s gut twisted with guilt.

He should not have said what he did, imposed his own sense of duty on his brother. They might look alike, but there the similarities ended. Their lives had followed different paths and each had their own roles to play.

Finally, after three years of arguing and pleading, he had sold his soul to bring his brother home. He would visit Lady Allison and begin the courtship his father demanded. The weight of duty settled more heavily on his shoulders. The chill in his chest spread outwards.

Damnation, what in Hades was the matter with him? Lady Allison was a modestly behaved, perfectly acceptable, young woman of good family. She’d make a fine duchess. Marriage was a small sacrifice to bring Robert home and banish the sadness from his mother’s face. Sadness he’d helped cause.

He urged his tired team over the brow of the hill, eager to reach the inn at Skepton before dark.

What the hell? A phaeton. Sideways on. Blocking the road. Its wheels hung over the left-hand ditch, its horses rearing and out of control. Coolly, Charlie pulled his ribbons hard right. The team plunged. The curricle tilted on one wheel, dropped and swung parallel to the obstruction. It halted inches from catastrophe, inches from a slight young man in a caped driving coat bent over the traces of the panicked animals of the other equipage, unaware of the danger.

Damn. What a mess. Charlie leaped down. Nowhere to tie his horses. He clenched the bridle in his fist. ‘Need help?’ he yelled against the wind.

The young man spun around. ‘By gum, you scared me.’

Not a man. A woman. Charlie stared, felt his jaw drop and could do nothing to stop it. Her eyes were bright blue, all the more startling beneath jet brows. Her cheeks were pink from the wind and black ropes of hair flew around her oval face in disgraceful disorder.

A voice in his head said perfect.

Her arched brows drew together, creasing the white high forehead. ‘Don’t just stand there, you gormless lump. If you’ve a knife, help me cut the bloody traces.’ She hopped over the poles and began sawing at the leathers on the other side with what looked like little more than a penknife.

Charlie snapped his mouth shut, pulled the dagger from the top of his boot and slashed the traces on his side. ‘Here, use this.’ He passed her his knife, handle first.

She grabbed it, cut the last strap and proceeded to untangle the horse’s legs with very little care for life and limb.

Charlie grabbed the bridle of her horses while hanging on to his own.

The young woman straightened. She was tall, he realised, her bright sapphire eyes level with his mouth. ‘Thank you.’ She dragged strands of hair back from her face and grinned. ‘The damned axle snapped. I must have been going too fast.’

Another Letty Lade, with her coachman-style language. ‘You were lucky I managed to stop.’ He glanced around. ‘Where is your groom?’ No gently bred female travelled alone.

‘Pshaw.’ She waved a dismissive hand. ‘I only went to Skepton. I don’t need a groom for such a short journey.’

Reckless, as well as a menace on the road. ‘It seems on this occasion you do.’ He huffed out a breath. He couldn’t leave her stranded on the side of the road with night falling. ‘A broken axle, you say?’ It might be a strap, in which case he might be able to fix it. ‘Hold the horses for a moment, please.’

With a confidence in her abilities he didn’t usually feel around females, he left her holding the horses and went to the back of her carriage. He crouched down beside the wheel and parted the long yellowed grass on the verge.

Blast. No fixing that. The axle had snapped clean in two near the offside wheel. She must have hit the verge at speed to do so much damage.

He returned to her. ‘No hope of a makeshift repair, I’m afraid. I’ll drive you home.’

‘That’s reet kind of you,’ she said, her Yorkshire accent stronger than ever. Then she smiled.

It was as if he’d looked straight at the sun. The smile on her lips warmed him from the inside out. Lovely.

A distraction he did not need.

He glared at her. ‘Where do you live?’ His tone sounded begrudging. And so it should. The careless wench could have killed them both, or damaged some very fine horses. She’d been lucky. And she should not be driving around the countryside without a groom.

Her smile disappeared. She cocked her head on one side. ‘No need to trouble. I’ll ride.’ She jerked her chin towards her team.

‘One is lame. And the other is so nervous, it is sweating and likely to bolt. It is my duty to see you safely home.’

And his pleasure, apparently, from the stirring in his blood.

Damn it.

He looked up at the sky, took in the fading light. He’d be finding his way to Skepton in the dark if they didn’t get started. ‘I insist.’

‘Do you, by gum?’ She laughed, probably at the displeasure on his face. ‘I’ll not deny you your way, if you’ll tie these beasts on behind.’

Kind of her to oblige him.

Leaving her with his horses, grateful they were tired enough not to protest a stranger’s hand, he led her team to the back of the curricle and jury-rigged a leading string.

Returning to the girl, he shouted over the rising wind, ‘I’m going to push your vehicle further off the road.’

He strode to her wrecked equipage, put his shoulder to the footboard and pushed. The phaeton, already teetering on the brink of the shallow ditch, slid down the bank, its poles tilted to the sky. No one would run into it in the dark.

‘Strong lad,’ she yelled.

Good God, he almost felt like preening. He suppressed an urge to grin, climbed up on to his box and steadied his team. The perfectly matched bays shifted restlessly. Probably feeling the chill, as well as the panic of the other horses.

‘Can you climb up by yourself?’ he asked, controlling the beasts through the reins.

She hopped up nimbly. He caught a brief glimpse of sensible leather ankle boots and a silk stocking-clad calf amid the fur lining her driving coat before she settled herself on the seat.

A very neatly turned calf, slender and sweetly curved.

Bloody hell. ‘Which way?’

‘You’ll have to turn around. I was on my way home from Skepton.’

Skepton was at least five miles on. A mill town. Not a place a respectable female went without a groom. Just what sort of woman was she? Not gently bred obviously, despite the fine clothes. Apparently, he was soon to find out. He manoeuvred his carriage around in the road, the prospect of a warm fire any time soon receding.

He cast her a sidelong glance. She was as lovely in profile as she was full face. She had a small straight nose and full kissable lips. If Robert was in his place, he’d be enjoying himself by now, making love to her.

But he, Charlie, was a dull dog according to his last mistress. A prosy bore. Robert’s parting shot rang in his ears. Try to have a bit of fun, for once.

That was all right for Robert. He wasn’t the ducal heir with hundreds of people relying on his every decision. Hades, the last time he’d done as he pleased it had ended in disaster. For everyone, including Robert. Never again.

He’d do well to keep this woman firmly at a distance.

Mindful of the lame horse following behind, Charlie walked his team. He raised his voice to be heard over the wind’s howl. ‘As travelling companions, I believe introductions are in order. Tonbridge, at your service.’

‘Honor Meredith Draycott,’ she said. ‘Call me Merry. Thank you for stopping.’

As if he’d had a choice.

‘Tonbridge,’ she said. ‘That’s a place.’

He felt slightly affronted, as if she’d accused him of lying. ‘It is also my name.’

She considered this in silence for a second, perhaps two. ‘You are an of.’

He blinked. ‘Of?’

‘Something of Tonbridge. Duke or earl or some such.’

He grinned. Couldn’t help it. ‘Marquis of,’ he said.

‘Oh, my.’

The first thing she’d said that hadn’t surprised him, he realised. Which in and of itself was surprising.

‘What are you doing in these parts?’ she asked.

‘I’m going to Durn.’

‘Mountford’s estate. Oh, you are that marquis. You still have a long way to go.’

‘I do. I plan to put up in Skepton for the night.’

They reached the top of hill and the road flattened out. The clouds seemed closer to earth up here, the wind stronger, more raw, more determined to find a way beneath his coat.

She inhaled deeply. ‘It’s going to snow.’

Charlie glanced up at the sky. The clouds looked no more threatening than they had when he set out earlier in the day. ‘How can you tell?’

‘I’ve lived on these moors all my life. I can smell it.’

He tried not to smile. He must not have succeeded because she huffed. ‘You’ll see,’ she said. ‘I can smell when it’s going to rain, too, or feel it on my skin. You have to feel the weather or you can get into trouble out here on the moors.’

He chuckled under his breath. ‘Like running off the road?’

‘That was not my fault,’ she said haughtily. She glanced back over her shoulder at her horses. ‘I think his limp is getting worse.’

Charlie didn’t much fancy leaving the horse out here, but he might be forced to do so if the animal became too lame to walk. He slowed his team down a fraction. ‘How much further?’

‘Two miles. Turn right at the crossroads.’

At this rate it was going to be midnight before he reached the next town. Blasted woman wandering around the countryside alone.

‘You can leave me at the corner,’ she said.

Had she read his mind? More likely she’d seen the disgruntlement on his face. Clearly, he needed to be more careful about letting his thoughts show. ‘I will see you to your door, Miss Draycott.’

‘Pigheaded man,’ she muttered.

Definitely not a lady. Most likely bourgeoisie, with lots of money and no refinement.

As they turned at the crossroads, white flakes drifted down and settled on the horses’ backs where they melted and on Charlie’s coat where they did not.

‘See,’ she said.

He shot her a glance and realised that she didn’t look all that happy about being proved right. ‘Should we expect a significant amount?’

She shrugged. ‘Up here on the high moors? Like as not. The wind will drift it, too.’

Hardly comforting. The few flakes turned into a flurry, and pretty soon he was having trouble making out the road at all. Only the roughness at the verge gave him any clue he was still on track since there were no trees or hedges. Even that faint guide wouldn’t last long. There was already a half-inch of pure white blanketing everything in sight. In the growing dusk, he was beginning not to trust his vision.

She gave a shiver and hunched deeper in her coat.

The cold was biting at his toes and fingers, too. If it came to a choice between the lame horse and the two people in the carriage, he was going to have to choose the people, even if he valued the horses more.

‘There,’ she said, pointing.

A brief break in the wind allowed him to see the outline of a square lump of a house. A monstrous ugly house. Not what he’d been expecting. Though he should have, given the expensive clothes, the fashionable phaeton and the mode of speech.

‘Good,’ he said. He glanced back. The lame horse didn’t seem any worse though it made him wince to see how the animal favoured his right front leg. ‘I assume you have someone who can care for that animal?’

‘Yes.’ She turned in her seat, her knees bumping slightly against his and sending every nerve in his body jangling.

Her eyes widened as if she, too, felt the shock.

It was the cold. It couldn’t be anything else.

‘You will stay the night, of course,’ she said.

He opened his mouth to refuse.

‘Don’t be an ass,’ she said. ‘You won’t find your way back to the main road.’

He raised his gaze. All sign of the house was gone. The snow was blowing in his face and it seemed a whole lot darker than it had a minute or two before.

‘It looks as if we will not find your house after all.’

‘Let the horses have their heads. They will keep to the road. Since I’m expected, someone is sure to be waiting at the gate with a lantern.’

They should not have let her drive out alone, and he intended to tell them so, but he did as she suggested. It felt odd, handing control of their lives to a couple of dumb beasts, but their ears pricked forwards as if they knew where they were going when he let the reins hang slack. After only a minute or two, he saw a light swinging ahead of them, a faint twinkle rocking back and forth. Within moments a wizened man in a coachman’s caped coat was leading them between the shadowy forms of a pillared gate. They rounded a turn in the drive and more lights glowed through the swirling snow. They pulled up at a magnificent portico.

Two more men rushed out of the dark with lanterns.

‘We’ll see to the horses,’ the coachman bellowed over the wind. ‘Get yourselves inside afore ye perish, Miss Draycott.’

One of the grooms helped her down.

Charlie jumped down on his side.

‘This way,’ Miss Draycott called, hurrying up the steps.

Charlie followed. The blast of heat as the front door opened let him know just how cold he’d become.

Merry stripped off her coat and handed it to Gribble, whose smile expressed his relief.

‘We were beginning to worry,’ he said.

‘Gribble, this is the Marquis of Tonbridge.’ She gestured towards the stern dark man who was looking around him with narrowed eyes. She suppressed a chuckle. Grandfather’s idea of the style of a wealthy industrialist was a sight to behold. ‘My rescuer will need a room for the night.’

Tonbridge’s gaze shot to her face, dropped to her bosom as he took in the low-necked green muslin gown. It barely covered her nipples. She’d worn it quite deliberately today. Clearly her guest did not approve, for his firm lips tightened, before his gaze rose to her face again.

She cast him a flirtatious sideways glance. ‘You don’t have a choice, my lord.’

‘The green chamber is ready, Miss Draycott,’ Gribble said. ‘I’ll have Brian bring up your valise, my lord. He will serve as your valet while you are here. May I take your coat?’

Still frowning, Tonbridge shrugged out of his fashionably caped driving coat and handed it over, along with his hat and gloves. The lack of a coat didn’t make him look any less imposing. His black morning coat clung to his shoulders as if it had been moulded to his body, an altogether pleasing sight. Or it would be if she cared about that sort of thing. Without his hat, his jaw looked squarer, more rugged, but the smooth wide forehead and piercing dark eyes surprisingly spoke of intelligence. She doubted their veracity, because although his thick brown hair looked neat rather than fashionable, his cravat was tied with obvious flare. It must take his valet hours to turn out such perfection.

Merry knew his sort. An idle nobleman with nothing to do but adorn his frame. And there was plenty of frame to adorn. A good six feet of it, she judged. Tall for a woman, she still had to look up to meet his gaze. But she’d known that already. He’d loomed over her out there on the moors. And made her heart beat far too fast.

And the odd thing was, it was beating a little too fast now, too. And grasshoppers in hobnail boots were marching around in her stomach.

Surely she wasn’t afraid of him?

Or was it simply a reaction to the events of the past few hours? The disappointment at the mill owners’ intransigence, followed by the accident. It had not been a good day. She straightened her shoulders. She wasn’t beaten yet.

She needed to talk to Caroline. ‘Where is Mrs Falkner, Gribble?’

‘In the drawing room,’ the butler replied. ‘Awaiting dinner.’

Blast. She’d have to change, which meant no time to talk over what had happened with Caroline until later. She turned to Lord Tonbridge. ‘Gribble will see you to your room. When you are ready, please join us in the drawing room.’

She ran lightly up the stairs. Dandies took hours at their toilette. She stopped and turned. Tonbridge was watching her with an unreadable expression.

‘Dinner is in one hour. Please do not be late.’

His slackened jaw made her want to laugh. He must think her completely rag-mannered. And so she was.

She continued up the stairs to her chamber. If she was quick, she could speak to Caroline before their guest arrived downstairs.

A frown gathered beneath the chestnut curls on Caro’s brow. Her hazel eyes filled with sadness. ‘There is no help from that quarter, then,’ she said, at the end of Merry’s swiftly delivered report.

No matter how drably Caro dressed—tonight she’d chosen a dark blue merino wool with a high neck and no ornament—or how serious the expression on her heart-shaped face, the petite woman was always devastatingly lovely.

‘None at all, I believe,’ replied Merry, who always felt like a giant next to her friend. ‘Do not worry, the women can stay here for as long as is needed.’

She paced the length of the drawing room and came back to face Caro. ‘I’m so sorry I could not convince them.’

Caro gently touched her friend’s gloved hand. ‘It is not your fault. We will find another way.’

‘I wish I knew how.’

‘We will think of something. What is our visitor like?’

A generous change of topic given Caro’s disappointment. Merry filled her lungs with air. ‘Tonbridge? Handsome, I suppose. Rather disapproving of me, I’m afraid.’

‘That’s because he doesn’t know you.’

If he knew her, he’d be more disapproving than ever. She sat beside her friend. ‘I hope he doesn’t take too long. I’m starving.’ She looked at the clock. In one minute the hour would be up.

Tonbridge stepped through the door. He had shaved and changed from his driving clothes into a form-fitting blue evening coat, starched white cravat and ivory waistcoat. His tight buff pantaloons fitted like a second skin over muscle and bone. One would never guess from his languidly fashionable form he had recently heaved a wrecked carriage off the road single-handed.

He’d looked magnificent, like Atlas supporting the world.

‘Come in, Lord Tonbridge,’ Merry said. ‘Let me introduce you to my dear friend and companion, Mrs Caroline Falkner.’

‘I am pleased to meet you, Mrs Falkner.’ Tonbridge made his bows, gracious, elegant and formal. Coolly distant. The highborn nobleman meeting the unwashed masses. No wonder Caroline looked thoroughly uncomfortable.

‘I hope my unexpected arrival is not a dreadful inconvenience,’ he said, moving to stand beside the fire.

Polite blankness hid Caroline’s thoughts. She sounded calm enough when she spoke. ‘I am so grateful you were on hand to help Miss Draycott.’ She rose to her feet. ‘I hope the servants took good care of you?’ She went to the console on the far side of the room.

‘Excellent care,’ he said.

‘And your quarters are to your liking?’ Merry asked.

‘Indeed.’

A consummate liar. Merry hid her smile. Like the rest of the house, the green guest chamber was a nightmare of ostentation.

‘Let me pour you a libation to warm you after your ordeal,’ Caroline said. ‘Sherry for you, Merry?’ She turned to look at Tonbridge. ‘A brandy, my lord?’

Tonbridge was looking at Caroline with a frown of puzzlement. And no wonder. Caro’s ladylike airs and modest appearance would seem at odds with this house of gross opulence.

Oppressive scarlet velvet curtains, gilt scattered with abandon, garish fabrics on the floors and wildly patterned silk on the walls—she could almost see Tonbridge wince as he looked around.

Grandfather had wanted no one to underestimate his wealth.

‘Takes a lot of brass to fill a room like this,’ she said.

His gaze came back to her face. ‘Beauty needs no adornment.’ Mischief gleamed in his eyes. Not the reaction she’d expected. The man had a sense of humour lurking beneath that haughty lift of his deeply cleft chin.

Dash it. She did not want to like him. It would only lead to embarrassment. He was simply being polite. A gentleman. No doubt when he joined his friends, he would have a mocking tale to tell.

Oh, how she’d like to peel off the polite veneer and reveal his true nature. Prove she was right and stop her foolish heart’s flutters every time he sent that cool dark glance her way.

‘A pox on your sherry,’ Merry said with a quick laugh. ‘'Tis brandy for me. I vow I am still chilled to the bone. Perhaps you would prefer a dish of tea, my lord?’

As she’d expected, Tonbridge turned with a frown. Clearly she’d shocked him with her teasing. Blasted nobility. They thought everyone who didn’t conform to their idea of polite society to be beneath them. While they gambled away their fortunes, men like her grandfather accumulated great wealth by hard work. He could look down his nose all he liked, she wasn’t ashamed of her background.

A small smile curved his lips, a brief softening of his harsh features and her heart gave a lurch, the kind that hurt and felt good at the same time. Not a feeling to have around such a powerful man. If he sensed it, he would see it as weakness.

‘Brandy would be equally welcome to me, Miss Draycott,’ he said.

Did nothing put him out, or did he just never show it? Too well bred. Too reserved. ‘Call me Merry,’ she said, as she had on the moors, an inner wildness overcoming good sense. ‘Everyone does. I hate formality, don’t you?’

He looked more than a little startled at that, which gave her a moment of satisfaction.

He responded cheerfully enough. ‘As you wish, Merry.’ He didn’t offer his own first name. She guessed he’d already placed their relative stations in life and knew he was far above their touch.

Caroline poured the brandy. Merry took both glasses and handed one to Tonbridge. ‘To my knight in shining armour,’ she toasted boldly and tossed off the fiery liquid. It burned its way to her stomach.

She really didn’t need any more heat. The proximity of this man made her skin glow. She cocked a challenging brow.

He raised his glass, a smile curving his finely drawn mouth. ‘To a lovely maiden in distress.’

More devastating charm. He must practise in front of the mirror, the way the girls practised simpering before the glass at school.

He took a cautious sip and then nodded. ‘Excellent.’ He swallowed a mouthful.

‘My grandfather kept a very fine cellar,’ she said, not without a little pride. Grandfather might have lacked town bronze, as the ton called it, but he knew quality. Unfortunately, he had no sense of style. Hence the costly but dreadful décor.

Gribble opened the door. ‘Dinner is served, miss.’

Tonbridge held out both arms. ‘Ladies?’

Gribble’s grey brows shot up, wrinkling his forehead.

Speechless, Merry looked at Caroline, who lifted her shoulders in a slight shrug. As usual her hazel eyes gave nothing away. Merry had found Caroline serving at an inn in York and had instantly seen her predicament. A well-bred lady brought low. She’d offered her the position of companion on the spot. But Caroline never talked about her past. And she rarely offered an opinion.

Not that Merry relied on anyone else’s judgement. Grandfather would never allow it. She made her own decisions.

She placed her hand on his right forearm and Caroline did the same on his left. As they walked, she glanced at his face and saw nothing but bland politeness. And that made her nervous. Because politeness hid lies and knives in the back.

She had a strategy for dealing with practised deceit, developed after years of misery. Frontal attack.

Chapter Two

‘Is this your first visit to Yorkshire, my lord?’ Caroline asked when the food was served and the butler had withdrawn.

Tonbridge paused in his carving of the roast duck and smiled politely. ‘Not at all. I came here often in my youth with my family. It has been some years since my last visit, I must say.’

‘Lucky for me you chose today,’ Merry said, fluttering her eyelashes in a fair emulation of the girls she’d despised at school.

Caroline cast her a startled look.

Tonbridge continued carving. ‘It seems we were both lucky. I doubt I would have made it to Skepton in the snow and I would never have found hospitality on so grand a scale elsewhere in the wilds of the moors.’

Grand meaning horribly bourgeois, no doubt.

‘May I help you to some of this fine bird, Mrs Falkner?’ he asked.

‘Thank you,’ Caroline said.

‘Not for me,’ Merry said, then waved her fork and the carrot on its tines airily at the picture behind her. ‘That is my grandfather, Josiah Draycott. He rose from shepherd boy to owning one of the largest wool mills in Yorkshire.’

‘Impressive,’ Tonbridge said. He put the best slices of the bird on Caroline’s plate and took the remainder for himself.

Merry wasn’t sure if he referred to the portrait in which her grandfather, with his full-bottomed wig and eagle-eyed stare, looked as if he could eat small boys for breakfast, or his accomplishments. Strangely enough she had the impression it was the latter when she’d expected the former.

She cut her roast beef into bite-sized pieces. ‘He left it all to me.’

He stilled, his duck-laden fork hovering before parted lips. Lovely full lips. The kind of lips that would cushion a girl’s mouth. No awkward clashing of teeth for him, she felt sure.

His eyes widened. ‘You are a mill owner?’ he asked.

Hah! She’d managed to surprise him. At least he’d managed not to sneer. ‘Owner of Draycott’s Mills.

His gaze met hers. ‘I recognised the name, of course. I just didn’t expect

‘A woman in charge?’

‘We sell Durn’s wool to Draycott’s,’ he said, neatly sidestepping her question. He put the duck in his mouth and chewed. How could anyone look so scrumptious, just chewing?

She dragged her gaze from his mouth. ‘And very fine wool it is.’

‘The best,’ he agreed.

‘But not producing as much in recent years.’

He blinked and she felt a little glow of satisfaction. She wasn’t just a mill owner, a reaper of profits. While she rarely visited the mill because the blunt Yorkshire men felt uncomfortable around their female employer, she received weekly reports, statements and accountings. She knew her business. Grandfather had insisted.

‘We’ve seen revenues fall off,’ Tonbridge admitted. ‘One reason for my visit.’

One reason? What would be the others?

He turned to Caroline. ‘Are you also involved in Draycott’s, Mrs Falkner?’

For a man of such an exalted position, he had exquisite manners. Merry found herself warming at the way he included Caroline in the conversation. But he’d not get carrot juice out of that turnip.

Caroline shook her head. ‘Oh, no.’

‘I don’t know what I would do without Caroline’s companionship,’ Merry said on her friend’s behalf.

Caroline smiled at her with gratitude.

Tonbridge’s dark eyes looked from one to the other. A question entered his gaze, a dark thought that caused a slight tightening at the corners of his mouth. More disapproval? ‘You are lucky to have such a good friend,’ he said quietly. The words seemed to hold more meaning than she could work out.

What on earth was he thinking? She found she couldn’t hazard a guess and that was annoying. Accompanying her grandfather on his business dealings had taught her how to read men very well. This one, however, was a bit of a mystery. A challenge.

‘What do you do when you are not visiting the outposts of the Mountford empire?’ she asked.

He laughed. ‘You are nothing if you are not direct, Merry.’ He held up a hand when she began to apologise. ‘I like it. It is refreshing.’

Refreshing meant naïve. Ignorant of the social niceties. She flashed him a sultry smile. ‘I’m glad you find it stimulating, my lord.’

Glints of amber danced in his eyes. ‘You have no idea.’

Oh, but she did, because her blood was stirring and her pulse fluttering in places she shouldn’t be aware of in polite company. She felt more alive than she had for months, perhaps years. For the first time since her fall into disgrace, she felt her body tingle with interest and excitement.

Lust.

Thank goodness she knew it for what it was and could resist it.

Caroline cast her warning glance, an admonition that the flirtation was getting out of hand.

What did it matter if she flirted a little? It wasn’t as if she could be ruined. And this man with his icy reserve deserved a little shaking up. Pretending not to notice Caroline’s unspoken message, she raised a brow. ‘Well, Lord Tonbridge? You didn’t answer my question. Perhaps you are a gambler or a rake?’

‘Both,’ he said, his expression suddenly darker. ‘Have you a wish to test my skills? ‘

Caroline coughed and picked up her water. ‘My throat is dry,’ she muttered after a sip.

Merry only knew one way to deal with a man of his sort. Call his bluff. ‘La, sir, where would we start? With a wager? Or a seduction?’

Dark eyes observed her intently, then flicked to Caroline, who was bright pink and looking mortified. ‘I bow to your wishes,’ he said, his deep voice a silky caress on her ears.

Her stomach did a long slow lazy roll that left her breathless. And speechless. Blast him, he didn’t scare easily. Most of the noblemen she’d met in the past would be running a mile by now at the thought of an entanglement with Merry Draycott.

Gribble entered quietly with his minion at his heels to clear the table for the remove, affording her the opportunity to marshal her defences.

‘Do you plan a long stay at Durn, my lord?’ Caroline asked, covering an awkward silence as the servants went about their business.

‘I’m not sure,’ he said, looking at Merry. ‘It depends on several factors.’

Merry really didn’t like the thrill that rippled through her at the thought that she might be a factor. Did she? He might be the handsomest man she’d ever seen, but he had an arrogance about him, a sense of entitlement, put there by wealth and position. There was also a coldness. It wafted from him like a chill wind. He’d judged her instantly and sensed his superiority. Perhaps he thought she should be honoured to fall at his feet. The thought jangled her pride. A need to take the wind out of his sails was pushing her into outrageous behaviour she could not seem to stop.

Finished with their tasks, the servants withdrew.

‘Can I offer you some of this very fine aspic, Mrs Falkner?’ he asked.

Caroline inclined her head. ‘Yes, please, my lord.’

He raised his gaze to her face. ‘Merry?’

She should not have given him permission to use her first name. It put her at a distinct disadvantage. ‘A small amount. Thank you.’

He served Caroline first. He had large strong hands. The fingers were elegant, yet not at all limp or fluttery. Grandfather always knew a man’s nature from the way he shook hands. Most of the time, men bowed over hers, so she never got the opportunity to judge their grip. She’d found other ways to assess their worth.

The way a man handled his knife and fork and the business of eating told her a great deal. This one used his implements with casual ease and ate with firm elegance and a pleasing economy of movement. The Marquis of Tonbridge exceeded all her standards.

He’d been good with the horses, too, she recalled, firm, yet gentle. Not once had he pulled on their delicate mouths while keeping firm control.

Was she letting her biases lead her astray in regard to this man? Was he merely following her lead out of politeness? If she truly believed so, she should simply bid him goodnight after dinner and retire. It would not be difficult to declare a headache or weariness from the day’s events.

But she didn’t believe he was just being polite for a minute. He wanted to put her in her place. She could see it in his eyes.

‘You haven’t answered my question,’ he said, raising a brow.

Clearly, he needed a lesson in humility. ‘Why don’t we start with a wager?’

He raised a brow. ‘Cards? Or do you prefer dice?’

‘Billiards,’ she said. ‘If you play?’

He nodded. ‘Billiards it is.’

The conversation passed on to more mundane topics and it was not long before Caroline was making her excuses, leaving Merry to deal with the fruits of her challenge.

The billiard room was, without a doubt, the most comfortable room Charlie had entered so far. Linen-fold panelled walls of oak provided a warm background for comfortably heavy wooden furniture dating back to the last century. An equally impressive green baize-covered slate table stood in the centre of a red-and-green-patterned rug.

Not a scrap of velvet or gilt in sight. A relief to his weary eyes. The only glitter beneath the overhead light was Miss Draycott herself. Merry. What an apt name for such an unusual female.

She eyed the balls, running her palm up and down her cue. Her fingers were long and fine and the action brought other images to mind. Sensual images.

The simmering arousal he’d been fighting all evening made itself known with a disgruntled jolt.

He’d never before felt such instant attraction for such a—how did one describe this woman? Statuesque, certainly. Gloriously so. She didn’t have to crane her neck to see his face. He’d thought he liked his women small and delicate. Until now.

He certainly wouldn’t worry about hurting her when romping around in a bed. His body stirred in approval. He tamped down his desire. The last thing he needed was a distraction like Merry Draycott.

For an unprotected woman, she was far too bold for her own good. Many men would have no qualms about taking advantage. He had to admit he found the prospect tempting.

Her behaviour had him thoroughly off kilter, too. On occasion, her manner of speech left much to be desired. At other times she seemed almost genteel. She confused him. And, unfortunately, intrigued him.

For an instant at dinner, he’d suspected the two women of being more than platonic friends, that they might worship at the altar of Sappho, but as the meal progressed he had not sensed anything warmer than friendship.

Not that he was averse to the special friendships some women preferred. It just put those particular women out of reach, and, in her case, he’d felt disappointed.

The truth was, he wanted her. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so urgent about having a woman. He fought to control the impulse to seduce her. As her guest, good manners required he accommodate his hostess’s wishes. A part of him wished those desires included more than a high-stakes game of billiards. The undercurrents swirling around them suggested they might. And no matter what he thought, his baser male nature wanted to oblige.

A man about to become betrothed did not enter into an entanglement with another woman. Hell, he’d just got rid of his long-term mistress for that very reason.

Meeting this particular woman on the road was, without a doubt, a confounded nuisance.

She played a damned fine game of billiards, too. She’d won the first game, mostly because he had been focusing too much on her sweet little bottom when she’d leaned over the table. A quite deliberate ploy on her part, no doubt. Not unlike a Captain Sharp plying his mark with gin.

He watched her saunter around the table with a jaunty swing of her hips and clenched his jaw. She was deliberately tormenting him with a gown that skimmed her breasts and revealed every curve when she walked. While her gown wasn’t any more provocative than many respectable married ladies of the ton wore to a drum or a rout, on her, it seemed positively decadent.

The woman was a menace. Teasing a man came with consequences she might not like. Perhaps she needed a lesson in acceptable behaviour. A warning.

He covered his mouth and yawned widely. ‘Excuse me. It’s been a long day. I think I am ready to retire.’

She frowned. ‘Afraid you will lose again?’

‘Not at all,’ he drawled. ‘My interest is waning. I’m afraid I need more of a challenge.’

She eyed him suspiciously. ‘Fifty guineas a point and a hundred for a win is reasonably challenging.’

‘I’m not trying to fleece you, Merry, but I think both of us can lose a few hundred guineas in a night and not turn a hair.’

Her eyes widened a fraction. ‘Do you want to make it thousands?’

He grinned and leaned on his cue. ‘That is more of the same, isn’t it?’ Oh God, he was going to hell for this. ‘In this next game, how about for each point we lose, we remove an article of clothing?’

It was the kind of thing he would have proposed during his misspent youth, before his stint in the army. Before he became duller than ditchwater, more sedate than a spinster walking a pug. The sharp voice of his handsomely paid-off mistress rang in his head.

Merry was staring at him wide-eyed, shocked to her toes.

A rueful smile tugged at his lips as he waited for her to retreat in disarray and leave him to take his brandy to his empty bed.

‘An article of clothing per point?’ she said, a little breathlessly, her cheeks flushing pink, but her shoulders straightening.

A breath caught in his throat. By thunder, she wasn’t going to back down. The naughty minx. Someone ought t o put her over their knee. He drew on every ounce of control, the kind a man needed going into battle.

Clearly there was only one way to teach this young woman not to play with fire. Singe her eyebrows.

‘Anything on your person,’ he said as if the whole topic bored him.

‘Including jewellery? Because it seems to me I have far less clothing than you do.’

‘Certainly.’

She boldly ran her gaze down his body as if considering whether seeing him disrobed would be worth the risk. He pretended not to notice the heat of desire flaring in the depths of her summer-blue eyes and let her look her fill.

She parted her lips and his body hardened to granite. He forced himself not to shift to find ease for his confined flesh.

Some women found him too large, too overpowering physically, when the fashion was for lisping mincing dandies. In her case the thought of doing a bit of overpowering made the prospect all the sweeter.

If she dared take his challenge.

She drew in a deep breath. ‘All right,’ she said. ‘Fifty guineas and an article of clothing per point to twelve points. The hundred guineas for the win remains unchanged.’

She expected to win. It was writ large on her face. He took a slow inward breath, controlling the surge of heat at the thought of seeing her naked. ‘That sounds fair,’ he said coolly.

And then she laughed. A low chuckle in the back of her throat. ‘Perhaps I should ask Gribble to have the fire stoked before we start. So no one catches a chill.’

‘I don’t think that will be necessary. Our blushes will keep us warm.’

Her shoulders tensed. ‘Your blushes, you mean.’

What a surprise, this woman—the first who had dared challenge him for years. They usually simpered and flattered. If he was any kind of gentleman he would stop this right now, but he wouldn’t. Not if his life depended on it. He was having too much fun. He smiled at her, a sweet, but slightly devilish grin. ‘It seems you are first, my dear Merry.’

She missed her first shot. Nerves. Not as blasé as she pretended.

‘Bad luck,’ he said. ‘A one-point penalty.’

She removed the pearls at her throat and placed them on a side table with a little toss of her head. ‘You will not be so lucky in future.’

He eyed the board, and played his shot carefully. His ball missed hers and came to rest temptingly close to the pocket.

‘You missed. One point for me,’ she said.

He bowed and removed his coat and draped it over a chair back, while she walked around the table, looking at the balls from all angles.

He waited, leaning nonchalantly on his cue.

With a small smile of triumph she lay across the table and eyed the balls. An easy shot. Just as he’d planned. He and Robert had actually orchestrated one of these games with a couple of the village tarts at Durn. It was all coming back.

The sweet curve of her bottom as she stretched over the table tempted unbearably. From this angle, the draping fabric left little to the imagination and put her at just the right angle to receive his attentions. Two steps closer and he could slide his hands over the soft flesh and press his groin against the full roundness of her buttocks.

He drew in a swift breath. Brought his body under control. Passion, strong passions, led to nowhere but disaster. And even if she was wriggling that little posterior on purpose, she was doing it as a distraction, a way of putting him off his own shot.

She knocked the white ball with a swift jerk of her elbow. It caromed off the red and hit his ball with a crack, sending it into the corner pocket.

He smiled. ‘Good shot.’

She lowered her feet gracefully to the floor. She cast him a glance over her shoulder. ‘I know.’

He grinned.

She raised her brows.

He removed the diamond pin from his cravat, adding it to her pearls, then unknotted and slowly unwound his cravat. She looked highly pleased with herself, but he couldn’t help wondering if it was because she wanted to see more of him, or because she’d won. The former, he evilly hoped. He had no qualms about removing his clothes before a woman, despite the scar.

He draped the long strip of cloth over his coat. He glanced down at himself. ‘What next, do you think? Ah, yes.’ He toed off his shoes and, standing first on one leg, then the other, divested himself of his stockings. He did not miss her sidelong glance at his feet and bare calves, or the quick swipe of her lips with her tongue.

Heat flowed to his groin.

Ignoring his burgeoning arousal, he sauntered around the table, replacing the balls, while he felt the touch of sparkling eyes on his body.

‘How many pieces of clothing do you think you are wearing?’ she asked.

‘Less than the number of points required to finish the game,’ he said, instantly guessing the direction of her thoughts.

‘Good,’ she said, but there was an undercurrent of nervousness behind her bold front. An unease. Unless he wanted her to be better than she appeared? Surely not?

‘You didn’t tell me you were an expert at this game,’ he said, rubbing the end of his cue with chalk.

Her gaze flew from the cue tip to his face. ‘I used to play with my grandfather all the time. It passed the long winter evenings and while we played he taught me about the mill.’

‘He sounds like a grand old gentleman.’

‘He was. A darling.’ Her face brightened. It was as if she’d lit a candle inside, she became so dazzling. The brightness wasn’t true, he realised. It flickered and wavered as if a sharp gust of wind would blow it out. But why would he care? He had enough baggage to shoulder of his own without delving into hers. She’d made it quite clear from the beginning of the evening that she was interested in a dalliance. The idea became more attractive as the evening wore on. He didn’t remember the last time he’d felt quite so enlivened.

Her ball was easily accessible. His guarded the red. She played her next shot with consummate skill, knocking his aside and giving her access to the red ball.

He leaned in for his shot. A flick of the wrist and he struck the red and white in quick succession. They fired off into the centre pockets. ‘Seven points,’ he said calmly, straightening.

Her mouth dropped open. Her blue eyes were wide with shock, staring at the table. ‘You cheated.’

He folded his arms across his chest. ‘Oh?’ He raised a brow and stared down his nose. His ducal-heir-look, Robert always called it.

She flushed. ‘I mean, you pretended you were not very good at this game. Only an expert can make a shot like that.’

‘Are you wishing to forfeit the game?’

She stiffened, her gaze meeting his with blue sparks of anger. ‘Certainly not.’

As he’d suspected, Merry Draycott did not back down from a fight. The small qualm of contrition for goading her wasn’t strong enough to make him concede. ‘Seven items, then, Merry.’

She tugged three hair ornaments from her artfully arranged curls. Long black silky tresses fell to her exquisite sloping white shoulders. She placed the ornaments on the table with her pearls. Her bracelet followed. Her wince said that was the last of her jewellery.

She sent him a resentful glance and he tipped his head on one side as if completely unaware of her concern.

She glanced at his bare feet, sat down on a chair and started untying the ribbons around her ankles. Her hair fell forwards as black as a raven’s wing, hiding her face.

‘Do you need any help?’ he asked.

Chapter Three

Merry felt a blush crawl up her face. ‘I can manage.’ She ducked her head, untied the bow at the back of her ankle and slipped the shoe off.

Oh Lord, seven points, he only needed four to win. And what would she have left to remove if he won another seven points? She should never have let him convince her to play such a shocking game. He had cheated. He had let her think he was a hopeless player.

And then, when he’d offered her a chance to forfeit, she’d let her pride speak instead of common sense. But a Draycott never backed down, be it in a bargain or a game.

The ribbon snagged. She tugged at it. The knot drew tighter.

His bare toes appeared within her vision, which was restricted to her feet, the hem of her gown and the carpet. He dropped to his knees. ‘May I help?’ he asked again.

The sound of his voice was like a taste of hot chocolate, warm and rich and wickedly tempting.

‘I can manage.’

He sat back on his heels. Sweeping her hair back, she glanced up at his face. His gaze remained fixed on her foot, on the knot. She let go a huff of impatience. ‘Very well. See if you can untie it.’

She couldn’t breathe. She had a huge fluttery lump stuck in her throat. Her mouth dried.

The wretch grasped her ankle and lifted her foot to rest on one knee. The heat of his hand, the feel of those long strong fingers taking the weight of her leg, sent ripples of pleasure through her body. She swallowed a gasp.

‘Such a pretty ankle,’ he murmured as he worked at the ribbon.

A melting sensation weakened her limbs. Oh, dear. If he made her feel this way with a touch on her extremity, how would she feel if he wanted to help her with her garter? She could not, nay, would not let him undo her like this. ‘La, thank you, sir,’ she said and was infuriated by the breathy note in her voice.

He glanced up at her face with a smile. ‘No need to thank me. I speak only the truth.’

The man was impossibly handsome when he smiled like that. A dark inscrutable devil with the expression of an angel. In her heart she knew it for what it was, an act, a flirtation, but he played his part so well he almost had her convinced.

She pointed at her foot. ‘The slipper, my lord.’

He bent his dark head to the task. His dark brown hair fell in thick luxurious chocolate-brown waves. She had the urge to touch it, to feel its texture. She gripped the chair arm instead.

He untied the ribbon around her ankle and slid the shoe from her foot, his palm caressing the arch. Delicious. Intoxicating. She wanted to wriggle her toes. She kept a bright smile fixed on her face. Bright and teasing, when inside she wanted to weep at the tenderness in his touch.

Gently he placed her foot on the ground. She wished she had a fan close at hand instead of a cue. She was glowing from the inside out. How could this be? She wasn’t some innocent schoolgirl to have her head turned by a handsome man. Particularly not one with a title. And yet she wanted to melt into this man’s arms. Feel that broad chest pressed against her breasts. Run her fingers through his hair and feel his strength beneath her fingers. Utter foolishness.

‘I don’t need your help with the garter.’ Her voice sounded strangled.

His head snapped up. ‘You disappoint me.’

She managed a quick calming breath and a light laugh. ‘Intentionally, sir. To allow such familiarity would be more reward than you have earned. Turn around.’

He stood. His rueful gaze made her heart beat just a little too fast. ‘Saving your life is worth so little, then?’

‘Unfair,’ she cried, laughing a little herself at the neat way he’d tried make her feel guilty. Oh, this man was a rake indeed and she was a fool to continue their game. ‘Am I not feeding you and giving you lodging as well as helping you wile away the hours before bed? ‘

His lips twitched, but he bowed and turned his back.

The clock on the mantel struck midnight. She glanced at it to make sure. She could not believe so much time had passed so quickly.

She leaped out of her chair, turned her back, in case he should decide to peek, and untied her garter, a pretty thing made of the finest lace from Nottingham she’d bought on a visit to look at their mills. She walked to the chair and laid it on top of his cravat. The rug felt odd under her stockinged feet, the silk no barrier to the rougher nap of the woollen tufts.

‘Let us finish our game,’ she said, trying to sound as if it didn’t matter that one of her stockings was slowly sliding down her calf, or that the heat inside her seemed to have reached the temperature of a furnace. He’d been right when he said their blushes would keep them warm.

Or her, anyway. He seemed remarkably unaffected.

‘It is my turn.’

He bowed and gestured for her to continue.

She inhaled a deep breath, forcing her unruly thoughts back in control. She needed seven points to have any hope of winning this game. She had done it in the past. Not often. And not for a very long time. She looked at the table, the balls back in position. It would not be an easy shot.

She steadied herself against the table and lined up her cue. Her mouth felt terribly dry and her hands were shaking. The hit on the red was clean, it cracked nicely and shot across the table spinning, while her cue ball downed his ball in the nearby corner. The red ball hovered at the edge of the centre pocket and stopped.

It stopped. Surely it would topple over. She stared at it. Willing it to move. A fraction.

She could not believe it.

‘Oh, too bad,’ he said and sounded sincere.

She shrugged. ‘I won four points.’ She’d wanted seven.

‘We could take it as potted. It is so close.’

Her back stiffened. ‘I’m not a child, sir. I haven’t lost yet.’ She brushed her hair back from her shoulders. ‘You have four items to remove, remember?’

He smiled and shrugged. He took off his waistcoat and watch, then slowly released the buttons of his shirt, all the while keeping his gaze on her face.

Heat blazed in her cheeks. She was having trouble breathing and she couldn’t look away.

He tugged the shirt free of his waistband and pulled it off over his head, tossing it on his growing pile of clothing.

He was beautiful. ‘Oh, my,’ she whispered.

Merry had never seen such a virile gorgeous male. Not out in the fields at haymaking or in the mills, where the men often discarded most of their clothing in the heat of the summer. And certainly Jeremy had looked nothing like this. Although she’d been fascinated at the sight of his body, she’d not been in awe.

The lean and heavily muscled Tonbridge, with his skin of pale gold as if he sometimes exposed it to the sun, left her breathless. The scar, puckered and white, ravaging tight sculpted flesh from breast to hip, emphasised the perfection of his form.

She felt a strange urge to touch the scar, to run her fingers along its length, to press her lips to it as if somehow she could make it disappear. A little shiver ran down her spine. Pleasure. Lust. She knew it for what it was, but had it firmly under control. Didn’t she?

She raised her eyes once more to his face. He was watching her closely as if trying to read her reaction. Perhaps other women were repulsed by the sight of his ruined flesh. A tension that had not been there before invaded the room.

Oh, there had been tension, between them. The sort of electricity one felt before thunderstorms as they fenced verbally. She had found it quite exciting. This, however, felt more like the undercurrent in a fast-flowing river. An irresistible tug of unseen emotions.

She forced a bright smile. ‘What will you remove next?’

He chuckled. A deep sound in his lovely broad chest. ‘Not much left for either of us.’

And it was his turn to play. This was going to be very embarrassing. Four points would be bad enough. Seven would have her completely disrobed.

‘Do you want to stop here?’ he asked.

Why did he have to be so gentlemanly? And yet there was a knowing look in his eyes as if he guessed she would never forfeit a game. ‘That would be cowardly,’ she managed.

Her gaze darted from his face to his chest. ‘What happened to you?’

‘A sabre.’

‘Duelling?’

‘Something like that.’

‘I think duelling is a foolish pastime,’ she said, frowning at the scar. ‘Real men resolve their problems without hacking each other to pieces.’

The hobnail-booted grasshoppers had returned. This time they were running around in a frenzy. Out of self-defence she turned her attention to the table. It didn’t help, because he walked around retrieving the balls from her last shot, his upper arms bulging and stretching as he replaced them on the table.

She took a deep breath and realised with horror her hands were shaking and damp.

He leaned a hip against the edge of the table. ‘My shot.’

His shot. This was going to be a disaster.

He leaned over the table and his elbow slid smoothly forwards, but he dropped his shoulder. His ball missed the red by such a small fraction, for a moment she was sure he was about to get another seven.

Relief flooded through her body in a hot wave.

He stood staring at the table as if he didn’t quite believe it himself. ‘By Jove,’ he said, frowning.

‘You lowered your shoulder at the last minute,’ she said.

He grimaced and removed his signet ring. It tinkled against the other jewellery as he set it down with a snap.

He took a deep breath and the underlying bones in his chest expanded, drawing attention to the narrowness of his waist and lean hips, though she tried her best not to let him see she had noticed.

She was going to win. He had almost nothing left to remove. She wiped her hands on her gown. She ought to stop now. She really ought to.

But he needed taking down a peg or two.

And she wasn’t going to look when he removed the last of his clothes.

Not one peek. He would remove them and leave.

‘Your turn, Merry.’

For some reason, she loved the way he said her name. It was as if he savoured each syllable and consonant. As if he tasted them on his tongue.

‘Yes,’ she said. Her hands trembled. She didn’t need to do anything fancy. Put his ball in the corner pocket.

‘Whenever you are ready,’ he said quietly.

She jumped. Desperate to have this over and done she took her shot quickly, neatly caroming off the red, the ball ricocheting into the pocket at the end of the table.

He made a sound like a laugh quickly stifled.

A second later she realised why. She’d downed her own ball.

‘Hell,’ she said.

‘Oh, dear. I believe that is three points to me.’

‘I know that,’ she said, staring at the table where his ball happily rested to the right of the red. Blast. She hadn’t made a mistake like that since she’d been a young girl.

She looked up at his face and saw his broad grin. Damn it. The sight of him half-naked had scattered her wits.

A smile pinned on her face, she let her eyes sparkle and fluttered her lashes. ‘Might I ask if you have a preference?’

His look of astonishment, quickly followed by a flare of heat in those dark eyes, was all the reward she needed for her daring.

Her satisfaction didn’t last long, because he was eyeing her like dinner had finally arrived. What on earth had made her give him the choice?

‘The other garter, I think, and both stockings. And then it is my turn to shoot.’

And she would be the one who was naked. Her stomach dipped down to her feet.

‘I will forgo the rest of the game,’ he said, his eyes gleaming wickedly, ‘if you will permit me to remove those items.’

Her stomach sank even further, dropping away in a rush. As if she’d fallen from a high place, or dropped into a well.

He raised his brows.

Dash it all. It was the only way to retain a shred of propriety and honour. Letting him take off her stockings and feeling those wonderfully strong warm hands on her naked flesh all the way to her knee sounded dreadful. Dreadfully delicious.

And not nearly as awful as being required to undress, should he down his next shot. He had missed once. He might miss again. Her mind went back to that odd drop of his shoulder, when usually he moved with such elegant grace and surety. He’d done it on purpose. Missed his shot. To give her a chance to win. And she’d muffed it.

No wonder he’d laughed.

She closed her eyes briefly. Then he deserved his reward. Her insides quivered. Excitement. Anticipation. Wicked. She was nothing but wicked.

She nodded.

She sat on the nearest chair. ‘Your hands must go no further than the top of my knee, nor your gaze.’

The corners of his mouth curled in a sensual smile. ‘Do you play the part of Portia, now?’

She lifted her chin. ‘And will you play the part of fair Antonio or be the lesser man?’

‘A hit,’ he said and bowed. ‘I will abide by your rule most cheerfully.’

She carefully arranged her skirt so that no more than the top of her left stocking showed below the hem. It had slid below her knee.

He dropped to his knees in front of her and sat back on his heels. ‘A delectable sight.’

‘I trust you to keep your word.’

She could not see his face, but his shoulders shook a little as if he was trying not to laugh. She saw no humour in the situation, for he had cheated. She was sure of it.

Her skin tingled with the anticipation of his touch. She bit her lip as he hooked one finger into the fine silk and rolled it down over her ankle. He eased it over her heel and off. ‘That is one.’

There. Not so bad. No caresses or touches driving her mad.

His fingers went to the hem of her gown, gathering up the fine material until he reached her knee. She tried not to look, or to guess at his reaction. A rake like him would have seen lots of ladies’ limbs. Her legs were long and well muscled from striding about her property like a man, when she wasn’t conducting business, also like a man. He would find no feminine softness beneath her skirts. He’d probably find her unappealing.

She stared at the wall opposite and gritted her teeth.

The tug on the bow of her garter was like a tug at her centre. Wicked sensations pulsed in her core. She felt naked, exposed, yet when she glanced down to watch, her hem had risen only on one side and not a fraction above the edge of her stocking. But he knelt so close, concentrated on his task with such focus, she could feel his warm breath brush her thigh through the layers of gown and chemise. It tickled unbearably.

He pulled the garter free and dangled it before her face. ‘Two,’ he said.

She swallowed. Resisted the urge to pull down her skirts. Ignored the fire she could feel burning on her face. She did not fear him doing anything she did not permit. She feared she might permit him to take liberties. But she would not be so cowardly as to go back on her word, not after his generosity. ‘Well, go on.’

He cast a swift glance upwards. ‘Your wish is my command.’

Oh, how she wanted to hit him. She rolled her eyes to the ceiling and yawned instead. But as soon as he returned to his task, she lowered her lashes, pretending to close her eyes, and watched as he ran a finger beneaththe edge of her stocking. A second finger joined the first. He made great play of stretching the fabric over her knee. Her insides turned liquid as if they had melted. Her limbs grew languid. She hauled in a deep breath.

He leaned down and placed a kiss on the bared skin. A swift brush of warm dry lips.

She gasped and gripped the chair arms tighter. ‘You go too far.’

‘Such beauty deserves worship.’

‘You tease me, sirrah.’

He looked up, his eyelids heavy, his lips sensual. ‘Not about something as lovely as this.’

A warm glow suffused her skin. Her body clamoured for more than a whisper of touch. She must not succumb to him. She’d sworn never to let a man take her for a fool. She was her own woman. Now and always. Only with him she seemed reckless. Dangerously so.

Was it reckless to keep one’s word?

She bit her lip. ‘Continue.’

He rolled the stocking, as neatly as any maid would, careful not to damage the cobwebby silk. Another inch of skin, another kiss. Thrills coursed through her blood. She held herself rigid against their temptation, but she couldn’t stop watching.

He continued to roll and kiss every inch until the stocking reached her ankle. He shaped her calf with his palm, lingering there as if he’d exposed a treasure. Her insides tightened with desire and longing.

He sighed, a waft of warm gentle air against her skin, then pulled the stocking off. He rubbed the ball of her foot with his thumb. Her body hummed with pleasure. He massaged her arch. She wanted to purr like a cat. Her back stretched. Her shoulders loosened. Dazed, she stared down at his broad naked shoulders, the curve of his back, the movement of muscle beneath. He was lovely.

She yearned to touch him. If only she dared.

Gently he lowered her hem, and rose to his full height, smiling down at her. Clearly waiting for sign from her as to where they would go next.

When she said nothing, he gave a slight nod. ‘I think it is time I bid you goodnight.’ He put on his ring, tucked the rest of his jewellery in his coat pocket and slung his discarded clothing over his shoulder.

He looked just like a pirate carrying off his booty.

She half-wished the booty included her.

Her heart knocked against her ribs. Her body trembled with the urge to join him in his chamber. To enjoy his beautiful body and the pleasure he would give.

It had been a long time since she’d known the pleasure of a man. But she never expected to be attracted to a man like him, a nobleman who no doubt would mock her in his clubs and to his friends. Blast it. Pricked by her pride, she’d let him push her too far and been tempted by his beautiful body. What a fool.

Thank goodness he’d be gone in the morning and leave her in peace.

‘I’ll collect the rest of my winnings tomorrow,’ he murmured.

Her heart lurched.

Money. He meant the money. ‘It will be waiting for you,’ she said with a calm she did not feel.

She acknowledged his sweeping bow with an inclination of her head.

He closed the door softly behind him. She sat still, imagining him climbing the stairs. Would he walk slowly? Lingering, hoping she might follow? Or would he run, glad of his escape? Or had it all been one great joke?

Did he know she was his for the taking had he persisted? Did he know she’d lie awake all night, reliving his touch on her flesh?

Shame sent more heat to her face. Her stomach fell away. Would she never learn? She inhaled a deep breath, pushed to her feet and looked up at Grandfather’s portrait beside the hearth. A gentler one than that in the other room. ‘I certainly made a pig’s ear of that, didn’t I?’ No doubt more scandal would attach to her name when he gossiped to his friends.

Thank God, he would be gone in the morning.

Chapter Four

Voices. Female voices. As consciousness returned, Charlie lay still, eyes closed, his cold naked body rigid. One movement would be his downfall. A laugh chilled his soul.

‘Do you think he tupped the missus?’

‘Why else would she bring him home?’

Odd. Charlie cracked an eyelid. Peered at the two women at the end of a monstrous four-poster bed and remembered. He was in Yorkshire, not a war-torn field in Europe. He let go of his breath, relaxing his body.

The women were dressed modestly, like chambermaids, one a chubby young blonde with an inquisitive expression, the other a sallow-faced brunette past the first blush of youth. Their eyes perused his body as boldly as a farmer sizing up a bull at the market.

Flipping the sheet over his groin, Charlie sat up and smiled. ‘Good morning, ladies.’

The blonde one squeaked. The other put her hands on her hips. ‘Sorry, your lordship. We didn’t mean to wake you. Your fire is made up and we stopped to admire the

‘You should draw t’curtain,’ the younger one said defensively, ‘if you don’t want us looking.’

He choked back a laugh. Miss Draycott had the most unusual of staff. But then there was nothing about Merry Draycott that was usual.

The dark one lowered her lashes a fraction and her gaze to the sheet, which hid little of the evidence of his morning arousal. ‘I could help you out with that for a shilling.’

‘I wouldn’t charge you at all,’ the blonde said, licking her lips and smiling. ‘I’d bounce on that any day of t’week.’

Good God, what sort of house was this? Charlie tried to keep his jaw off his chest. ‘Thank you, but no.’

The hopeful smile faded. ‘You won’t say nowt to missus, will you? About us waking you. We are supposed to be quiet.’

With a sense of unreality, Charlie shook his head. ‘Thank you for the fire.’

The older of the two narrowed her gaze. ‘How come you left all the candles burning? Not scared of the dark, are you?’

Scared didn’t come close to describing the insidious panic he felt in the hours before dawn. He grinned. ‘I fell asleep reading.’ He gestured to the book on the night table, placed there in case of such questions.

‘Waste of good beeswax, that is,’ she muttered and flounced out of the room.

The other girl followed, lugging the coal bucket and a dustpan and brush.

Charlie collapsed against the pillows and let out a laugh. There was no mistaking the sort of fires those women preferred to light and it had nothing to do with hearths and coals.

He should have guessed from the style of Merry’s dress and her lapses of speech that the damned woman was a brothel keeper.

An abbess. And one with enemies? Overnight he’d been thinking about that broken axle.

Another look at her carriage was required, but this latest piece of information added to his suspicions about her supposed accident. It wasn’t one.

He glanced around the room. The candles augmented by light from the window illuminated a carved and tapestry-hung nightmare of a room in every shade of green. It looked worse than it had the previous evening.

He threw back the covers and slipped from the bed. He strode to the window. He’d left the curtains open, too, as well as the bed curtains. Unending white accounted for the unnatural light. He frowned at the sky. While the clouds seemed less lowering, he doubted the roads would be passable.

And he was stuck in a house of ill repute. A joke Robert would have loved. Charlie didn’t find it in the least bit humorous. She should have told him last night instead of her pretending to be respectable—well, almost respectable.

A vision of Merry’s lovely slender leg in his hand popped into his brain. The arousal that had tormented him the previous evening, and upon awakening, started anew. He cursed. He’d behaved like a perfect gentleman with a woman who kept a bawdy house. What a quixotic fool she must have thought him.

He turned away from the window at the sound of the chamber door opening. Brian with boots in hand. The lad bowed deeply. ‘Good morning, my lord. Mr Gribble said to tell you the snow on the moors is really deep.’

‘I guessed as much. You don’t need to stay. I can manage.’

The lad looked so crestfallen at the dismissal, Charlie relented. ‘Brush my claret-coloured coat and then iron my cravat, if you wouldn’t mind.’

The lad touched his forelock. ‘Reet gladly, my lord.’

In less than an hour, Charlie was hunching his shoulders against a wind stronger than the previous evening and holding fast to his hat brim. The drifting snow came close to the top of his boots as he slogged down a hill to the stables. Set around three sides of a square courtyard, the building offered welcome shelter from the gale. He entered through the first door he came to and almost bumped into a fellow coming out. Not a groom. Of course not. It was Miss Draycott in a man’s low-crowned hat and her mannish driving coat.

Charlie raised his hat and smiled. ‘Good morning. I didn’t expect to see you up and about at this early hour.’

After the startled look faded from her expression, she frowned. Not pleased to see him. ‘I didn’t think London dandies rose from their bed before noon.’

‘Mr Brummell has given us all a very bad reputation,’ Charlie said mournfully. He knocked the snow off his boots against the door frame. ‘I came to see how the horses were doing.’ No sense in alarming her, when he had nothing but vague suspicions.

‘Don’t you trust my servants to take proper care of your animals, my lord?’

My, her temper was ill today. ‘If I didn’t trust your servants, Miss Draycott, I would have come out here last night.’

She acknowledged the hit with a slight nod.

‘I also wondered about your team. How is that foreleg?’

Her shoulders slumped. ‘Not good. Jed poulticed it, but it is badly swollen.’

‘Do you mind if I look?’

‘Not at all.’ She sounded quite doubtful. Probably thought he wouldn’t know one end of the beast from the other. Nor would he indicate otherwise. The fact that he liked working with horses was no one’s business but his own.

They walked along the stable block. A single row of stalls built along each back wall, nice drainage, fresh straw and a surprising number of mounts, both riding and draught. He nodded his approval.

The carriage horses were in the middle block. The wrinkled wizened man who’d met them with the lantern the previous evening stood leaning on a broom, watching the injured horse eat.

‘Jed, this is Lord Tonbridge,’ Merry said.

He knuckled his forehead. ‘Aah. Yours are reet fine animals, yer lordship. Two stalls down they are.’

‘Thank you. Miss Draycott is concerned about this one. May I see?’

The old fellow ran a knowing eye down his person. ‘Well, if you don’t mind mucking in the midden, you’re reet welcome.’

Charlie inched in beside the horse and sank down on his haunches. The groom had packed a mixture of warm mash and liniment around the injured foreleg. ‘How bad do you think it is?’

‘No more’n a strain, I reckon.’

‘He got hooked up in the traces,’ Miss Draycott said. ‘I hope he didn’t do any permanent damage.’

So, she’d followed him back. That was going to make his questioning of the head groom difficult.

‘Have you tried packing it with snow?’ Charlie asked.

Jed scratched at the grey stubble on his chin. ‘Never heard of that for a strain.’

Charlie grinned. ‘Nor I. My groom discovered it takes the swelling down faster than warm mash, if you want to try it. Little else to be done apart from plenty of rest.’

‘It wouldn’t hurt to try, would it, Jed?’ Merry said quietly. ‘I feel so badly. Not once in my life have I ever injured one of my horses.’

She sounded dreadfully guilty. Charlie wanted to put an arm around her shoulders and offer her comfort, then press her up against the stable wall and offer a bit more than that, she looked so starkly beautiful with her hair tucked up under her ridiculous hat.

‘'T’was my fault,’ Jed said. ‘I should have seen somat were up wi’carriage. I should never have let you drive alone.’

‘No, you should not,’ Charlie said. ‘The carriage could have turned over. The horse’s legs might have been broken rather than strained. Not to mention Miss Draycott’s safety.’

The groom’s wrinkled face looked grim. ‘Aye.’

‘It was not Jed’s fault,’ Miss Draycott said. ‘And it is beside the point. That poor creature is in pain.’

‘Nowt to worry your head about, missy.’

‘I’ll check again later,’ she said, rubbing her upper arms.

He hadn’t thought her so sentimental a woman. Yet on their drive she had kept turning back to look at the injured beast. Perhaps, beneath her hard brittle shell, she’d a soft centre. Hopefully, the head groom wouldn’t let her rampage around the countryside alone in future. He’d have a word with him in private. Later. When Merry left.

‘You’d be better off staying warm by the fire,’ the groom said.

‘I’ll take a look at my cattle while I’m here, Jed.’

‘Sixteen mile an hour tits, I’m thinkin', my lord,’ Jed said.

‘On a smooth road downhill.’ Charlie patted the injured horse’s rump and exited the stall. He exited further along the stable block.

‘I was going too fast,’ Merry said, following him. ‘I was angry and hurrying because of the weather. I must have hit a rut.’

He’d seen no signs of a rut large enough to damage an axle. ‘Fretting won’t change it.’

Her chin quivered. ‘No. It won’t. But that horse is in pain. I can see it in his eyes.’

Charlie didn’t quite know what to say, so said nothing. He strode along the block until he found his team. They huffed a greeting. He spent a moment or two going over their hooves and their limbs. Someone had brushed them and their brown coats shone.

‘You have a good man in Jed,’ he said.

‘He worked for my grandfather.’ She spoke as if the words answered all.

They walked side by side along the alley in front of the stalls.

‘It seems you are to be burdened by my company for a while longer,’ he said.

‘It is no burden,’ she said absently as if she had something else on her mind. ‘It won’t be the first time we are snowed in for a few days.’

‘Thank you for your hospitality.’

His voice must have sounded just a little dry, because her head turned, her eyes meeting his gaze.

She gave a rueful smile. ‘Did I sound dreadfully rude? I apologise. I meant to say that it will be an honour to have you stay as long as you wish.’

Somehow he preferred the earlier offhand invitation to this lavish courtesy, because the first was pure Merry and the second pro forma.

‘You must allow me to perform some service for you while I am here,’ he said just a little mischievously, thinking to test the waters.

Her eyes widened just a fraction as she considered his words. ‘What might you have in mind?’

He grinned, and the sparks were once more hovering in the air. Attraction and interest. Not the searing fire of the previous evening, but it wouldn’t take much to set it ablaze.

‘How about a sleigh ride?’ He pointed to the equipage stored behind her phaeton.

‘In this weather?’ She glanced out into the courtyard.

‘When it clears.’

‘All right.’

He hesitated. ‘Merry, I conversed with some unusual young women this morning. In my chamber.’

She frowned. And then gasped. ‘Beth and Jane.’

‘I didn’t get their names. However, they seemed very obliging.’

‘They didn’t’ She covered her mouth with her hand.

His lips wanted to smile. He held them in check. ‘No. They didn’t.’ But they would have, and she knew it.

‘Oh. Oh, dear. I must apologise. They are housemaids in training. I should have told them to leave your room to Brian.’

Housemaids in training. A new twist on an old profession. She must have seen the disbelief in his face. ‘I will speak to them,’ she said stiffly. ‘And if the weather breaks, we will go for a sleigh ride. In the meantime, I have some business affairs needing attention.’

He imagined she did—but which business?

‘In the meantime,’ she said breathlessly, ‘please make free of the library where you will find books and a nice warm fire.’

They stood in the doorway, looking out at the world turned into a white desert, the house barely visible in a sudden flurry of snow. He inhaled. She was right, snow did have a scent all of its own. Why had he never noticed?

He took off his muffler and wrapped it around her neck and up over her mouth and nose. ‘Then at least let me escort you safely back to the house.’

Over the top of the scarf laughter spilled from her blue eyes. She looked like some Far Eastern princess, saucily peeping out from behind a veil. Or she would, if not for the manly driving coat and the man’s felt hat.

He grabbed her hand, tucked it beneath his arm and they began the trek up the hill. He liked the feel of her leaning on him for support. She wasn’t a fragile flower of a woman, but there was absolutely no denying her femininity.

And today she was acting with the propriety of a duchess. He had the strong urge to unravel the puzzle he’d found. And part of that was learning who might want to cause her harm.

He barely noticed the icy fingers of wind tearing at his coat, or the snow cold and wet on his face, because for the first time in a long time he was doing exactly as he pleased.

Chapter Five

Merry hurried along the corridor. She knew why she was hurrying. It had nothing to do with talking to the women and everything to do with escape. From him.

Not because she was attracted to him, because that part she could handle. Indeed, it was rather pleasant being looked at with desire. But it was the other part that caused her unease. Every now and then, when he looked at her with those intense dark eyes, she had the feeling he could see her innermost thoughts, whereas he seemed to hold himself very much at a distance because he really didn’t approve.

The sooner he was gone the better.

She pulled the key from her pocket and unlocked the door to what had once been the nursery. Voices from an open door let her know where she would find Caro and her charges. She entered the day room. Caro faced the two women sitting at desks along with Thomas, Caro’s six-year-old son, writing his letters on a slate. The women each held a book. Beth was reading, slowly sounding out the words. She stopped the moment Merry entered.

Looking at the two women, one would never guess their original profession. Their faces shone with good health and cleanliness. They wore the modest practical clothing of the women who worked at the mills.

‘Good morning, ladies,’ Merry said smiling.

‘Good morning, Miss Draycott,’ they chorused.

‘Good morning,’ Caroline said. Her gaze held curiosity. Wondering about last night, no doubt.

‘If I could have your attention,’ Merry said, to the room at large. ‘Because of the snow, we have a guest at Draycott House. I gather you ladies met him this morning. I think it would be best if you remained in this wing until his departure.’

Beth giggled.

Jane frowned. ‘Ashamed of us, then, are you? Is that how it’s to be?’

Heat stung Merry’s cheeks. Jane was not the easiest woman to deal with, despite the fact that she’d sought out Caro’s help on her own account. Jane had come north from London and was far more worldly than Beth, or the other girls they had rescued. And she’d appointed herself as their leader. The other girls had fled after the fire—Jane and Beth were all that were left of the soiled doves they’d been trying to help.

‘I am not ashamed,’ Merry said firmly. ‘It is for your protection. I don’t know this gentleman very well and I do not want any misunderstanding.’

Jane curled her lips. ‘She wants to keep him all to herself, that’s what it is.’

‘Enough, Jane,’ Caro said.

Jane sniffed. ‘I don’t care about no fancy man. What I wants to know is when do we get a proper job, instead of cleaning your grates?’

In other words, was her meeting successful? The townspeople had called the house in town Draycott’s whorehouse and had thrown bricks and stones through the windows. Finally a torch had been thrown, starting a fire and forcing them to flee. The meeting yesterday had been supposed to bring the other mill owners over to her side.

The two women looked at her hopefully. ‘It’s bloody awful here,’ Jane said. ‘No shops. Nought to do ‘cept readin'.’

‘I like it,’ Beth said stoutly. She’d grown up in the country. Most of the other girls they’d rescued were town girls, daughters of shopkeepers and millworkers who had taken a wrong turn and been cast out on to the streets to make their way as best they could. All had turned to the oldest profession known to women.

When Caro, who had narrowly missed turning to the same calling out of desperation, had proposed Merry use her money and her influence to help some of these women, Merry had readily agreed. She hadn’t expected the resentment of the community. They seemed to believe the presence of these women would taint them and their families.

They’d driven the girls off.

She glanced over at Caro, who looked sad, but offered a supporting smile. ‘I wasn’t able to meet with them yesterday.’

Jane’s mouth turned sullen. ‘Too busy enjoying yerself with yer fancy man.’

‘He is a gentleman,’ Merry said. ‘He provided me assistance on the road and he will be leaving as soon as the snow is passable.’

‘Gentlemen are the best,’ Beth said, as if repeating a lesson by rote. ‘They’s polite and don’t have no pox.’

‘'Course they do,’ Jane said.

Caroline rapped on her desk with her ruler. ‘Ladies, please. This kind of talk is not helpful.’ She glanced at Thomas, who had stopped writing and was listening with a furrow between his fair brows. ‘Miss Draycott will find you work and a place to live as soon as she is able. In the meantime, you are being paid to learn to read and write.’

A groan from Beth made Merry smile.

None of the girls had found the concept of reading and writing particularly relevant. Only by offering them a wage had she been able to convince them to try when they’d moved into the house in Skepton. They’d been making great strides until forced to run for their lives. Caro insisted these two continue while they stayed with Merry. If nothing else, they would be able to read a newspaper and their employment contract before they signed it.

If they could find jobs.

‘What about the grocer’s in the High Street?’ Beth asked. Her father had owned a shop, but when he found out she was pregnant, he’d turned her out. The boy had run away to sea and left her to fend for herself. If she couldn’t support herself respectably, she would never get her child back from the orphanage. ‘He’s got a sign in the winder for a shop assistant.’

No one in Skepton seemed willing to risk employing Draycott’s whores, no matter how clean they were or how well behaved. The townspeople claimed they would be a bad influence on the men as well as the women.

Merry pressed her lips together. ‘I told him of your experience, but he said he’d changed his mind.’ She’d even threatened to stop purchasing from him, but then he told her his fear of the mob tearing his shop apart. What could she say?

Jane’s lip curled. ‘See. I told you it was all a farradiddle.’

‘They think we’ll steal them blind,’ Beth said.

It was an outbreak of burglaries that had turned the townspeople violent, even after Caro told the constable she could account for all her girls at the time of the crimes.

‘I’m leaving at the end of t’month,’ Jane said. ‘There’s good money to be made in London. Abbesses always looking for new blood. Once the weather breaks, I can walk there in a fortnight.’

‘How much does a girl make in Lunnon?’ Beth asked.

‘A fortune if you finds the right man,’ Jane said. ‘Dripping with jewels and furs, some of the girls are.’

Beth’s eyes grew round.

‘It is not quite like that,’ Caro said. ‘Very few girls meet that kind of man. And often they cast them off, the way they throw out old clothes.’

‘What would you know about it?’ Jane sneered.

Caroline coloured. ‘I have eyes.’

Merry didn’t care much for Jane. Gribble had found her slipping a silver teaspoon in her pocket. Caro had reminded her that she might have done the same, if she had been in Jane’s situation.

Damn it. If Merry didn’t do something soon, these two women would slip back into their old ways.

A feeling of inadequacy swamped her. Grandfather would have been able to deal with the mill owners and the shopkeepers. He wouldn’t have been locked out of the meeting.

Because he was a man.

If only Prentice would stand up to them.

As a manager, Prentice had very little clout. He could speak on her behalf, but even though he was the manager of the largest mill in Yorkshire, he wasn’t the owner.

The only way she would ever have a voice in those meetings was if she was married. And then that voice would go to her husband.

Which brought her right back to the mad idea she’d had this morning—and rejected before it was fully formed. How she could have let such an idea creep into her mind, she didn’t know.

‘I’ll find a way to bring them around,’ she said. ‘Don’t worry.’ But how?

Merry squeezed her eyes shut, then looked at the document, forcing herself to read the figures again. The mill was in trouble.

How had it happened so quickly?

The door opened and Caro glided in as if she walked on air. Even on a good day, Merry galumphed around, as Grandfather always said.

But then Caro was as small and delicate as Merry was tall and big boned.

She smiled at her friend. ‘Lessons over?’

‘Yes. I’ve left them with some needlework. There are sheets in need of turning.’

‘They really don’t have to work for their board, you know.’

‘I know.’ Caro clasped her hands together. ‘But it does them good to keep occupied as well as giving them a feeling of worth. They are not bad women. Only misguided.’

‘Of course.’

‘Although I’m a bit worried about Jane. I think she’d sell her grandmother for a shilling.’

‘Probably less.’

They laughed.

‘How soon can we rebuild the house?’ Caroline asked. ‘Is it possible?’

‘Not until the snow clears, I’m afraid.’

‘I suppose Mr Prentice did his best?’ Caro sounded doubtful.

‘I’m sure he did. Although he doesn’t feel as strongly about finding the girls work as we do, he has always followed my instructions.’

‘As far as you know.’

‘Your biases are showing.’

‘He’s too nice. Too friendly.’

Merry sighed. ‘He’s young. He tries too hard and I wish Grandfather’s old manager had stayed on. He was crusty, but he knew everything there was to know about wool. He would have known how to handle the other mill owners.’

‘Did he retire?’

All the old anger returned in a hot rush. Her hands curled into fists. ‘He didn’t want to work for a woman. Said if I got married he’d be happy to come back.’ She’d been terribly hurt.

‘Oh, Merry. That is ridiculous.’

‘I know.’ She sighed. ‘Sometimes I wonder if I’m making a mistake.’

‘Why should you give up something you’ve worked so hard at all these years?’

‘Grandfather always used to say I was just as good as a son. But honestly

Caroline winced. ‘You are as good. Clearly you are.’

It wasn’t the first time they’d discussed the appropriate roles for men and women, and in the past they’d been in accord. Merry glanced down at the figures in her book. Was she wrong after all?

‘We will find a way,’ Caro said. ‘I didn’t have a chance to ask you how your game of billiards went. You were in high form last night.’

Merry felt heat creep up the back of her neck. ‘He won.’

‘Then I suppose you will be wanting a rematch this evening?’

Hardly. ‘Perhaps you’d care to join us for a game of cards.’

‘You need four for cards,’ Caro said.

‘We could ask Jane.’

Caroline giggled. ‘Poor Tonbridge. He wouldn’t know what hit him.’

Jane had fleeced the other girls of their pin money the first night she arrived at the house in town. Merry had the feeling she would not succeed with his lordship, but was not going to put her theory to the test.

‘Perhaps I’ll ask him to play chess.’ And there would be no removal of garments either. Her insides fluttered pleasurably as the image of his naked chest popped into her mind. Perhaps she should go straight to bed.

She almost groaned at the unfortunate thoughts that idea conjured. It would be better if she’d never known the pleasures a man could bring to a woman.

‘You will join us for dinner, though?’ Merry asked. ‘I can hardly entertain him alone.’

‘Naturally. I will see you in the drawing room at six as usual.’

Caro glided silently out of the room and Merry turned back to her accounts. It was only to be expected that the mill wouldn’t be as profitable as it had been under her grandfather. The army no longer needed the number of uniforms they’d required during the wars and the clothiers had cut back on the quantities of cloth they bought from the mill. If things didn’t improve, soon, she’d have to cut back on the number of workers she employed. With the price of bread continually rising, even those fully employed were barely surviving.

Nothing but problems, no matter which way she turned.

She began adding the column of figures again. The door opened. With a sigh, she looked up.

Tonbridge. The aristocratic lines of his face stark in the cold light from the window. Gorgeous. She blinked.

‘Ready for our sleigh ride?’ he asked. ‘I have taken the liberty of requesting the horses put to.’

Oh, she had promised, hadn’t she? She glanced out of the window. No help from the weather. It looked like a perfect afternoon.

‘It would be good to get some fresh air,’ he said, seeing her hesitation. ‘I want to take a look at your phaeton. Make sure it isn’t a hazard to other travellers.’

‘Oh, no, really. You did enough yesterday.’ The image of him heaving the carriage out of the way returned. One would never guess he hid such strength beneath the dark burgundy superfine of his coat. Why did she have to think about that now? ‘Jed will see to it.’

His gaze drifted to the papers. He hesitated a fraction, then gave her a boyish grin. The kind of grin that no doubt made ladies of the ton swoon. And didn’t do such a bad job on her either. ‘All work and no play makes Jill a dull girl.’

Her heart gave a small thud of excitement. Her knees had the consistency of mashed turnip as the force of his charming smile hit her full on. Escaping from her account books sounded terribly tempting. Temptation seemed to personify this man.

‘All right. Why not?’ Decision made, she leaped to her feet. ‘But the sleigh hasn’t been used for years.’

A vague impression of the sharp bite of the wind on her cheeks and the feel of her parents’ large, warm bodies on either side of her teased at her mind.

And laughter. So much laughter.

‘It’s been well maintained, like everything else in your stables,’ he said.

‘Jed wouldn’t have it any other way. I know he is mortified by that axle.’

A shadow flickered over his face. ‘It can happen to the best-maintained equipages, as he well knows, and so I will assure him if you wish. Would Mrs Falkner care to accompany us? The sleigh easily holds four.’

‘I will ask her.’

She suddenly felt lighter, as if the problems looming over her these past few days had disappeared, or at least become less monstrous. ‘It will be fun.’

Chapter Six

Cloaked in a fur-lined rug, with a hot brick at her feet and Tonbridge’s large form beside her, Merry felt toasty and warm. She curled her fingers in her swans-down muff and breathed in the crisp clear air.

The snow glinted and sparkled like fairy dust. ‘This was a good idea,’ she said, glancing at Tonbridge.

Once he’d manoeuvred the horses between the gates, he smiled at her. ‘It’s a long time since I drove a sleigh.’

She’d been surprised when Tonbridge insisted on driving them, and then decided it was just as well that his hands were kept busy with the reins, since the seats were not very wide and the thought of his hands on her body was keeping her far too warm. Just feeling him alongside her sent delicious tingles over her skin.

Not surprisingly, Caro had refused to accompany them on their jaunt and Merry had blithely said a groom would go with them. So much for decorum.

The day was too lovely for such thoughts. She wanted to absorb the warmth of the sun in through her skin. Feast on the brilliance of a cerulean sky and rolling hills of pristine white. The vastness shrank her problems to nothing. She leaned back with the muffled thud of the horses’ hooves and the jingle of the bridles filling her ears.

‘The Yorkshire countryside is magnificent,’ he murmured.

‘Most days I’m too busy to notice,’ she admitted. Too wrapped up in business matters.

He tipped his head back to look up into the sky, his eyes creasing at the corners as he squinted at the light. ‘An eagle,’ he said. ‘See it?’

She looked up and saw the bird, wings outstretched to catch the wind, wheeling high above them. ‘It will be lucky to find any prey with so much snow on the ground.’

‘Oh, he’ll find a vole or a mouse or two. Did you know one of my ancestors was responsible for the King’s mews? Back in Tudor times?’

‘Mine probably cleaned up the droppings.’

They laughed and the horses’ ears twitched.

The tension flowed from Merry’s shoulders. He’d made her feel comfortable. She didn’t feel the need to hide the smile curving her lips or to say something blunt to keep him at a distance. She could be herself. She let go a sigh. ‘I wish every day was like this.’

‘Me, too.’

He turned at the crossroads, entering the main road. No tracks marred the snow. No vehicles had passed this way since the previous evening. The wrecked phaeton soon came into view. Snow had drifted around it, but the shafts sticking straight up reminded her of a sunken wreck.

It looked sad and lonely. ‘I hope it can be repaired,’ Merry said.

He frowned. ‘You know, you really shouldn’t be driving around the countryside without a groom. Footpads are not unheard of in this part of the country. And there are rumours of Luddites again.’

‘I know everyone in the Riding.’

He shot her a look from beneath his brows that said he thought she was a stubborn foolish woman. She glared back.

He drew the horses to a halt and handed her the reins. ‘I’ll just be a moment.’

‘You surely aren’t thinking of pulling it out of the ditch?’

‘No. I want to look at the axle.’ His frown deepened.

‘Leave it to Jed.’

He didn’t reply, just climbed down and trudged through the snow. Stubborn man.

It was ridiculous. The snow had drifted well up the wheels. There was nothing to see. And what was the point of him getting soaked and cold? He was spoiling the afternoon.

She had a good mind to drive off and leave him there.

He headed back, stepping in the tracks he’d left. He went around to the back of the sleigh and grabbed a shovel.

‘Leave it be.’

He ignored her. Blast the man. Merry wound the reins around a strut and jumped down. She followed in his footsteps, the snow clumping on the skirts of her coat, making it hard to walk. By the time she reached his side, she was sodden. He had one of the wheels cleared of snow.

‘This is foolishness,’ she said.

‘Is it?’ He crouched down. ‘It is just as I thought.’ He looked up at her, his face solemn. ‘This was no accident.’

She put her hands on her hips. ‘Do you suppose I drove off the road on purpose?’

‘No. Look at that axle. It’s been sawn halfway through from below. The rest of it snapped, but it wasn’t an accident.’

Her stomach fell away. ‘Why?’

He rose to his feet. ‘Yes, Merry, why? Who would want to cause you serious harm? You could have been thrown from the carriage and killed, or died in the snowstorm.’

Her heart stopped. Bile rose in her throat as she stared into the concern on his face. The world seemed to spin around her head as she tried to breathe.

Slowly her heartbeat picked up again. She managed to take a breath. ‘I can’t think of anyone’ Her voice tailed off as she remembered the mill owners’ faces at the guild hall. Angry red faces. And one very worried-looking Mr Prentice.‘Oh, dear.’

Was it possible one of them hated her so much he wanted her dead? Or all of them? Men she’d known all her life? The backs of her eyes burned. Her chest hurt. She wanted to bury her face against Tonbridge’s shoulder and weep like a child.

‘Who, Merry?’ he demanded, his voice almost a growl. ‘Who wants to hurt you?’

She turned her face from his irate gaze. ‘You are mistaken,’ she said dully. ‘It must be an accident.’

‘The evidence is clear and it seems to me you know who did this.’

The urge to unburden herself ached in her throat. She bit her lip against its allure and felt the chill of the air on her teeth. ‘There are several people who don’t like me very much at the moment.’

‘People?’

He wasn’t going to let it rest. ‘Other mill owners. Town councillors. But, honestly, I don’t think any of them would have done such a dastardly thing. They are all respectable men. Pillars of Skepton.’

‘Is anyone else angry at you?’

Her teeth started to chatter. Cold. Shock. Damn it, fear, too. ‘Certainly not. Next you will be telling me this is my fault.’ She spun away from him. ‘This is none of your concern, my lord,’ she called back as she stomped away. ‘Let us return home before we freeze to death.’

‘Merry, wait.’

She kept walking. She couldn’t stop, because if she did, she might fall down, her knees felt so weak. Because if she stopped, she might truly believe someone had deliberately tried to end her life.

He caught her by the arm and pulled her around to face him. ‘Oh, hell,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry.’ He wiped her cheek with his gloved thumb. ‘I didn’t mean to scare you.’

Her breath stuck in her throat at the gentle concern in his face and the softness in his dark brown eyes. ‘Of course you didn’t scare me. The wind brought tears to my eyes.’

He chuckled, a soft low warm sound that comforted rather than mocked. He pulled his hand from his glove and placed his palm against her cheek. Warmth infused her skin, not just where he touched her, but all over, as if he had the power to heat the blood in her veins from her head to her feet.

‘You are cold,’ he said. ‘You should have stayed in the sleigh.’

Her teeth chattered and her body shook. ‘No, I shouldn’t.’

He swept her up in his arms as if she were nothing but a half-bolt of cloth. ‘My dear Merry, allow me to help you back to the carriage.’

‘Put me down.’ But the words were half-hearted and mumbled against his coat. Somehow her arms had gone around his neck and he was walking. Beneath his hat, his dark hair curled against his temple. His ear was very nicely formed, she decided, not too large, nor did it stick out from his head. In profile against the bright blue sky, his nose was a little crooked. A very small imperfection, scarcely noticeable unless you looked closely. Somehow it made him seem less of a god and more human.

Her heart tumbled over.

Oh Lord, she really did like him. She loved the feel of being in his arms, of being held close to his chest, like something precious. She felt feminine. Cared for. Protected.

He glanced down with a smile. ‘Ready?’

Dash it, they were back at the sleigh already. He lifted her up on to the seat and walked around to the other side and climbed up. He arranged the rug over her knees and tucked it up under her chin. ‘Is there any warmth left in that brick?’

‘A little,’ she said. She had no idea, her toes were too cold.

‘But not enough, I am sure.’ He put his hand under her chin, turned her face towards him. ‘Tell me, Merry.’

The strength of command in his voice shivered all the way down to her toes. The intensity in his dark brown gaze trapped her.

‘Who would want to do you harm?’

His hands cupped both sides of her face. She looked at the firm set of his mouth, anything not to have to gaze into his searching eyes.

‘You do know,’ he said. ‘You foolish female.’ He lifted her face, then those wonderful lips descended on hers, gentle, comforting. ‘Tell me, Merry,’ he whispered against her mouth. ‘Let me help you.’

Then his mouth firmed, it wooed and tormented until she could no longer think of anything but the delicious sensations ravaging her body. Her insides quivered with the joy of it, her heart thundered and she angled her head for better access to those wonderful lips. She pulled her hands from her muff and put them on those powerful shoulders.

His tongue traced the seam of her mouth, not demanding, sweetly requesting. Resistance had no place in her mind; the joy filling her took up every inch of space. Trembling deep inside she granted him entry and he swept her up on a tide of passion.

She clung to him, and let her senses drift where they would. Delightful waves of desire washed over her, thrilling and beautiful.

Slowly he drew back, his brown eyes smoky beneath half-lowered lids, his breathing as ragged as her own. ‘Tell me.’

The man had no mercy. And she had no will. Never had she felt so weak. So vulnerable. Not since the day her parents died and she’d learned love was a fleeting thing. She shivered.

‘Damn,’ he said under his breath. ‘You are still cold. I need to get you back to the house.’ He paused, his dark gaze hardening. ‘But I will have the truth of this.’

She briefly closed her eyes against the pull of the insidious weakness. Brushed his demand away with a half-laugh. ‘You make mountains from molehills, my lord.’ She sounded breathless. And, God help her, afraid. The moment he released her, the bone-chilling fear had returned. Someone had tried to do her harm. A warning, or had they actually intended her death?

It didn’t bear thinking of.

He picked up the reins. ‘Call me Charlie. Make no mistake, Merry, I will not let this rest. You will let me help you.’

The heir to a dukedom was used to getting his own way. And he wanted to shoulder her burdens. It felt good. For once having a man want to protect her felt freeing rather than constraining.

‘Very well,’ she said, the words spoken before she really had time to think. ‘There is one thing you could do for me.’

Engaged in the process of turning the horses in the road, his head whipped around, a question on his face.

‘Marry me,’ she said.

Chapter Seven

Years of dodging matchmaking mamas sent Charlie’s hackles rising. He hadn’t expected such a trick from a woman who seemed so straightforward in all her dealings. Inwardly, he cursed. He had held her to comfort her obvious distress. And let their mutual attraction flame out of control. Idiot.

She must have guessed at his thoughts because the smile on her lovely lips died.

Outwardly, he smiled calmly, as he had on so many other occasions when a female tried to net the heir of a dukedom. ‘You flatter me.’

She rearranged her expression into one of polite dismissal and shrugged. ‘I didn’t mean it the way it sounded.’

He urged the horses on with a click of his tongue. ‘Then what did you mean?’ He shouldn’t ask. He should let it go. This ground was as dangerous as the quicksand in the Wash, but knowing her life was in danger, he could not walk away. Not until he knew she was safe. Once he knew who was behind this cowardly attack, he would bring all the power of a dukedom to bear on the blackguard.

The vehemence of his reaction took him by surprise.

‘I meant we could pretend an engagement,’ she said carelessly, but there was an undercurrent of something in her voice he didn’t quite understand.

Oh, Father would really like that. And Robert, poor Robert, would continue to be left out in the cold. ‘How would that help?’

‘I think some of the other mill owners are angry at me,’ she said quietly. ‘They are opposed to my idea of providing an asylum for women who have led less than respectable lives.’

‘You mean the ladybirds I met this morning,’ he said, smiling at the memory.

‘Yes. They need a place from which they can find suitable work.’ She winced. ‘Perhaps meet husbands. I asked the local mill owners to give them employment.’

‘And because they are not in favour of the idea, they decided to damage your carriage?’ He couldn’t quite keep the incredulity out of his voice.

‘Caro and I opened a house in Skepton. They called it a bawdy house. Men came one night and attacked the girls and set fire to the house.’

‘Which is why they are living with you.’

‘Only two of them. The rest disappeared. We need to find them. Give them a home.’

‘I still don’t see how a pretend engagement resolves the problem.’

She turned in her seat, a furrow in her brow, her eyes focused somewhere in the distance, as if she could see the future playing out before her.

He wanted to kiss her.

God, he ached for far more than that. If he hadn’t broken free of her a few minutes ago, he might have laid the blankets down in the snow and made love to her right there in the open. And he would have been forced to accept her proposal of marriage.

Such an error of judgement would be the final straw for the duke. The disgrace at Waterloo and then Robert’s scandal had been bad enough, but for his heir to marry beneath him might well kill the old man. His father had looked ill for weeks after Robert’s scandal broke. Another such event would likely cause him an apoplexy, not to mention it would certainly end all possibility of Robert’s return to the family fold.

‘Because I am a woman, the other mill owners will not admit me to their meetings at the guild hall,’ she said stiffly, as if the admission stirred more anger than she wanted to admit. ‘They would listen to you, if they thought you were my future husband.’

The slight bitter edge to her words gave him pause. How would it feel to be successful, as she so clearly was, and yet ignored by one’s peers?

‘If you pretended to be my fiancé for a few days,’ she continued. ‘If you put your name behind my plan, they would be forced to give in. Then you would cry off.’

‘A business arrangement,’ he said. Irrationally he felt a sense of disgruntlement. An odd reaction, when he’d been ready to flee at the word marriage. He shook his head to clear it of such stupid thoughts.

It had taken weeks of argument to convince the duke to accept Charlie’s promise to make a suitable marriage in exchange for Robert’s forgiveness. To go back on his word would be cruel to his mother as well as dishonourable. He had to be practical.

Guilt weighed him down. No matter how much he wanted to help Merry, this was not the way.

Not because he couldn’t see himself married to Merry, he acknowledged with surprise, but because of what it would mean for his family if he broke his agreement with the duke.

She nibbled her bottom lip and then let go a long breath with a shake of her head. ‘It would never work anyway.’

‘Why not?’

‘No one would believe a man of your station would stoop to wed me. Not unless you were in desperate financial straits.’

He raised a brow, considering her words.

‘Well, they wouldn’t,’ she said. ‘Look at the way you reacted.’

He felt insulted by her quick dismissal. But she was right. He’d instantly hunkered down behind his defensive walls. Yet he could not leave any woman defenceless, especially not this one, not now when his suspicions of foul play were confirmed.

He turned the sleigh in through the gates of Draycott House—the carved words on the pillar announced the name. Beneath the name was a coat of arms. A kingly red deer surrounded by ivy. It looked vaguely familiar.

‘I will speak to these mill owners on your behalf.’

She gave a small shake of her head, a wry smile twisting her lips. ‘As my friend, or even as the son of a duke, you would have no real influence. They will meet you individually, agree with everything you say, but behind closed doors, they will do as they please.’

How she must hate the exclusion. ‘Then I will speak to the constable. And the magistrate.’

‘You are most kind.’

She couldn’t have sounded more unconvinced. He wanted to throttle her pretty little neck. Or kiss her pursed lips. Neither one of which would help matters.

‘Don’t underestimate the force of the Mountford name.’

‘Oh, I won’t.’

The dryness in her voice grated. He had the feeling she felt let down, but she really didn’t know the power he wielded as heir to a dukedom.

‘Oh, my word!’ she exclaimed, sounding shocked and amused.

Charlie followed the direction of her gaze. In front of the house, on an expanse of snow-covered lawn interrupted only by the odd ancient elm and cypress, several figures darted about with cloaks flying. Snowballs flew through the air. The sound of laughter and shrieks of joy pierced the quiet. There was a smaller figure, too. A child?

‘Your ladies are out on a spree,’ he said.

‘I suppose Caro decided they needed some exercise in the fresh air.’

‘They look like any other young women when faced with sunshine and an unexpected fall of snow.’

‘I know,’ she said. ‘Hard to imagine how awful their lives must have been before.’

For a moment, Charlie tried to imagine what it must be like, selling your body to live. Hell, wasn’t that what his father wanted him to do when he married Lady Allison in order to expand the Mountford influence? The thought left a sour taste in his mouth.

One of the women collapsed in a heap of giggles on a snow bank. Another dropped a snowball on her face. Mrs Falkner—Charlie could make her out quite clearly now dressed in dark grey—called to the small boy.

All the women were laughing and giggling. He guessed there were few times in their lives when they’d been as happy as they appeared this afternoon. Something about it felt right and good. One of them picked up the boy and whirled him around.

‘Do you think they would like a sleigh ride? Around the lawn?’

Merry’s face broke into a smile. ‘They would love it. And it would be a terrible shame to waste all the work of harnessing the team.’

Her obvious pleasure put warmth back in a day that had grown cool after their kiss. He walked the horses across towards the small group. One girl came running when she saw the horses approach. The thin sallow-faced one hung back.

He doffed his hat and bowed. ‘Ladies.’

The round-faced one giggled as she had this morning. She covered her mouth with her hand when she saw him looking at her.

He grinned.

Merry threw off the blanket and jumped down. No waiting for help for Miss Draycott; it didn’t surprise him in the least.

‘Clydesdales,’ the giggly girl said, stroking the offside horse’s nose. ‘They are beauties.’

The horse nuzzled at her hip. ‘I don’t have anything for you,’ she said with obvious dismay.

‘I do,’ Merry said and pulled a lump of sugar from her pocket.

The girl’s face lit up, making her look terribly young. No more than eighteen, Charlie was sure. Too fresh-faced for the kind of life she’d fallen into. The freshness would fade all too quickly in her line of work.

The other woman stayed well clear, obviously unused to such large animals.

‘Lord Tonbridge offered to take the girls for a drive,’ Merry said to Mrs Falkner.

Mrs Falkner eyed him a little askance.

‘I won’t take them out of sight of the house,’ Charlie hastened to assure her. ‘A couple of spins around the lawn.’

The girl petting the horse turned a hopeful expression in Mrs Falkner’s direction.

‘Of course,’ she said. ‘Thank you, Lord Tonbridge.’

‘Don’t thank me, it is Miss Draycott’s rig.’

‘Let me introduce you to the girls,’ Merry said. She pointed to the giggly one. ‘Ladies, this is Lord Tonbridge. This is Beth and that is Jane.’

Jane lifted her chin as if daring him to say anything about their earlier meeting.

‘What about the lad?’ Charlie asked. ‘Would he like to go, too?’

‘That is Thomas,’ Merry said. ‘Mrs Falkner’s son.’

Charlie touched his hat. The boy bowed with a grace many men would envy.

An anxious expression crossed Mrs Falkner’s face.

‘Please, Mama,’ the boy said.

‘Tonbridge is a very good driver,’ Merry said. ‘I can assure you, Tommy will be perfectly safe.’

The boy looked pleadingly at his mother.

‘Very well,’ Mrs Falkner said. ‘Stay close to Beth, Thomas.’

Charlie jumped down to help the ladies aboard, handing Beth up first into the back seat. An eager Thomas waited his turn.

‘You can sit next to me,’ Charlie said and lifted the boy up into the front seat, ignoring Mrs Falkner’s frown. The boy’s happy smile clearly prevented her from remonstrating. He pretended to notice nothing amiss and held out a hand for Jane.

She shook her head with an ingratiating smile. ‘Not me, thank you very kindly, my lord. I need a good walk after being shut up in t’house for days, if it’s all right with you, missus?’

Mrs Falkner nodded. ‘When you return, come to the day parlour. I will ask Gribble to send up hot chocolate. I doubt his lordship will be long.’

A warning to Charlie. The woman was a proper mother hen. He hid the urge to grin.

Jane nodded and trudged along the tracks left by the sleigh, heading for the gates. Mrs Falkner watched her go with a frown.

Merry released the horses’ heads and stood back. Not that the team really needed holding—Charlie had never driven more placid obliging beasts.

He flicked his whip over their heads, jingled the bridles and they lumbered forward. He glanced down at the bright-eyed boy beside him. ‘Would you like to hold the reins?’

The boy stared up at him. ‘Will you teach me how to do that thing with the whip?’

‘Get used to guiding these beasts first,’ he said. He turned and looked over his shoulder. ‘Everything all right, Beth?’

‘Oh, yes,’ she breathed, her eyes shining.

The sleigh glided off.

Merry stood beside Caroline and watched the sleigh draw away. ‘How kind of him.’

‘Very,’ Caroline said. ‘What is he after?’

‘Not me, sadly.’ Dash it. Was she speaking the truth?

‘Merry!’ Caroline sounded shocked.

‘He offered to help me with the mill owners, that is all.’

Caro frowned. ‘Won’t that look rather odd?’

Merry stiffened. Another person who viewed her as beneath a marquis’s touch. ‘Do you think so?’

‘Merry, can’t you see? If a man like Tonbridge takes an interest in your affairs, might they not make assumptions about why? Why does he want to help?’

‘Out of friendship. Gratitude.’

Even to Merry’s ears it sounded rather weak. Nothing but the truth would do. ‘He thinks someone tampered with the carriage.’

Caro pulled her gaze from the slowly diminishing sleigh, her wide eyes searching Merry’s face. ‘Oh, no. Surely not?’

‘I think someone wanted to give me a warning, but Tonbridge is taking it more seriously.’

‘This must stop.’ Caroline clasped her gloved hands together. ‘First a fire. And now this. We will set up the house somewhere else. I will not endanger your life.’

‘Do you think it will be different elsewhere?’

‘I won’t have your death, or your injury, on my conscience.’

‘It is not your decision.’

Fists clenched, Caroline spun away. ‘I will have nothing to do with it.’ It was the first time they had ever argued. Merry felt quite adrift, as if she’d lost her friend.

‘Caro, we can’t just give up.’

Caro turned around slowly. ‘Why not?’

‘A Draycott never admits defeat.’

‘Never is a long time. Please, Merry. We will find another way. We certainly don’t need to involve a man like Tonbridge in our affairs.’

Merry stared at her friend. Perhaps she was right, but it felt galling to give in to threats.

Caro turned to watch the sleigh in the distance. ‘Oh, good Lord, is that Thomas standing up?’

‘Yes,’ Merry said, nodding. ‘Charlie seems to like children, doesn’t he?’

‘Charlie?’

‘We are friends.’ Dash it, did she sound too defensive? ‘I told him to call me Merry the first day we met.’

The suspicious gleam in Caro’s eyes made her skin itch as if she’d done something wrong.

‘Be careful, Merry,’ Caroline said, shading her eyes with her hand. ‘A man with his kind of charm and wealth is used to getting his own way, and it will be for no one’s benefit but his own.’

Merry’s stomach dipped. Few men did anything out of altruism. He would want something in return. Caro put an arm around her shoulder. It was an unusual display of affection. ‘Tell him you don’t need his help. Like all men, he’ll want to take control. We don’t need a man to solve our problems. We will deal with it.’

Caro was right. Of course she was. What on earth had she been thinking? She’d never needed anyone’s help since Grandfather’s death, despite her mother’s family trying to insert themselves into her business. She would tell him not to bother with the councillors or the magistrate, that she was giving up her plan. She’d wait until he left before she tackled the problem.

She and Caro would manage.

All through the dinner Caro kept looking from Merry to Charlie, acting the chaperon. Looking for signs of misconduct on Tonbridge’s part, no doubt. Merry sighed. With no opportunity to tell Lord Tonbridge her decision since returning from the drive, Merry kept her discourse so carefully light that her head ached.

‘Shall we take tea in the drawing room?’ she said brightly, after Gribble cleared the table of all but a decanter of port. ‘You could bring your port there, Lord Tonbridge, unless you prefer drinking in solitary state. I am sorry we have no other gentlemen visiting to keep you amused.’

‘You do yourself a disservice, Miss Draycott. Your conversation keeps me well entertained.’

‘I am a chatterbox, in other words.’ She almost poked out her tongue at him, but remembered not to just in time. ‘Will you join us, too, my dear Mrs Falkner?’

Caroline looked torn. ‘I really should see Thomas to bed. He likes me to read a story,’ she explained to Lord Tonbridge, ‘before I tuck him in for the night.’

‘You are truly a devoted mother,’ Tonbridge said. ‘Don’t worry about us. I will take Miss Draycott up on her offer of conversation in the drawing room.’

A look of relief crossed Caro’s face. She turned her gaze on Merry, an intent gaze, reminding Merry of her promise. She rose and curtsied. ‘Then I will bid you both goodnight.’

Tonbridge’s eyes narrowed, but he said nothing as she left the room.

Merry popped to her feet. ‘No time like the present,’ she said, heading for the door.

She hoped they could have their discussion without the tingle of attraction, the incendiary sparks that filled the air.

She strode into the drawing room. The tea tray awaited them, just as she’d arranged with Gribble. She had no wish to end up playing billiards again.

She sat in front of the tray ‘Tea for you, my lord, or will you stick to port? ‘

He looked down into his almost-empty glass. ‘A cup of tea will do very well, Merry.’

He sat on the sofa opposite her. She poured the tea. ‘Milk and sugar?’

‘Yes, please,’ he said. He crossed one ankle over the other.

He looked every inch the dandy tonight. The deep blue coat hugged his form. The high cravat was tied in a complex knot, its creases perfect. How Brian had managed it she didn’t know. And his cream waistcoat embroidered with lily of the valley was a work of art.

She handed him a cup.

‘So, have you thought further about my offer?’ he asked. ‘I feel strongly that the person or persons responsible for this crime should not go unpunished. Who leads these mill owners? I will speak to him.’

She smiled politely. ‘By gum, I’ve been doing some thinking since last we talked.’

A frown furrowed his brow. ‘Why do you speak like a common labourer when I try to offer a suggestion?’

‘Common is what I am. Listen, Charlie, I’ve been talking things over with Mrs Falkner. We do not need your help.’

His expression darkened. ‘Now you really surprise me.’

‘Full of surprises,’ she said lightly. ‘There is no need for you to speak to anyone. We are giving up on the idea.’

A hard intent gaze searched her face. She tried to look calm, unaffected. ‘I don’t believe you,’ he said finally. ‘You are not one to give up, Merry.’

The way he made her name sound like a caress caused her breath to catch in her throat. But worse yet was his correct assessment of her nature. It wasn’t like her to give up. She made a desperate bid to unscramble her thoughts. ‘What I do is nowt of your business, my lord.’

His lips tightened. ‘Because I won’t engage in trickery.’ He curled his lip. ‘I am shocked, Merry. Draycott’s is known for honest dealing, in word and deed. Would you compromise your good name?’

His accusation struck her on the raw. She held on to her rising temper, a hot fizz in her chest. ‘It is precisely because I treasure my good name that I am refusing your offer.’

He blinked. ‘I do not see the connection.’

‘I am sure you do not.’ And she wasn’t going to tell him. ‘Let us be quite clear on your position: while the Draycott name may be known for honest dealing, I certainly understand why it is not good enough to be linked with that of Mountford.’

‘Blast it, Merry, I didn’t mean that.’

But he did. She could see it in his eyes. Rich Merry Draycott. Low class and unacceptable, unless someone wanted her money. She folded her hands together in her lap and tried not to show the ache in her heart. ‘You are leaving tomorrow. None of this is your concern.’

He got up and threw a log on the fire. The scent of burning apple-wood filled the room. ‘So you are refusing my aid?’

‘Yes.’ She put up her hand, when he opened his mouth to speak. ‘The matter is closed.’

He turned to face her, his eyes hard. ‘You expect me to walk away when your life is in danger.’

‘Do you think that words falling from your lips will change that? You faffing in my business will only make things worse. I will speak to the constable and the magistrate myself.’

She didn’t see fit to add that the local magistrate was also a mill owner or that his wife had been among the most vociferous in her objections to the house in town.

He clearly wanted to distance himself from her and she’d offered him the perfect way out. She certainly had no reason to feel hurt by his rejection. He owed her nothing.

Nor did she need his approval. She didn’t need anyone’s approval.

‘Let us not talk about this any more. It is a storm in a teacup. Would you like me to play for you?’

Without waiting for an answer she went to the pianoforte and lifted the lid. She arranged her skirts around her on the seat and began to play.

A look of frustration passed over his face.

Well, it would. He could scarcely interrupt her. It would be very rude indeed. The one benefit of attending a select academy for young women was that she knew all the rules of polite society. Grandfather had been so proud of her accomplishments. If he’d any idea how she had suffered in that place, it would have broken his heart.

As well as teaching her social niceties, to paint and play the pianoforte and the harp, her time there had taught her to survive all the meanness the world could toss her way. She’d also learned something about men.

Charlie wanted to strangle her as she played one piece after another. The moment he began to applaud a piece, she started another. Her playing was excellent. Not a single note did she miss, and she played without music.

The pieces were all about lost love. Positively heart-wrenching, if one had a heart to wrench.

An hour had passed and the punishment continued. Though what he had done, he couldn’t imagine. Unless it was his sensible alternative to her madcap plan.

Clearly the headstrong wench was too used to getting her own way. And while he could see a kind of logic in her devious plan, it put him in a hell of an awkward position, when he was on his way to make overtures to Lady Allison.

Not to mention that the men she planned on duping, if they didn’t want her blood now, would once they realised her trick. If she refused to accept his offer of help, there was little he could do. He’d have to accept her decision, much as it went against the grain.

He leaned back in his chair and let his mind drift. She looked beautiful tonight and completely different from the previous evening. Her modestly cut gown only hinted at the lush figure beneath. Her black hair, pulled back severely from her face, showed off her high cheekbones, vivid blue eyes and unblemished milky skin. It also revealed the faint blue lines at her temple and tracing down her long elegant throat. If anything, she looked more alluring than she had in her seductive attire. Unattainable and therefore utterly desirable.

Beautiful. Cool and closed off. And brittle. The tension from their earlier kisses vibrated in the air. Whatever was happening, he feared if it went on any longer, she might shatter.

The closing notes of the piece she was playing brought him to his feet. He clapped loudly at the same time as he strode to the piano. He took her hand and kissed the back before she could start again.

‘That was lovely, Miss Draycott; however, I think it is time I retired.’

She glanced at the clock. ‘Eleven already? I had no idea. Still, I am sure that is not all that late for a man such as you.’

Ah, still angry then. He smiled wolfishly. ‘And what sort of man would that be?’

Her lips parted. Her face flushed. ‘A man who spends his time in London, I suppose.’

‘Have you ever been to London?’

The blush deepened. ‘I visited once. As a child.’

‘Perhaps it is time you visited again. And when you do, let me know, and I will be delighted to show you the sights.’ He took her hand again, held it in his and had the urge to bring her to her feet and kiss her again, recapture that moment of blissful mindlessness in the sleigh. The moment before she made her outrageous proposal, which now hung over them like a storm cloud. Kissing her would be a mistake. She would think his resolve was weakening.

He would not be twisted around any woman’s finger.

He raised her hand to his lips one more time and dropped the tiniest of kisses on the back of it, felt the tremor in her fingers in response and his body clenched.

He released her hand. ‘I bid you goodnight.’ He bowed and strode for the door before he changed his mind.

Why did doing the right thing feel so completely wrong?

Merry paced her chamber; her nightdress swirled around her ankles each time she turned and the rug was rough beneath her bare feet. Two hours has passed and she still couldn’t settle. She just wished she could clearly see a path.

Caro was right. She was. They must find a way to accomplish their goals and vanquish their opponents. She certainly didn’t need the help of a husband. Not even a pretend one. A woman with a husband wasn’t a person. She had no rights. No freedom of choice or of decision. Until Caro came, she had never thought of it that way. She’d always thought that one day she would have a husband and children. Men married for money and power. A man would absorb her money, wield her power, without consultation. Grandfather had trusted her enough to leave her his hard-earned business; she would never hand it over in exchange for a ring. Or companionship in bed.

She kicked her gown out of the way and turned. Tonbridge had no place in her life.

The thought left her with a deep sense of loss. Because her body was yearning for the pleasure it knew could be hers? Was that the reason she felt restless? On edge. She kept remembering his beauty as he left the drawing room. Virile, powerful and unbelievably handsome.

And that was the problem. She glared at her empty rumpled bed. The flare of heat in his gaze and the intensity of his kiss this afternoon had called to long-repressed desires and longings.

It had been years since she felt the warmth of a man. And this one knew how to seduce a woman’s senses. When his mouth had plied her lips, her body had been overjoyed.

She missed it.

She clenched her fists until they stung from lack of blood and lifted her gaze to the portrait above the mantel. Her mother. Daughter of an earl, beloved wife of her father—what would she think of the wicked thoughts going through her daughter’s mind, the hot fires of lust burning in her loins?

They burned within him, too.

Merry turned away from the gentle face looking down. No doubt her mother would be ashamed of her along with the rest of the fashionable world.

Tonbridge lay nearby alone in his bed and she would lie alone in hers. This was her future. She and Caro would live together, helping each other while she remained a spinster in name, if not in truth, forever.

Why not take advantage of the chance that brought him into her house? a voice whispered in her mind. Why not? A night of pleasure they would both enjoy. It would only be one night. No ties. No obligations. No tit for tat.

She’d kept him at a distance this evening, despite the way her body hummed each time he came close. Was still humming with the after-effects of his kiss this afternoon. Oh Lord, and the pleasure of his touch last night.

In spite of her coldness toward him tonight, there was no doubt of his desire when he kissed her hand. She rubbed the back of her hand as if she could erase the feel of his lips against her skin.

Lust.

Unrequited passion.

What if he rejected her? But if she didn’t ask, how would she know?

Chapter Eight

Tired! Hah! Charlie hadn’t felt less tired in his life.

Used to awakening in the smallest hours of the night, he always kept the candles alight to ward off the hated sensation of suffocation brought on by total darkness.

At home, when it got really bad, he’d go for a ride. His servants were used to his odd ways. But here, there would be questions he wasn’t prepared to answer.

He rarely had trouble falling asleep. Only when the dreams started did he feel the need for escape. Tonight was different. He tossed off the brandy he had poured. It added to the heat in his blood, increased the thud of his heart.

Desire for Merry.

An urgent pressing lust.

Never had he felt like this about a woman. Naked, with the fire almost dead, he didn’t feel the least bit cold. The vaguest thought of the woman had his blood running hot, had him rousing.

She’d certainly taken him by surprise this afternoon, asking him to pretend to be her betrothed. God, he’d like to pretend to be her husband.

His shaft jerked with pleasure at the thought. He could bring himself to release. A youth’s trick, something he’d given up long ago in favour of control. If a man couldn’t control his own base urges, what hope did he have of controlling his life? Or his bloody dreams?

He got up and strode to the window, thrusting back heavy brocade curtains glinting with gold bullion knots and twists. The cold permeating through the casement seared his overheated skin. He breathed in the smell of old wood and frost on the windowpane.

He placed his palm on the glass and thawed the ice.

The world outside looked ghostly. Snow glittered where the moon cast its path. Here and there, dark patches ruined the purity. A thaw well under way. Tomorrow he would leave.

Drive away from temptation.

Slowly, painfully slowly, his erection subsided, chilled by the cold air, or the thought of departure.

It didn’t matter which.

Sure he would now sleep, he let the curtain fall and returned to the bed. The candles had hours of life left. They would last until dawn.

Stretched out on top of the covers, he closed his eyes, kept his mind deliberately blank and breathed deeply.

A sound by the door.

A mere whisper of noise. His gut clenched.

Nothing. It was his mind playing tricks. He forced himself to ignore it, the way he had ignored far worse indignities after Waterloo. He would sleep. He must.

He resisted the urge to toss and turn. Forced his limbs to remain quiet and once more emptied his mind.

More rustling.

The bed sank in one corner.

Heart drumming, he shot upright, staring wide-eyed at the foot of his bed.

Merry? ‘What the hell are you doing here?’ He scrubbed a hand over his face. ‘I beg your pardon.’ God damn it, he was naked. He flipped the edge of the counterpane over his hips.

Her gaze remained on his face, but she must have seen, when she walked in, that he was stark naked. Once more, blood headed for his groin. Damn the woman. ‘What did you want?’

‘I couldn’t sleep.’

That made two of them. ‘So you thought you’d wake me to share in your lack of rest. Hand me my robe.’ It lay beside her across the foot of the bed.

She bit her lip and handed it to him. ‘I’m sorry.’ She slid off the bed and walked to the hearth, looking down at the fire, while he pulled the banyan around him.

She spun around as he finished tying the knot. ‘I did not intend to disturb you.’

Disturb. Hah! He couldn’t be more pleased. Or at least one part of him couldn’t. The rest of him wasn’t so sure. He waved off her apology. ‘How can I be of service?’ A bad choice of words. The low thrum in his blood had become a steady pounding beat. He could smell her, the scent of lavender and soap, and a woman fresh from her bed. He wanted to carry her to his. He wanted to lay her down amid his sheets. He wanted all she would give. But only if she gave it freely.

She looked at him, her head tilted on one side, her full lips parted. Lips he longed to take with his own. He clenched his jaw.

‘I came to apologise,’ she said and pressed those full lips together as if trying to decide what to say next. She clasped her hands at her waist. The firelight behind her shone through the flimsy nightgown and wrap. Outlined in the faint glow, her legs were long and slender, the dark triangle at their apex more imagined than seen. Black as night to match her hair, no doubt, and a delightful contrast to her pale skin.

His teeth ground together. He picked up a candle. ‘Let me escort you back to your room.’

She backed away, thankfully into the shadows beside the hearth. She looked nervous. ‘You cannot deny the attraction between us.’

The clenching of his groin anticipated what might come next, but at what price? ‘I won’t change my mind, Merry, whatever coin you use.’

She flinched. A mere flicker of an eyelash, a minute tightening of her jaw. He’d hurt her. He wanted to apologise and grant her wish. He couldn’t. It had taken all of his powers of persuasion to convince Father to let Robert return. One misstep and all would be ruined.

Yet she did not retire in defeat. It wasn’t in her to give up. Her gaze did not shift away. Instead her bright blue eyes held his gaze boldly. She licked her top lip, leaving it moist and pink. It held his attention as she spoke again.

‘It has nothing to do with’ she gestured vaguely with one hand ‘that. No one would believe you would offer for me anyway.’

Truth was a bitter brew. He wished she wasn’t right. But if she wasn’t here to convince him to follow her plan, then why had she come after her coolness this evening? A bubble of something light and airy restricted his breathing. Hope. Damn it. When he should really be turning her around and sending her out of the door, he nodded for her to go on.

‘I enjoyed our kiss today. I would like to repeat the experience.’

His groin gave a pulse of approval. Why not, indeed? The urge to say yes filled his throat.

He walked to the window, before the words left his mouth. Before he did something he’d regret. ‘You are a beautiful woman. I cannot deny I find you alluring, but I no longer believe the impression you gave me on my first night here. Or my conclusion this morning that you might be an abbess.’

She gasped.

He turned with a smile. ‘Finding two very bold females in my bedroom this morning led me astray.’

A small smile of acknowledgement touched her lips. ‘I see how it might happen.’

He forced himself to say the next words. ‘I certainly recognise the spark of attraction between us, it was there from the first, but you are unmarried and therefore out of bounds. I’m sorry.’

Hades. How utterly priggish he sounded. But it was the right thing to do.

Her fingers played with the tie at her waist.

Bloody hell, if she didn’t take him at his word and leave he’d have that small knot untied and the whisper of silk covering her form puddled at her feet.

Randy bastard.

She glanced at him from beneath half-lowered lashes. ‘You are indeed a gentleman. But we are both adults, are we not? Both experienced in the ways of the world and capable of making our own decisions. Why should we not have one night of pleasure before you leave?’

He strode to face her toe to toe. She didn’t flinch. Her gaze didn’t drop from his as he held her chin between forefinger and thumb, tilting her face up, bringing her lovely mouth within reach of his own.

He wanted her.

More than he wanted to give her aid, he wanted her in his bed. Had wanted her since the moment she gazed at him on the road.

And here she was offering herself to him. Not a virgin, the kind of woman he must marry, but a bold sensual woman who knew what she wanted.

A groan rose in his throat. He forced it to silence. Closed his eyes briefly against the urges riding him hard and forced himself to speak. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes,’ she whispered, her body swaying towards him, her lavender perfume rising like incense to his senses, sweet and heavy.

He bent his head and claimed her mouth.

Merry sank into his embrace, clutched at the front of his robe with desperate fingers in case she collapsed to the floor on legs weak with relief.

She let her senses drift on the pleasure of his kiss, the lovely feel of his body hard against hers, the intruding thigh between her legs, the large hands roaming her body at will.

Ever since he had caressed her feet in the billiard room, her body had been on fire, her mind a senseless mess of conflicting and confusing thoughts. She wanted this, even if she was beyond the pale to him except in this most basic of passions.

Tonight she would have her desires fulfilled and out of the way, so she could plan how next to proceed without regret for what might have been.

His tongue licked her lips and pressed against the seam of her mouth. She opened to him, tasted brandy smoky on her tongue.

Her breasts felt heavy and full, the place between her thighs moist and tingling; she tilted her hips, increasing the pressure of his thigh and was rewarded by his brief indrawn breath.

She uncurled her fingers from the fabric of his robe and slipped them beneath, to run her hands over his broad expanse of chest.

She’d seen much of him in the billiard room and again as he lay naked on his bed with his eyes closed.

She’d been surprised but grateful for the candles’ revealing light. His body was gorgeous, his male member thick and large; she could feel it now pressing against her lower abdomen as his hand brushed up from the indentation at her waist to cover her breast.

She let go a long sigh of pleasure and a satisfied sound of male approval rumbled in his chest.

It sent a shiver down her spine.

Her fingers splayed across the warm silken skin of his chest, felt the roughness of hair and the puckered skin of his scar.

She longed to touch it with her tongue, taste it with her lips, but right now his mouth was taking her senses to new heights of arousal. She slipped her hands up to his shoulders and thrust her tongue in his mouth.

He groaned and swept her up in his arms, breaking the kiss. She looked up into his face.

‘My bed or yours?’ he asked.

‘Yours.’ She laughed. ‘It is closer.’

‘A sensible woman indeed,’ he murmured, his dark eyes hazy with passion and glinting with amusement.

He was so bloody handsome. It wasn’t fair.

But he was hers for now. And she would make the most of the one night he’d granted.

He frowned.

Had he sensed her regrets?

She smiled and licked her lips. ‘What now, you great gormless statue?’

At that he threw back his head and laughed out loud. He strode for the bed, pressing her back against the mattress, and gazed into her face. ‘Did I tell you how much I adore that tongue of yours?’

‘For what it says?’ she asked, fluttering her lashes. ‘Or what it can do?’

‘Hades,’ he muttered under his breath and swooped down for a kiss. Their mouths melded, blissfully fitting together. Her thoughts scattered as he plundered her mouth and she clasped her hands around the back of his neck, holding him tight, as she devoured the slick silkiness of his tongue in her mouth. She sucked.

He stilled.

Had she been too bold? Gone too far? Would he think her completely wanton? Her heart beat hard against her chest as he broke the kiss. She let her hands fall away as he drew back, his low-lidded gaze sweeping her body, his lips curving in a sensual smile of approval. ‘You are a feast for the senses.’

The words struck a chord low in her belly. Flutters tormented her feminine core. What was he waiting for? Suddenly shy, she twisted her fingers in the curls falling over her shoulder, staring at the strong column of throat emerging from his robe, at the rise of his angular cheekbones. In daylight they made his face look hard and stern, but now they made him look like a fallen angel.

Her angel. For one night. A yearning she did not expect pulled at her heart. Such yearning had no place in her life. She pushed it away and opened her arms to him.

He untied the cord at his hips, and discarded his robe in one easy movement. The scar across his chest gleamed white in the candlelight. It crossed sculpted muscle and striated ribs, missed his navel by an inch where it sliced a path across a stomach ridged with tight muscle to come to rest at his hipbone.

And below, the evidence of his desire, the engorged member jutting from wiry black curls, a dark tip. Proud and very male.

She sucked in a breath and raised her gaze to his face. His expression was dark, harsh and full of seduction.

She reached up and traced a finger down the scar’s length, from just above his left nipple to his right hip, where the skin jumped beneath her touch.

‘Ticklish?’ she asked.

Mischief gleamed in his dark eyes. ‘If so, be prepared for repayment in kind.’

Her skin tingled as his hot gaze seared every inch of her body. In a moment of weakness, a slight edge of fear that this dark angel would steal more than she was prepared to give, she covered herself, her breasts, her groin.

His brows lowered. ‘Unlike you to be shy, sweet Merry.’

What could she say? She hid behind rough words, yet none came to her tongue. She felt weak with yearning.

‘Will you stand there all night looking, then?’ Perhaps not completely undone. She brought her arms up, stretched like a cat, feeling the peaks of her breasts against the soft muslin of her nightgown.

He grinned. ‘Ah, sweet tormenting witch.’ Leaning over her, a hand each side of her head, he brought one knee up on to the bed, a tall man, with no need for the step. He nudged his knee between hers, a gentle insistent pressure of warm skin and hard bone.

No going back. She opened her thighs. Gave him room. Gave him leave. Her breath left her in a rush of anticipation.

Half-on, half-off the bed, he hung over her, his dark eyes searching hers, seeking assurance? Permission? She raised her hands, cupped his cheeks, felt the roughness of beard and drew him down.

Blissful kisses rained from his lips, a touch on her mouth, her chin, her cheekbone, her eyelids, between her brows. Each kiss fired heat low between her legs, her body ached to feel him within her, her breasts longed for his touch and all the while featherlight kisses seared her face.

‘Lovely, Merry,’ he murmured in a low growl at her ear. His tongue traced the swirls. Her skin thrilled and her insides shivered. Never had kisses felt so sweet, yet the brush of his lips promised so much more.

Panting, she tugged at his shoulders, wanting him closer, hard against her, his bulk weighing her down. She ached.

The strength in his shoulders resisted her feeble attempts to drag him on top of her. She raised herself up to press against him, feeling the prod of his erection against the softness of her belly, the press of his chest against her breasts. ‘Charlie,’ she moaned.

‘Yes, love?’

The amusement in his voice flared her temper. She struck at him with her fist and fell back against the pillows. She glared up at him. The muscles in his upper arms bulged with the effort of holding his weight. She shoved at his arm. ‘Don’t tease.’

Dark lashes swept down and rose again, revealing wicked laughter in their depths. His mouth curved in a smile so sensual her insides tightened beyond bearing. ‘What, Merry? Is this to be naught but a hurried encounter, a quick nibble, when I would savour the banquet before me?’

‘Sometimes,’ she whispered in sultry tones, ‘the table is cleared before you can taste.’

‘A threat, Merry? Are you playing the tease?’

The edge to his tone gave her pause. This was not a man she could manipulate. He liked to be the one in charge as much as she did. Mayhap more.

If she wanted him, she would have to take what he offered.

She clawed her fingers through the rough hair on his chest and tugged. His jaw flickered. Curving her lips in what she hoped was a smile as seductive as his own, she peeped up at him from beneath lowered lids. ‘This is a banquet for two, is it not?’ She lightly pinched his nipple between her fingernails.

His eyes glazed. His chest expanded on a quick breath. ‘It is.’ His voice sounded ragged.

‘Then I would taste, too.’ She let her hands wander over the smooth contour of his shoulders, felt the slight tremble deep in his bones as he held himself still, looking down at her face. Desire warmed his eyes, while restrained power tensed his jaw. Control.

A man with a will of iron.

Her fingers traced the contours of the arms bracketing her head against the pillows; her palms warmed to the heat of his blood beneath the satiny smoothness of his skin. A pulse beat in his strong neck, a hard beating throb that echoed in her own veins.

Once more she raised herself up, but not to take, to give. She licked along the artery. Blue blood for the son of a duke. She nuzzled against his neck, sweeping her tongue across the salty skin, sucking and nipping. His breathing roughened. Not so much in control as he would have her think.

She nibbled his earlobe and breathed into his ear.

He groaned and pressed closer, encouraging her tongue deep into the orifice. Controlling again. Demanding.

She pulled away.

‘Witch,’ he muttered. ‘Will you torment me?’

‘No more than you torment me,’ she whispered.

He took her mouth in a hungry plundering kiss.

Strength surrounded her, his body a wall she could see nothing beyond. It filled her vision, and her mind. He was powerful male. Beside him, she seemed feeble.

Vulnerable. Her heart picked up speed. Trickles of fear rose up from her belly. Her wanton yearnings had almost destroyed her once; she should not let it happen again. Even so, the kiss overwhelmed her senses, carried her upwards on currents of air, rising in twisting strands of pleasure and the pain of need.

A hand, large and firm, cupped her buttocks, caressed the curve. A finger dipped lightly into the crease. A titillating sensation through the fabric. She gasped into his mouth.

He squeezed and kneaded her bottom, while his erection pressed against her.

The teasing fingers travelled down her thigh to her knee. They bunched the gown, easing it upwards. Yes. Now they stroked the bare flesh above her knee, little circles travelling up her thigh, bringing her gown higher, while his kisses numbed her mind to all but his touch.

The fresh scent of his soap and the musk of male arousal dizzied her senses. The longing to submit to his greater will made her limbs languid and heavy. She was pliant in his arms, a shadow of herself. Overpowered by his skill.

His to mould and to shape. It felt lovely.

Chapter Nine

Charlie longed to see her naked. The fine lawn of her shift, the satin of her robe, hid little, yet veiled enough to send his imagination wild. The torment of not possessing her left a growl low in his throat.

He slipped the robe off her shoulders and down her arms. Long, slender, white-skinned arms. He kissed the inside of her elbows, one at a time, smelled the scent she’d placed there earlier, lavender, inhaled it to the depths of his lungs, knowing he would never smell that scent again and not think of Merry.

Eyes half-closed, she lay with her black hair spread over the pillow. He lifted her hand, kissed each finger. The pulse in her throat beat hard and fast. Her breathing quickened.

So sensual. So feminine. So desirable.

He tugged the hem of her nightrail free and she raised her arms to help him lift it off. Her breasts, full and round and high, left him in awe. He filled his hands with their bounty, marvelled at the whiteness of her skin and the firmness of the beautiful flesh.

Beautiful. Rounded. Firm and proud. The peaks were dark, a soft shade of brown, puckered and tight from the exposure to cool air.

He puffed out a breath.

She wriggled.

‘Not yet,’ he said. ‘I have been waiting to see these all night.’

He swirled his tongue around first one tightly budded nipple and then the other.

She moaned.

He felt her dampness on his thigh pressed between hers. Oh, yes, she wanted him as much as he wanted her. Desire shone like a bright flame between them, glowing on their skin and heating their blood. The pulse at the base of her throat urged him on, yet he was loath to let it flare and all too soon die.

He suckled.

She speared her hands in his hair, pressing his mouth to her breast. He caught her by one shoulder, supporting himself and holding her trapped, teasing her other breast with a flicking thumb.

She cried out her pleasure. The shudder of her body as the shocks of pleasure held her in their grip drove him beyond control and into the darkness of his own urgent need.

He widened his knees, opening her thighs. Her dark curls were damp. He guided himself to her entrance.

‘Merry,’ he commanded. ‘Look at me.’

She lifted her eyelids. Her full lips smiled. There was yet one more thing he needed. One thing he needed to know.

‘Say my name.’

She licked her lips. ‘Charlie,’ she breathed.

He slid deep inside her. Knew her as only a lover could know a woman.

Her heat closed around him in welcoming warmth. He kissed her mouth, probed with his tongue as he moved his hips. She clutched at his shoulders, digging her nails into his skin, tilting her hips, rising to meet his every thrust as he stroked her insides. He watched her submit to the pleasure.

The urge to drive into her, to bury himself deep and simply let go, jolted through him.

He fought for command. Battled for the will to lead her from one little death to the next without taking his own. He was known for it. Anything else was unacceptable.

He slowed his breathing.

Clung to control by a thread with each warm slide into her depths, each slow lingering withdrawal.

He breathed deep and slow, the body and the mind in perfect harmony. Energy building to peaks, then rippling away in muscle and bone.

‘Charlie?’ She ran her fingers over his chest, tweaked his nipples, raised herself to suckle.

His breathing faltered, distracted by the sight of her glorious black tresses against the whiteness of her shoulders and the generous exploration of his body.

Her touch felt wonderful. Not giving or taking, but delightfully shared.

She lifted her legs high and took him deeper.

The pleasure hit him hard and fast. A breath caught in his throat. Breathe, damn it. He twisted his hips, grinding himself hard against the yielding heated flesh.

‘Oh, Charlie.’

The sound of his name on her lips, the feel of her luscious body around him, her legs tight at his waist, sent him over the edge. He succumbed to the urges beating in his blood.

He pounded into her. Mindless. Feral.

The climax built. Hit him hard. ‘I can’t Merry you have to’ He pumped his hips and caressed with his thumb.

Her eyes widened. Her body trembled. Her inner muscles tightened around him. Gripped him, as her fingers gripped his shoulders. He gazed into her face, saw the strain and the reach. Her eyes opened wide. She let out a cry as she fell apart.

Undone by the glory of the utter bliss on her face, unable to contain his own race to the finish, he pulled clear and spilled against the covers.

Oh, what did she do to him? He felt like an inexperienced lad. Vulnerable. Without control instead of bringing her to greater heights, keeping her in a state of ever-increasing arousal, until he decided to let her go.

Dear God, he’d almost spilled inside her body.

Aware of her laboured breathing, he turned on to his side and gazed into a face dreamy with satiation. Eyes closed, she lay utterly relaxed, her face still flushed; the scent of their lovemaking perfumed the air.

Her eyes drifted open. ‘Mmmm,’ she murmured, her chest still rising and falling. ‘That was good.’

Bloody hell. He was leaving in the morning and one night with Merry was not nearly enough.

‘You are glorious,’ he said and pulled her into the cradle of his arm, let her head rest on his shoulder. His pounding heart slowly quieted, her breath tickled his chest and his own breathing slowed to match hers.

Cosy and warm and deliciously replete, Merry woke to light filtering through her eyelids. It must be morning.

Time to get up. She opened her eyes.

The room was ablaze with candles. They burned on the tables each side of the bed. And on the mantel. Beside her the sound of another’s deep breathing. The gentle inhale and exhale from Charlie. She glanced over at the window. Still dark outside.

The last thing she remembered was him saying he wanted to watch her sleep when she suggested they snuff the lights. Carefully, she eased on to her side and gazed at the man sprawled beside her on top of the covers. He lay on his stomach, his flanks and broad back gilded by candlelight. She reached out to run a hand over the beautiful skin, then whipped it back, touching her lips with a fingertip. He looked so relaxed, it seemed a shame to disturb him. Even if the little flutters low in her abdomen suggested he might very well like it.

She glanced at his face, at the full lips, relaxed in sleep, the dark crescent of eyelashes, the slash of brow, the rugged features.

Delicious. A gorgeous man.

She raised up on her elbow. He looked younger in sleep. Less world weary. Less drawn. Less severe. Closer to her own age than she’d thought.

The clock on the mantel struck the quarter hour. She glanced over and saw it was past five o’clock. Very soon Brian would come to make up the fire and find her here. She’d asked him to take over the task from Beth and Jane. She didn’t want Tonbridge propositioned again. Not by them, anyway. She quelled a small smile.

Nor did she want to start any gossip.

The ripple of concern over the bourgeois Miss Draycott and her brief girlish love affair in those long-ago schooldays would be nothing to the scandal of being caught in a marquis’s bed.

Her first indiscretion had been with a boy. Charlie was a man. A beautiful, wonderful man who knew how to please a woman.

She stretched. She really should return to her own room.

Their mutual passion had been nectar from the gods to her, but might have seemed passing ordinary to him. A sow’s ear, rather than the silk purse in her mind. Hopefully, Tonbridge wouldn’t betray her indiscretion. He was much too much the gentleman.

What did it matter? After today, she would never see him again. A pang beneath her ribs halted her breath.

Sadness, when she should be feeling nothing but sated. A longing for what could never be. How futile. How unlike her since she’d grown up.

She retrieved her robe from the floor beside the bed.

Charlie sighed, but didn’t waken. Just as well. He only had to look at her with those dark eyes and sweep away any semblance of reason.

She slipped on her nightgown, thrust her arms into the sleeves of her robe and knotted the tie. She glanced around the room. It was dangerous to leave candles burning unattended. The thought of a fire made her skin crawl. The house in Skepton had taken but minutes to burn. The girls had been lucky to escape with their lives. She took the snuffer from the mantel and tiptoed around the room, quickly extinguishing them all.

Unfortunately, Charlie didn’t seem to notice her departure. With a rueful smile at her continuing feeling of regret, she opened the door and peeped out into the corridor. All quiet. And dark. With no sound from her bare feet on the runner, she ran lightly back to her own room at the end of the hall.

She jumped between the cold sheets and shivered.

It would have been nice to stay next to Charlie. For them to wake up together. Like husband and wife.

The faint memory of sitting on her parents’ bed in the early mornings, drinking chocolate like a real grown-up lady slid into her thoughts. They’d been so happy. Before the fever had struck.

Afterwards, everything had changed. Poor Grandfather had been so sad, so worried about what to do with her.

She snuggled deeper beneath the sheets and closed her eyes. If only things could have been different. If only she could have been a lady like her mother, as Grandfather had hoped, Charlie might have gone along with her proposal. Betrothed to a marquis. Merry Draycott. What a thing. She couldn’t help but chuckle beneath her breath. She hugged her arms around her body. Imagine meeting such a gorgeous man on the road across the moors.

The vision of her phaeton, shafts upright in the ditch, brought her upright. Deliberately damaged.

Her stomach roiled. Her heart raced, rising in her throat to shorten her breathing. Fear.

Saints above, she’d never sleep now. She couldn’t go back to Charlie, admit her terror. He’d use the knowledge to impose his will.

Shivering, she got up and lit a candle to keep the dark thoughts at bay. She stared at the flickering flame. Was that why Charlie kept his candles alight when he slept? To keep away evil?

It would have to be something terrible to trouble such a powerful man.

Numbers were her escape. She picked up the accounts ledger she’d put aside earlier in the evening. It would either put her to sleep, or she would get her morning’s work done before first light. She must find a way to increase production, or she would have to let employees go.

Why was everything going wrong now? Were all the naysayers who had wrung their hands in horror at her inheritance of the mill right after all? Was it impossible for a woman to run such a large enterprise as Draycott’s? Should she have abided by her uncle Chepstow’s wishes and put everything in his hands?

She sighed. Grandfather would have solved the problem in an instant. Look out for t’coppers was his motto. Was that what she was doing wrong? Looking out for the pounds?

Dash it all, she would not be beaten.

She opened the ledger at the beginning. The answer had to be here.

Cold. Alone. Charlie opened his eyes.

Darkness assaulted his gaze. Silence his ears. A band tightened around his chest, cutting off air. Sweat trickled down his back. His heart thundered. He lay rigid. Still. Suffocating.

In a bed?

Why the hell was it dark?

The candles must have gone out. Darkness had woken him. He threw back the covers and drew back the curtains from the window. It didn’t help.

He gathered the supply of candles he’d left ready with shaking hands. He brought down the candelabra and struck the flint. A candle flared. He inhaled a deep calming breath.

He held the flame to the candelabra. Its candles hadn’t burned down, they’d been snuffed. Some time ago by their length.

He glanced at the rumpled bed. Merry must have doused them when she left.

Why hadn’t he awoken then? He had slept through her departure. Were the nightmares finally gone?

He rubbed at his breastbone and stared at the window. A faint trace of grey in the darkness of the room. He wanted to cheer. He felt rested. For the first time in years, energy coursed through his veins at the thought of a new day.

He’d made love to Merry, wonderful passionate wild love, and fallen asleep. God, he’d lost complete control with her, behaved like a green boy with his first woman.

She had climaxed deliciously. He hardened, wanting her again.

It wouldn’t happen.

Their lovemaking hadn’t changed her decision. The two things were not connected. She wanted him gone. He was to drive away and leave her to face the danger alone. Impossible. Yet what choice did he have unless he agreed to her suggestion that he pose as her future husband.

He groaned. If his father ever learned of this new adventure of his, Robert would be outcast forever. But leaving Merry in danger was out of the question. He already had enough guilt to carry. What he’d done to Robert. His failure at Waterloo.

He would not fail Merry.

He stilled. Was he once more being reckless, endangering others to satisfy his own ego as his commanding officer had accused?

He went hot, then cold. Damn it all, what else could he do? If he left and something happened to Merry, he would never forgive himself.

A knock sounded at the door. He grabbed for his banyan as Brian stepped in, carrying hot water in a jug. ‘Ready for your shave and a bath, my lord? ‘

Ready? Yes, indeed. Because he needed to see Merry as soon as possible. Not that he expected the conversation to be easy.

Chapter Ten

The account books didn’t look any better now than they had in the early hours of the morning. One thing was obvious—while costs were rising at the mill, income was falling. Clearly, she would have to deal with the other mill owners’ enmity quickly or face ruin.

Merry raised her gaze from the rows of numbers and stared out of the window. No blue skies today. The moor looked particularly bleak, a wasteland of white patches amid the brown grass.

A brief knock and the door opened to admit Charlie. He looked wonderful. Refreshed. And, damn him, more handsome than ever.

An odd feeling of shyness tensed her stomach. Warmth stung her cheeks. He’d think her such a naïve fool for blushing after her wantonness in the night. She kept her smile cool. ‘Good morning, my lord. Ready to leave?’

He grinned. ‘Forgotten my name so soon, my sweet? How are you, Merry? Did you sleep well?’ He strode to the desk, gathered her hands in turn and kissed each palm. ‘You look beautiful.’

Right, beautiful in her plain brown gown and ragged grey wool shawl. Her working clothes. The man was a flirt. ‘I am well, thank you, Charlie. Is your carriage at the door? I will come and bid you farewell.’

He wandered around the room, looking at the neat rows of ledgers on the shelves lining one wall, each one neatly dated. ‘So this is where you spend most of your time?’

‘Yes.’ She pulled her old shawl closer around her, not because she was cold, but because having him prowling around her office seemed to make the room smaller.

‘I’m not leaving,’ he said.

‘What?’ Her mouth fell open.

‘I’m not leaving while your life is in danger.’

Why did men always think they were the only ones able to solve problems? ‘I don’t need your help.’

He sat down in the chair opposite the desk. His jaw set in a stubborn line. ‘Yes. You do.’

She squeezed her eyes shut. ‘Do you know what they will think if you run around town standing up for me? They will think I am your mistress.’

His dark eyes gleamed, but his face remained deadly serious. ‘After last night, you are.’

‘Well, it won’t matter what you say in that case. They will listen politely and once you leave they will do as they wish. As my my

‘Lover,’ he said, raising a brow.

‘Very well. As my lover, you will have no influence at all. And my reputation will be ruined into the bargain. I have to deal with these men every day. I need their respect. This will only garner ridicule.’

He leaned back in the chair, kicked out his legs and folded his arms across his chest. ‘Not if I pose as your fiancé.’

She stared at him. ‘Why? You were vehemently opposed to this idea barely a few hours ago.’

‘I won’t leave you to face this alone. It wouldn’t be right.’

She blushed. ‘You owe me nothing. No. I don’t need your help. Caro and I can manage this for ourselves.’

He shrugged a shoulder. ‘Your choices are fiancé or lover. Either way I will speak to them today.’

Blackmail. Brass makes t’wheels turn. Only he didn’t lack for money, and, unless she was completely deranged, he still wanted her.

‘It’s a mickle for a muckle, then,’ she said.

He stared at her blankly.

‘Is’t not plain as the nose on your face? I’ll be your mistress while you play the fiancé. ‘Tis a fair bargain and when it is done, there’s no obligation on either side.’

His eyes flashed. ‘There you are with the outrageous statements in that dialect again. I’m not looking for damned payment. What kind of man do you think I am?’

She glared at him. ‘What? Is it beneath you to make an honest bargain? Smell too much of the shop?’

A blank look crossed his face. He took a deep breath. ‘It’s a matter of honour, Merry. Surely you understand?’

Unfortunately she did. A man who thought his honour was at stake would never give in. Her heartbeat quickened. Her pulse raced. The thought of him remaining here for days, no doubt. The temptation of having him close by.

Caro would be furious.

She glared at him. ‘You said you were in Yorkshire on business. I suggest you continue on your way.’

A dark brow flicked up. ‘Suggest all you want, I am speaking to these men and that is final.’

He meant it. This man was as stubborn as she was. And if he succeeded, she would be beholden to him. Every good turn deserves a reward. Asking him to tie his name to hers deserved a far greater reward than one night in her bed.

‘And you won’t accept payment.’

A muscle flickered in his jaw. Anger. Pride. Well, she had her pride, too.

‘But you won’t turn me away if I come to your bed of my own free will.’

He closed his eyes briefly as if he battled demons of his own.

She half-expected him to back down. The other half waited desperately for his answer. Because if he rejected this offer, she would know he despised her indeed and his offer of help was out of the question.

A long sigh escaped him. ‘No, I would not turn you away if you came to me of your own free will. I’m damned well not made of stone.’

She let go a breath of her own. She’d actually been holding it while she waited for his answer. ‘Then we have a bargain.’

Dear God, what would Caro say? She’d be angry, and disappointed, but she’d have to admit, eventually, it was the best solution. She’d have to forgive her, eventually.

Her insides trembled. He was staying. He would be hers tonight and tomorrow and into the future. The pen dropped from fingers weak at the thought of nights in his arms.

He leaned forwards, elbows on his knees, gazing at her intently. ‘Now that is settled, let us start with who you think might have tried to damage your carriage.’

Merry could quite happily drown in those dark brown eyes.

Concentrate, Merry. She shook her head. ‘I’ve gone over and over it in my mind. I know some of the mill owners and clothiers hate dealing with a woman, but they were Grandfather’s good friends. I can’t believe any of them would do me harm.’

‘Businessmen are notoriously ruthless,’ he said reasonably.

She rose to her feet. ‘But they are not murderers. I won’t believe it. I’ve known these men all my life.’

He held out a hand. She walked around the desk and took it, feeling its strength. He enclosed her hand in warmth. ‘You can’t let soft emotions cloud your thinking.’

‘I’m not one of your sentimental women who doesn’t know about harsh realities.’ She pulled at her hand. He gave it a tug and somehow she ended up sitting on his knee, enfolded in his arm, resting against his chest. It was so easy to lean against him.

He placed a warm hand on her thigh. His heat scorched her leg through the wool. ‘Merry, listen to me. Someone tried to kill you, no matter how you look at it.’

‘But why? I’ve done no one any harm.’

A finger toyed with the fine hairs at her nape. A shiver ran through her, not cold, searing hot. Her insides turned to liquid.

His voice was a gentle murmur when he spoke as if he, too, felt the rise of passion. ‘Let us think it through together. What is the reason behind their dislike of the asylum you established? It is not unusual for towns to help those less fortunate. Indeed, every parish is obliged to help their poor.’

‘It might be their wives egging them on. Because of the kind of women we sought to help.’

‘Ah,’ he said.

‘What do you mean, “Ah!”?’ Indignant, she pulled away.

He hauled her back against his chest. His chuckle vibrated against her shoulder. ‘Nothing like an angry woman to move a man to action.’

His hand caressed the underside of her breast. Oh, heaven help her, was that his his erection against her thigh? Desire flooded through her. She turned her face up. His dark eyes were glimmering with light, yet his expression contained concern. For her. As if he cared.

The door burst open.

Merry tried to jump to her feet. She found herself restrained as she looked into the startled face of her manager. ‘Mr Prentice?’

The short stocky man reared back as his pale blue eyes took in the scene. His ruddy face flushed a deeper shade.

‘Miss Draycott,’ he gasped, shock writ large on his face.

Merry winced. More grist for the gossip mill. She pried Charlie’s hand free and stood up. ‘Mr Prentice, let me introduce you to the Marquis of Tonbridge, my betrothed. My lord, this is Albert Prentice, my manager.’

Charlie rose easily to his feet. He stuck out a hand. ‘Prentice,’ he said easily, with just the right amount of friendliness and condescension that would put the man at ease without being effusive.

Prentice’s eyes goggled. His jaw worked, then somehow he managed to take Charlie’s hand and bow. ‘My lord. A pleasure.’ He turned his eyes to Merry. ‘I’m sorry for interrupting. I wasn’t expecting

‘I am glad to see you. I hope you had no trouble on the roads?’

‘I no. I came along just as they were removing your carriage from the ditch. For a moment I thought. Jed said you had an accident. Are you all right?’

She saw Charlie narrow his eyes, watching Prentice’s reaction. Good Lord, the man suspected her manager.

‘I’m fine,’ Merry said quickly. ‘Luckily his lordship arrived in time to rescue me.’ She shot him a look. ‘Although I had things well in hand.’

Prentice’s gaze swivelled to Charlie. ‘I didn’t know you were expecting company.’

‘No reason why you should, is there, old fellow?’ Charlie asked.

Merry’s gaze flew to his face. His expression was dark. Stern. Questioning.

‘Mr Prentice is my trusted adviser in all aspects of Draycott’s,’ she said quickly. ‘I wasn’t sure his lordship would come so early in the New Year, Mr Prentice, but negotiations regarding our betrothal have been under way for some time.’

Prentice swallowed and tugged at his neckcloth. ‘Oh, aye.’

‘You have no cause for concern, Mr Prentice,’ Merry said firmly. ‘Nothing at Draycott’s will change.’

‘Except my assistance with Miss Draycott’s problems,’ Charlie said in rather a dangerous-sounding voice. It was almost as if he mistrusted the man. Dash it. She wouldn’t have him upsetting her manager.

She smiled at the young man. ‘Albert, Lord Tonbridge is going to help with our plans for the Skepton Asylum.

He and I are going to speak to the other mill owners. Who do you think we should approach first?’

Prentice twisted his hat in his hand; expressions chased across his face: chagrin, worry, doubt. He forced a smile. ‘Mr Broadoaks would be best, Miss Draycott.’ He took a deep breath. ‘All t’other owners listen to him.’

‘Is he married?’ Charlie asked.

‘Aye. Got four sons and three daughters, too.’

Charlie gave her a significant look. ‘I suppose the sons are out of leading strings?’

‘Aye. Two of them already help their Pa at t’mill.’

‘Benjamin Broadoaks was Grandfather’s best friend,’ Merry added. ‘He has been the most receptive to my ideas. He will help us.’

Prentice looked unconvinced. ‘Shall I speak to him?’

‘No,’ Charlie said, before Merry could answer. ‘Mr Broadoaks will receive a visit from me.’

Merry bridled at the tone of command. ‘From us,’ she said. ‘Mr Prentice, I have here a list of instructions for the mill. I think it will reduce production costs appreciably. Would you see to it, please?’

Prentice ran his eye down the notes she had made. ‘It might help,’ he said. ‘I’ll take it right away.’ He hesitated. ‘You are sure you were not harmed yesterday?’ His gaze darted to Charlie. ‘You were lucky out there on the moors with a snowstorm coming on.’

‘Very lucky,’ Charlie said.

‘I am fine, Mr Prentice. Thank you for your concern. Please give my regards to your mother.’

A muscle in Prentice’s jaw flickered at the obvious dismissal. ‘Mother will be most glad to know of your kind wishes, Miss Draycott.’ He bowed and went out, closing the door behind him.

‘Shifty-eyed bastard,’ Charlie said. ‘I don’t like the look of him.’

Merry blinked.

‘Bursting in here as if he had the right,’ he continued.

‘He’s a friend and an employee.’

Charlie rose to his feet. ‘You may think of him as a friend, but do not be surprised if he has other designs.’

Had she been too friendly? Let the young man jump to conclusions? ‘Nonsense,’ she muttered. Dash it. Yet another problem to resolve. She couldn’t afford Prentice going off in a huff.

‘Time to visit Mr Broadoaks,’ Charlie said.

‘Not without me.’

He grinned. ‘Now why would I miss an opportunity to drive a lovely young woman out in my curricle?’

She wrinkled her nose. ‘I have a better idea. We’ll take the closed carriage. More private. And warmer.’

He smiled. ‘Why, my dear Merry, you are a naughty puss.’

She hadn’t been expelled from school for misbehaving with a gardener’s boy without learning a thing or two about taking chances when they came along. She cast him a sideways glance. ‘You don’t know the half of it.’

‘Regretfully, I must decline.’

Dumbfounded, she stared at him.

‘My horses need exercise.’ It was a lie. She could see it in his face. But why? She tried not to care, not to feel rejected, but it didn’t seem to be working.

They were admitted into the courtyard of Broadoaks Mill, at the edge of town, by a child of about ten with a runny nose and a ragged jacket covered in white fluff.

There but for the grace of God, Charlie thought. Only an accident of birth separated him from the masses. He certainly didn’t believe in divine right. Charlie tied his horses to a post.

‘Master’s in t’office.’ The boy pointed to a set of wooden steps up the outside of the building.

Charlie gestured for Merry to go ahead and enjoyed the view of her shapely ankles and the sway of that deliciously curved bottom as she climbed. No wonder men had invented this bit of courtesy. Ready to catch them if they fell, indeed. It was all about the view.

To his chagrin, his body responded with enthusiasm. He hadn’t expected her to offer to be his mistress, and he’d had the devil of a time refusing. Not that she’d listened. The determination had been clear on her face. And damn him, he was looking forward to tonight with impatience.

He ought to be ashamed.

When they reached the wooden landing at the top, Charlie rapped his knuckles on the peeling green paint on the door on the narrow landing.

‘Come,’ a deep voice said.

Charlie ushered Merry inside. The room overlooked the mill floor on one side and the courtyard on the other. The elderly man behind the desk with red cheeks, a nose covered in broken veins and a full beard sprinkled with grey covering most of his lower face, hauled his bulk to his feet. ‘By gum, Miss Draycott. I weren’t expecting you! Not so soon after the meeting.’

If ever again, Charlie thought, searching the other man’s face for signs of guilt or disappointment. He looked genuine pleased to see them.

‘Come in, lass. What can I do for you? My word, young lady, don’t know when I’ve seen you looking more gradely.’

Bliss had that effect. She glowed with it. Charlie felt more than a little pride, though he kept his face completely expressionless as the mill owner turned to him with curiosity in his gaze. ‘I don’t think we’ve had t’pleasure, sir.’

‘Tonbridge,’ Charlie said. He put out a hand.

The older man’s eyes widened. ‘Mountford’s heir, if I’m not mistaken.’ Curiosity deepened in the muddy brown eyes.

‘Miss Draycott has done me the honour of accepting my offer,’ he said. Not a complete lie. The offer was merely not the one this man would expect.

He hoped. He was none too sure what the townspeople thought of Merry Draycott. He wasn’t quite sure what he thought of her himself.

‘By gum, lass,’ Broadoaks said, grinning. ‘Your grandfather would be in alt. My heartiest congratulations.’ He took Merry’s hand in his big rough one and patted it. Charlie had the urge to snatch it away, but held still. Finally the elderly merchant stuck out his hand to Charlie. ‘By thunder. A Mountford. Congratulations.’

Beneath the older man’s assessing gaze, Charlie felt a bit like a prize Arabian stallion. It wasn’t the first time he’d been accorded that kind of inspection, but usually it was the mothers who looked at him that way.

He managed a grim smile and shook the meaty paw. ‘Thank you, sir.’

‘Ah, you are a Mountford, all reet. By gum, a chip off the same block as your father.’ He rubbed his hands together. ‘I’ll wager Chepstow is crowing from the rooftops about this.’

A cold weight settled in Charlie’s gut at the sound of the familiar name. He glanced at Merry.

She winced and shook her head.

Charlie’s bad feeling travelled up to his chest. ‘Chepstow?’

‘The earl. From over York way,’ Broadoaks said, oblivious to the chill sweeping the room. ‘The Purtefoy family are her ma’s family. Not pleased with the marriage they weren’t. Always was a thorn in your grandpa’s side, lass, the way they treated your poor ma. But you showed them.’

‘You are related to the Earl of Chepstow?’ Charlie asked, hearing the growl in his voice, the building anger, but didn’t care to hide it. The earl was a crony of his father’s. A man with political clout of his own. And Lady Allison’s father.

‘He’s my uncle,’ Merry said, looking decidedly uncomfortable. Guilty.

Charlie’s anger rose from his chest to the skin at the back of his neck. Had she played him for some sort of dupe? The hart in one quadrant on the shield on her gatepost came from Chepstow’s coat of arms, he realised. The rest of it, some sort of puffery. Hell. Why hadn’t he recogised it?

Broadoaks’s bushy eyebrows shot up. ‘Something wrong, my lord?’

Charlie stared at him. Wrong? It couldn’t be worse.

Merry shot him a pleading look. ‘We can talk about this later, Tonbridge. We came to ask Mr Broadoaks a question.’

Charlie gave the old fellow a smile that said he was about to impart a secret. ‘If you’d keep the betrothal between us for now, we’d be grateful. The settlements are not yet final.’

‘Aye, certainly, my lord. Business comes first.’ He winked at Merry. ‘Make sure you drive a hard bargain, young lady. Do your grandpa proud.’

Merry blushed, as well she might, the sly little baggage.

Charlie took a deep breath, reining in his temper, tamping down the suspicion he’d been gulled from the first moment they met. If it wasn’t for the fact that there was no way she could have known he’d be travelling along that stretch of road two nights ago, he might have thought she’d planned the accident herself.

She couldn’t have known.

While some of the glow seemed to have gone out of Broadoaks’s smile, he waved expansive hands. ‘Even so, this news calls for a celebration. A glass of wine? Some brandy?’

Merry smiled. ‘Not this early in the day, Mr Broadoaks.’

Making the decisions again. Ruling the roost. Indicating he was under her thumb. Charlie gritted his teeth. ‘Perhaps another time. Our business is pressing.’ Not nearly as pressing as the words he had for Merry after this meeting. ‘Let me explain.’

Merry looked startled, no doubt surprised he had taken charge of the conversation.

The old man’s eyes sharpened. ‘Aye. Sit ye down, both of you. Tell me what service Benjamin Broadoaks has in his power.’

Charlie gave Merry a warning glance. ‘The matter of a home for women in need.’

Broadoaks’s face turned the colour of puce. His gaze swivelled to Merry. ‘Now then, lass. The matter was put to rest the day before yesterday.’

‘I think not,’ Charlie said. ‘You know as well as I, Miss Draycott has no intention of letting the matter die. The real question is how did you and the other mill owners plan to stop her if setting light to the house didn’t work?’

Broadoaks recoiled. His chair creaked in protest. He stared at Merry. ‘That’s a terrible thing to say.’

Merry bit her lip. ‘Someone put those men up to it.’ She looked at Charlie. ‘And now—’

‘Someone tampered with Miss Draycott’s carriage on her way back from her meeting with you and the other mill owners. She was lucky she wasn’t killed.’

Broadoaks lunged forwards, his beard stiff with indignation. ‘Now wait a minute, your lordship. I won’t say I like the idea of a flock of whores setting up shop in the middle of town as bold as brass, but it ain’t a matter to kill someone over. Nor did I have owt to do with t’fire. Were some of the lads from the Muddy Duck got fired up about t’women taking their work.’

‘They are not whores,’ Merry said. ‘Not any more. How will they ever get free of that life unless someone gives them a chance?’

‘Hmmph,’ Benjamin Broadoaks replied. ‘'Tis same old argument. We don’t want them here.’

‘Not quite the same,’ Charlie said, before Merry could speak again.

Broadoaks eyed him warily. ‘Now, young fellow, surely you see the right of this. Miss Draycott here has a soft heart, but we are men of the world. We know—’

‘The Durn estate will pay for the rebuilding of the house. The asylum will be named for the duchess. I will act as her agent in this matter and Miss Draycott will head up the Board of Directors.’

Merry’s look of gratitude was like a knife to the gut, because it was a bloody lie. He wanted to throttle her. He flashed her a charming smile. ‘That is all you want, isn’t it, my dear? ‘

From the way her face stiffened, he was pretty sure she heard the sarcasm in his voice.

Broadoaks didn’t seem to notice. He sank back in his chair with the look of a man about to be hung. ‘That puts the cat in with the pigeons.’

‘You have a problem with the plan, Mr Broadoaks?’ he asked quietly.

The old gentleman fought through his beard to tug at his shirt collar. ‘No, my lord. The wives won’t be best pleased, I’ll admit to that, but they’ll come round once they know a Mountford’s behind it.’

His father would know nothing of the matter. Or at least he wouldn’t have known, if Merry wasn’t related to the Purtefoys. Now Charlie wasn’t quite so sure if he could bring this off without the betrothal becoming common knowledge. He’d been well and truly caught. Just as Robert had. An ironic smile formed on his lips. ‘Good.’

‘How is Mrs Broadoaks?’ Merry asked a little breathlessly. Fearing his wrath now she’d been found out, no doubt. ‘Well, I hope?’

Broadoaks’s eyes twinkled a little. ‘My missus doesn’t change, Miss Draycott, but she is well, thank you for asking.’

Merry grinned.

Charlie glared at her and then at Broadoaks. ‘I still want to know who is behind the threat to Miss Draycott’s life.’

The old man closed his eyes briefly. ‘I know nowt about it. Nor do any of the other owners, I’d vouch my life on it. Aye, no good looking down your nose at me, my lord. Why would we be involved? We had her set to rights. No. You look elsewhere. I’ve not heard any gossip neither.’ He looked at Merry. ‘Only you know who might want thee feeding t’worms.’

Right now Charlie wanted to do a bit of worm feeding himself. ‘Who would know?’

‘Beyond me, my lord.’ He shook his head. ‘I’d try talking to the innkeeper at t’Muddy Duck. He might know what set them off.’

‘The Muddy Duck is in the Skepton Town Square,’ Merry said.

‘Not a place for a woman,’ Broadoaks said heavily. ‘You know, lass,’ Broadoaks went on, ‘if you’d put that house of yours on t’other side of town, people might not have been so fratched by the idea.’

Apparently, Merry didn’t care who she angered, as long as she got her own way. Damn her. ‘Do you have a suggestion, Mr Broadoaks?’

Merry gasped. Charlie shot her a warning glance.

She pressed her lips together. At least sometimes she showed a little sense, because he was in no mood to tolerate an argument.

The elderly gentleman pulled a large handkerchief from his pocket and mopped at his brow. ‘There is a house, a small one, over on west side of town. Regular folks live there. It would do for two or three women.’

‘To keep the numbers down,’ Merry said with a marshal light in her eyes.

‘Within reason, I’d say,’ Broadoaks said.

‘I—’

‘We will think about it, Mr Broadoaks,’ Charlie said. He smiled at Merry. ‘Won’t we, my dear? Advice is always appreciated.’

‘Well—’

‘We won’t take up more of your valuable time, Mr Broadoaks. I believe I have business at the Muddy Duck.’

Broadoaks rose to his feet. ‘Tell t’innkeeper I said for him to tell you all he knows.’

In those few words, the old man had admitted Charlie to the inner sanctum. The local gentlemen’s club. He knew it from the chagrin on Merry’s face. He shook hands with the fellow. ‘It has been a great pleasure, sir. I hope we meet again soon.’

‘Ah, and good luck to you, my lord.’ He darted a glance at Merry. ‘Needs a strong hand on the bridle, a woman like her do.’

So she might, but that hand wasn’t going to be Charlie’s. Finally he’d seen right through the scheming little wench and he felt more than a little foolish. Not to mention angry.

He ushered her out of the office and down the steps.

She turned to him. ‘I—’

He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her along, not hard enough that anyone would notice, but firmly enough so that she knew he meant business. ‘We will talk in the carriage.’

Several times in the past few days, Merry’s escort had looked less than pleased. Now he’d withdrawn into a cool remoteness that put the distance of miles between them.

The distance of a duke-to-be from a lesser mortal. She had no trouble recognising it, since she’d seen the same kind of look on her fellow students’ faces at school when she was intemperate or bold enough to express her opinions or join their conversations. The reason she’d sought solace with Jeremy.

She lifted her chin as she’d done in those long-ago days. ‘What bee’s bustling in tha’s bonnet then, lad?’

‘Oh, for God’s sake, you don’t think I’m fooled by that rubbishy accent, do you?’

She stiffened. ‘There is nothing wrong with the way I speak.’

‘Isn’t there? Perhaps the names of Purtefoy and Chepstow might give you a hint as to why it doesn’t ring true.’

She shrugged.

Anger flared in his eyes. Anger she could deal with. Better that than indifference. ‘My mother’s family has nothing whatsoever to do with me.’

A muscle flickered in his jaw. His lip curled in derision. ‘I’m not green, Miss Draycott. Or wet behind the ears. Nor do I have my mother’s milk still on my lips, my dear. I know exactly what you are up to. And it won’t wash.’

Inside she shrank from the bitterness in his quiet voice; on the outside she kept her back straight and her expression disdainful. ‘Doing it rather brown, Charlie. You forced your way into my business uninvited, you know.’

‘You asked me to pretend to be your fiancé.’ He said the words as if they tasted of poison.

‘For a few days,’ she said warily.

‘Let us hope Broadoaks is good to his word and keeps a still tongue in his head or Chepstow will be on my father’s doorstep tomorrow morning. And won’t that stir up an ant’s nest?’

What on earth was he raving about? ‘The Earl of Chepstow barely acknowledges my existence.’

‘Believe me, that will change if this betrothal comes to his ears. He’ll care enough to learn I have been living at your house. A house full of prostitutes, no less.’

‘They are not prostitutes.’

He raised a cynical brow. ‘I know when I am being propositioned.’

She gave him a slit-eyed look. Did he mean her?

‘I’m talking about Jane,’ he said.

‘I told you, I don’t think she is going to stay. In fact, I had already decided to talk to Caro about her leaving as soon as we get back.’

‘Stop avoiding the issue at hand.’ He leaned against the seat back, a hard smile thinning his lips. ‘Oh, Merry, I’ll admit you are good. Chepstow’s niece, for God’s sake. All that straightforward honest stuff really had me fooled. But I’m wise to you now. So let’s just deal with the business at hand and we can end this farce and go our separate ways.’

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