Married: The Virgin Widow. Deborah Hale

Ford’s arrival, Laura found her mother holding court from her bed. Ford and the girls sat on either side while a vigilant Mr Pryce hovered nearby.

      Feeling like an intruder, she was about to slip away when Ford suddenly glanced her way. She could not allow him to think he had the power to frighten her off.

      “Are you hosting a party, Mama?” She affected a cheerful tone as she entered the room. “I hope too much company will not tire you.”

      “Quite the contrary, dearest.” Her mother’s voice sounded stronger. “I have not felt so well in months. Come and sit with the others. Ford was telling us the most amusing story about the time a pack of monkeys got into his baggage.”

      As Laura approached, Ford rose from his chair. A fast-fading smile still lit his dark features and once again she caught a glimpse of the man she’d loved. Even as a gentle ache swelled in her heart, the moment passed and he became a stranger once again. An attractive, compelling stranger, but still a dangerous enigma.

      She wished she could keep a safe distance from him, the way she did at mealtimes with the long table and her chattering sisters between them. But there was only one chair left—the empty one beside his.

      Warily, she sank on to it. “The poor man may soon long to sail back to the Indies to escape these constant demands for stories of his adventures.”

      As Ford resumed his seat beside her, his nearness overwhelmed her senses. The dark arch of his brows and the jutting crests of his cheekbones lured her gaze. Her skin prickled whenever he made the slightest movement, anticipating an accidental nudge of his knee. Every time she inhaled, the faint, spicy tang of his scent tickled her nose. Her ears strained to drink in his low, husky voice.

      “Never fear,” he replied, a hint of frost cooling his tone, “I would far rather talk about the Indies than return there any time soon.”

      “No indeed.” Laura’s mother regarded Ford with a doting smile. “You have been gone far too long. We couldn’t bear to part with you again now that we’ve got you back.”

      The butler cleared his throat. “Since all the family is gathered here, Mrs Penrose, shall I fetch tea?”

      “An excellent suggestion! The tea Ford brought has such a delightful flavor. I feel quite invigorated when I drink it. And I caught a whiff of gingerbread when Laura opened the door. Could you bring us some of that, too?”

      “Delighted, ma’am.” Mr Pryce beamed with pleasure. Just that morning, Laura has overheard him whistling while he polished the silver.

      No doubt the poor man was happy to have a proper staff working under him again. One of Ford’s first tasks as master of Hawkesbourne had been to authorise the hiring of several new maids, footmen, gardeners and stable hands.

      “Ford,” said Belinda, “Cook is in raptures over the sugar, tea and spices you brought from the Indies.”

      Susannah nodded. “And I am in raptures over the bolts of silk and cotton. Did you mean it when you said we could have some to make up new gowns for the summer?”

      “Of course I meant it.” Though Ford kept his attention focused on her sisters, Laura sensed his words were aimed at her. “I have never been one to make promises I do not intend to keep.”

      Like her promise to wed him? She bristled at the thought. If he had not wanted her to break their engagement, why had he not lifted a finger to stop her?

      “Besides,” he continued in a lighter tone, “I don’t believe peacock-blue silk or sprigged organdy would look at all flattering on me.”

      They all laughed at that, including Laura, though it gave her heart a wrench because he sounded so much like the Ford she remembered.

      Mama’s pale blue eyes sparkled with curiosity. “Tell us more about this new British trading post. Sing-a-song?”

      “Singa-pore, ma’am. I must say I preferred it to India. Not nearly so hot, though often quite sultry during the monsoons. The settlement is still rather primitive at the moment. Everyone is too busy establishing their businesses and making money to worry about amenities. Besides, it is likely the Dutch will find a way to get rid of Singapore. It poses a threat to their control of the lucrative China and South Seas trade.”

      “It sounds like an exciting sort of place,” said Laura’s mother.

      Ford nodded. “It is a crossroad of the world with so many races and cultures all mixed together—English, Spanish, French, Chinese, Indian, Arab, Malay. I have learned to curse fluently in a dozen different languages.”

      Laura fought to contain her amusement. She had survived the heartbreak of losing her first love, the shock of her father’s death and the ordeal of her marriage by encasing her heart in a protective sheath of ice. Ford’s coldness only hardened her defences. But the warmth of his wit and kindness toward her family threatened to chip a web of tiny but perilous cracks in her frozen ramparts, making them prone to shatter.

      A few minutes later Mr Pryce returned, bearing a tray laden with tea things and a plate piled high with spicy-sweet nuggets of gingerbread. While Susannah and Belinda tucked into those with exuberant relish, Laura took a guarded sip of her tea. Pleasant as these small luxuries were after months of frugal living, they came at too high a price to suit her.

      Despite Ford’s assurance that her family was welcome to visit at Hawkesbourne, she knew he must want her gone as soon as possible. Every time they’d spoken in the past two days, she had braced for him to raise the subject. With any other gentleman, she’d have been confident he would never turn out an ailing widow and her penniless daughters. But Ford had boasted of his ruthlessness and she knew from bitter experience that he was not a man to let other people’s problems stand in the way of his plans.

      When the others had finished eating, Laura rose from her seat. “Enjoyable as this has been, we must not tire Mama.”

      “No indeed.” Ford shot to his feet so quickly his arm brushed against hers, sending bewildering sensations rippling through her. “I have an appointment with Repton to look over the accounts and review his running of the estate in my absence.”

      His sharp tone and piercing look made Laura wonder what this meeting with his man of business had to do with her.

      “Pray excuse me, ladies.” After a stiff bow, he stalked away, leaving Laura feeling as if the breath had been knocked out of her.

      As he marched toward the office of Hawkes-bourne’s estate manager, the devilish hot ache in Ford’s loins began to ease. The slightest accidental brush against Laura was all it had taken to set him on fire. Of course that had only struck a spark to the fuel, which had accumulated splinter by combustible splinter as he sat beside her. Hard as he’d tried to ignore her by focusing all his attention on her mother and sisters, he had failed.

      The mellow lilt of her laughter had made him long to drink it from her lips like sweet wine. The sidelong glimpse of her dainty hands had made him yearn to feel her fingers running through his hair. But why?

      Much as he’d loved Laura Penrose seven years ago, he had not burned for her with such fierce intensity. Was it the time he had spent trying to forget her? Had the blaze of his outrage kindled this unruly passion? Or was it some streak of perversity that made him crave her because she had spurned him?

      He had no time to ponder such riddles now, Ford reminded himself. There were more practical questions to be answered first.

      “Tell me straight, Repton.” He dropped into a chair across the desk from the estate manager. “How bad is it?”

      If the condition of the Hall was any indication, Hawkesbourne must be deep in debt. Ford recalled Laura’s mention of economic hardship after the war.

      Repton’s brow furrowed at the question. He was a slight, balding man with ink stains on his thumb and forefinger. “I beg your pardon, my lord? How bad is what?”

      “The debts, of course,”