The Mysterious Lord Millcroft. Virginia Heath

fighting fit again in no time. Not much ever laid down a Leatham, aside from extreme old age, and neither would one stray bullet. That thought cheered him as he flung his equally sturdy legs over the mattress and planted his big farmer’s feet firmly on the floor.

      When he tried to stand to dress himself, however, his legs almost gave way and he had to grab the bedpost quickly as his head spun. Then, for the first time in his adult life, Seb had to suffer the indignity of someone else supporting him as he dressed, and then made his way laboriously down the stairs, collapsing in the nearest chair like a wobbly newborn foal. Exhausted. Humbled. And frankly, a little bit scared at the extent of his deterioration.

      There was no two ways about it, his recovery was going to take much longer than a week. Suddenly the safe cocoon of his bed didn’t seem half as bad as it had half an hour ago, especially as the chair was now his new nemesis and one he could barely hold himself upright in. Perhaps he wouldn’t attempt to venture outside today. Being scraped up from the ground would be the ultimate humiliation and one his stubborn pride would never allow. Unconsciously he rubbed the scar beneath his new beard. Seb loathed being beholden to others. He looked after himself and those dear to him. Always had. Always would. Another trait from his proud farming heritage and the harsh realities of life.

      A maid came in with a tea tray. ‘Good morning, Mr Leatham. How do you take your tea?’

      ‘Milk. No sugar.’ He looked down at his hands and cringed at how rude he sounded. ‘Thank you.’ He also loathed his crass ineptitude around women, especially the young and pretty ones. The ability to smile in their presence and be charming was not one he possessed. Seb wished he did, and it was not for want of trying, but each time he steeled himself to be more erudite than the average granite boulder, the awkward shyness tied his tongue in knots and the ability to string more than two words together evaporated. At best he barked at them so fiercely he scared them, and at worst he was simply mute.

      Even the safe, married women had a similar effect. It had taken the best part of the last ten days to be able to converse with Bella properly and only because she had made a concerted effort to put him at his ease. He probably had all those gruff farmers in his lineage to thank for that unfortunate trait as well, because his father had certainly never suffered from the affliction. He could charm the birds from the trees to such an extent he sincerely doubted the man’s sheets had ever been cold. Unlike Seb’s, which rarely met any skin which wasn’t his. Yet another depressing thought in a day seemingly filled with them.

      He heard the brittle rattle of china and risked looking at the maid out of the corner of his eye. He saw her sunny open smile had vanished because he’d been curt and monosyllabic yet again and all the poor girl had done to deserve it was bring him some tea. The gruff tone was a defence mechanism which hid his shyness from the world, although the maid wouldn’t know that. Only his closest friends knew of his affliction. Seb attempted a smile as she placed it on the side table next to him and muttered another thank you into his lap, then groaned as soon as she left the room. If being fearsome was wholly inappropriate, usually he would be the first person to leave a potentially awkward situation, which was probably why hiding in the shadows came so naturally to him. Normally, when not sporting a debilitating bullet hole, he would have darted out of the room as soon as he heard the click of female heels on the floorboards and returned when the coast was clear—but of course, he could barely stand, let alone dart.

      Bella came in next, smiling in that concerned way she and her husband did as a matter of course. ‘I’ve brought you some books. They’re a bit of a mixture, as I didn’t know what you’d like to read, but I thought they might help pass the time.’ She placed them on the side table next to the tea and then poured herself a cup. ‘If it’s any consolation, I know what it feels like to be bored. Joe is insisting that I stay at home and rest for three hours every day despite the fact I feel as right as rain.’ She daintily sat on the sofa opposite him, her hand automatically resting on the increasing baby bump beneath her skirts. ‘At least I now have you to keep me company.’

      ‘Lucky you. I’m famous for my scintillating conversation.’

      She grinned and took a sip of her tea. ‘I’ve arranged for luncheon to be brought in here. I thought we’d both be more comfortable than sat rigid at the dining table. Would you mind if we ate it a little early? Only I find myself constantly starving nowadays.’

      ‘I could eat.’ Now that she mentioned it, Seb was hungry. Another good sign, he supposed. Evidence of the tiny steps of improvement he was making.

      ‘Oh, I’m so relieved to hear that.’ Bella grabbed the bell and rang it. ‘I will tell them to bring it immediately and use you as the excuse.’

      Five minutes later and the same maid who had brought him tea came in with another tray. This one contained some delicate sandwiches and cakes and, to his abject horror, the dreaded invalid cup he had come to despise. He eyed it with distaste. ‘Please tell me that’s not more of your insipid broth!’

      ‘It most certainly is and if you refuse to drink it again I shall tell Joe that I don’t think you are quite ready to be out of bed. That broth is a carefully balanced recipe designed to restore your strength and vitality. You do want to get better, don’t you?’

      ‘Can you at least stop serving it to me through a spout like an infant? I am sat upright in a chair. I could take it just as easily in a teacup as in that monstrosity.’

      ‘A fair point and one I shall certainly take on board at dinnertime—if you drink that one without...’ The rattling of carriage wheels on the gravel outside made her pause and frown. ‘I’m not expecting anyone... I wonder who that can be?’ She placed her forgotten tea on the table and disappeared to investigate, leaving Seb alone with his dented masculinity, the foul restorative broth and the invalid’s sipping cup. When she failed to materialise after five minutes, he snatched it up and searched for something close by to pour it into. He soon realised that was a forlorn hope and began to pour the tasteless, lukewarm contents quickly down his throat to get it over with.

      ‘I shall order more tea.’ At the sudden sound of Bella’s voice so close he nearly choked and spilled the last drops over his chin, just in time for the most beautiful woman he had ever seen to appear at her elbow. Bella grimaced apologetically as he swiped the mess away with the back of one hand while trying to hide the awful cup with the other. ‘We have a surprise visitor, Seb. My sister has abandoned the excitement of society to come to stay for a few days... Mr Sebastian Leatham—Lady Clarissa Beaumont.’

      The vision, because there was no other word to describe the angelic perfection which had just walked in the room, momentarily appeared as surprised to see him as he was her. Her step faltered and he swore he saw a note of panic in her widened blue eyes before she caught herself. In fascination he watched her transform from startled and almost afraid to supremely confident. She tilted her golden head in acknowledgement, those beautiful eyes now amused at either his clumsiness or the freshly glowing red tips of his ears.

      ‘Mr Leatham.’

      The voice matched the face. Lovely. Lingering over the vowels just enough to sound subtly seductive, although Seb hadn’t needed to hear it to be totally seduced—and mortified to be so. He was a clumsy oaf around most women, but in front of this goddess of perfection he stood no chance of behaving nonchalantly.

      ‘M’lady.’

      To compound his embarrassment, his errant tongue managed to completely slur the words, making him sound every inch the subservient farm labourer from rural Norfolk he truly was. Good manners dictated he stand, because that is what a real gentleman did in the presence of a real lady, and so Seb tried, winced and promptly collapsed back into the chair, winded.

      ‘No, please. Don’t get up on my account, you poor thing.’

      Thing.

      That stung.

      ‘I didn’t realise you had company, Bella.’ She turned to her sister and he saw it again. That crack in her composure. ‘Perhaps I picked a bad time to turn up unannounced?’

      Bella threaded her arm through her sister’s