Regency Society Collection Part 2. Ann Lethbridge

disgust, then strode impatiently to the remains of the fire and stirred the ashes with the toe of his boot, clearly trying to make up his mind. The acrid smell of wood ash filled her nostrils as fine dust puffed up. ‘I will let you know my decision tomorrow,’ he said finally, without looking at her.

      Clearly, he wasn’t at all thrilled by her offer. No doubt he had plenty of beautiful women from whom to choose. Perhaps he wasn’t as interested in her as she had thought. And that made her feel just a little…hurt. Which was ridiculous. At least he hadn’t turned her down flat. Yet. ‘Yes, my lord.’

      He dropped the mask into the dead embers. ‘How did you get here?’

      ‘I walked.’

      ‘Then I will take you home.’ He put his fingers in his mouth and gave a shrill whistle. She jumped, her heart pounding. Who was he calling? Had he been playing some sort of cruel game? Toying with her the way he had during their duel? And now the constable would ride out to cart her off to prison.

      Approaching hoof-beats had her spinning around in time to see a gawky blond lad emerge from the woods. The lad who’d been up on the box of the carriage the night of the robbery. He rode across the meadow in an ungainly gallop. So this was how her prisoner had escaped.

      ‘Do you have any weapons on you?’ the Marquess asked softly in her ear. She jerked away from him. ‘No.’

      ‘You won’t mind if I check?’

      She minded very much as his fingertips ran over her body. And even more when his large hands gently outlined the curve of her hip. She minded because her body responded with longing, whereas he looked completely unaffected, dispassionate. When he knelt before her, the tousled dark hair close to her stomach, and stroked between her thighs—gently, true, but missing not one inch of sensitised flesh—she minded so much that she felt dizzy and hot. Her breathing shortened, while her mind tried to assimilate the unnerving sensations on her skin.

      He glanced up, an odd half-smile on his lips. ‘I am glad you told the truth this once, wench.’

      Her heart gave a painful squeeze. She wished she could tell him the truth about everything.

      The boy drew his mount up close to the Marquess, staring at her open-mouthed.

      ‘It’s all right, lad,’ the Marquess said. ‘Return home and let Johnson know I will follow shortly.’

      Knowing her face burned scarlet, Eleanor avoided the boy’s curious glances by staring off into the distance. It wasn’t until he had departed that she dared steal a glance at the grim man at her side.

      He had said he would take her home. Did he mean that?

      ‘Come. We will use my horse.’

      He gestured her into the barn and readied his mare in silence. The ripple of muscle beneath his shirt as he worked reminded her of the strength she had seen in his arms on the previous day. Sculpted and bronzed, they’d been lovely. And his back had been broad and strong…and horribly scarred. She wished she hadn’t seen that. It made her feel pity, when she wanted to feel practical, businesslike, unmoved by what would happen next.

      With her wrist in a firm grip, he walked her and the horse outside and placed his hands about her waist. They were warm and large, filling the hollow between her ribs and hips. He tossed her up on to his horse and climbed up behind her, pulling her on to his lap so she sat sideways across his thighs. She sat within the circle of his arms, wedged against his chest. Almost hysterical, still unable to believe how awry everything had gone, she held herself stiff and straight.

      She ought to be flirting with him. Batting her eyelashes, charming him to do her bidding, but he seemed so remote, she couldn’t bring herself to try. He had his arms around her; she could feel the heat of his body against her back and yet she felt chilled. She’d hurt his pride. He’d as good as admitted it. After all, she was a woman and she had duped him finely. Not a good thing. Having grown up with two brothers, she knew how sensitive men were about those sorts of things.

      Unable to bear the heavy silence any longer, she glanced up at his grim face. ‘I truly am sorry for what I did. It was meant for the best. It was all I could think of to save my…lord.’

      ‘Where is your sister?’ he asked abruptly.

      ‘I sent her to a relative.’

      ‘I wish to hell you’d gone with her.’

      She wished she’d seen it as an option. She shrugged. ‘I needed the money.’

      He leaned forwards, the hard wall of his chest pressing against her back, his warm breath tickling her ear, starting a series of tingles in other places she tried to ignore.

      ‘Miss Brown,’ he said, ‘you are a reckless wench. Someone needs to curb your wild behaviour.’

      ‘Someone like you?’ she asked, and gasped at the hiss of his indrawn breath.

      Silence was obviously the better part of valour, so she held her tongue for the rest of the way.

      When they arrived at her door, the early morning sun was casting long shadows in the lane outside her cottage. Soon the rest of the village would be up and about. The Marquess set her down in the road and walked her up the path.

      What to say under such awkward circumstances? ‘Can I offer you tea, my lord?’

      He hesitated, his brown eyes searching her face. He raised his hand and tipped up her chin. Her skin scorched where his fingers touched and she could not raise her gaze from his full mouth, as if her body yearned for the wicked sensations he engendered with his kisses. She held her breath. A delicious feeling of anticipation coursed through her veins. Her pulse raced. A shadow passed over his face. Regret? Longing? Or was it anger? It disappeared too fast to be sure.

      He grasped her by the shoulders, turning her towards him, drawing her close. He touched his lips to hers. Her arms went around his neck. Her fingers twined in his silken hair. An instant surrender she could not control as he tasted her lips with infinite sweetness. A languor overtook her limbs.

      He put her from him with an almost forced gentleness, as if he also fought some inner battle. Her arms felt bereft, her legs not exactly steady.

      ‘I will come and see you tomorrow afternoon,’ he said. He left without looking back. Eleanor went inside and bolted the door. She leaned against the old rough wood, a hand to her mouth. What had she done? She shivered. There had been no kindness in his face just now, no tenderness in his eyes. Just the heat of desire.

      An answering heat flared in her body.

      After bathing and changing his clothes, Garrick went down for breakfast and found his uncle already seated at the table with his usual two slices of toast.

      Le Clere half-rose in his seat, relief warring with irritation for supremacy in his expression. ‘Is it your idea to cause me an apoplexy, Garrick? I was ready to send out a search party if you hadn’t returned this morning.’

      The irony made Garrick want to smile. ‘I rode over to Appleby’s. Did you not get my message?’

      His uncle cleared his throat. ‘You did not say you’d be away so long.’

      The sensation of being smothered returned to Garrick in full force. Memories of his boyhood. ‘Well, here I am now,’ he said cheerfully.

      ‘You missed our meeting yesterday. I thought we had an agreement.’

      ‘I apologise for that. I did look at the ledgers before I went. I wanted to ask you if I could look at the rent books when next we met.’

      ‘Rent books?’ Le Clere’s eyes narrowed.

      ‘Revenues have fallen. I wanted to see if the rent books gave any clue as to why. See which tenants are in trouble.’

      His uncle frowned. ‘They won’t tell you much.’ Garrick opened his mouth to argue. ‘But why not?’ his uncle said swiftly with a shrug. ‘Matthews collects the rents.