Regency Collection 2013 Part 1. Louise Allen

a man, might I ask, miss?’ Max tried for an expression of sober reliability and was rewarded with a glare.

      Bree hustled the housekeeper inside. ‘Betsy, it is trying to rain and we are tired and hungry. Please, let us in before we talk any more.’

      They gained the hallway and stood on the stone flags while Mrs Hawkins shut the door on the damp darkness outside. ‘Are you married, Miss Bree?’ she demanded, turning from this task and wiping her hands on her apron.

      ‘No!’ they answered together, with equal vehemence. Max found himself regarding Bree apologetically, while she looked equally abashed at her unflattering reaction.

      ‘Lord Penrith is a friend who very kindly offered to escort me on the stagecoach, Betsy,’ Bree said repressively. ‘Now, I would like you to make him up a bed in one of Uncle’s spare bedrooms, but first, tell me quickly, what is wrong?’

      ‘Wrong? Why, nothing, Miss Bree. What should be wrong?’

      ‘I had such a strange letter from Uncle George, I felt I had to come straight away. Are you sure he is all right?’

      ‘Why, yes, Miss Bree.’ The housekeeper frowned. ‘He’s made some new friends, goes out more than he used to, which is a good thing. He’s always been a bit solitary, has Mr Mallory.’

      It was on the tip of Max’s tongue to ask about these new friends, but he stopped himself. It was Bree’s family business.

      ‘Where’s your luggage, sir?’

      ‘My lord,’ Bree corrected, looking harassed. ‘Lord Penrith kindly came to my aid at very short notice and has no luggage. He will need to borrow razors and so forth. And a nightshirt. I’ll show Lord Penrith to the blue bedroom, Betsy, and you let Uncle George know we’re here and find something for our supper, if you would be so kind.’

      ‘Show a man to a bedchamber! You’ll do no such thing, Miss Bree. And your uncle’s out—I don’t know when he’ll be back.’

      ‘Out?’ From Bree’s blank expression Max could only deduce this was arare occurrence in the evening. ‘Well, I’ll just have to sit up until he gets in. I do hope it won’t be too late because I was planning on catching the seven o’clock stage tomorrow morning. And I will show his lordship to his room, so don’t fuss. Lord Penrith is a friend of Viscount Farleigh.’

      The mention of Bree’s half-brother was obviously a guarantee of respectability. The housekeeper unbent a trifle. ‘I’ll bring hot water up in a moment, Miss Bree. The bed’s all made up, like always, and I ran the warming pan through all the beds only yesterday, so it won’t be damp.’ She began to make her way towards the back regions of the house. ‘Mind you come down directly now, miss!’

      ‘Yes, Betsy.’ Bree rolled her eyes at Max and began to lead the way upstairs, lifting a branch of candles off the side table as they went. ‘Piers keeps spare razors and things here, although I doubt his shirts will fit you. I’ll see if any of Papa’s things are to hand.’

      ‘I would not like you to feel you must lend me those. It is my fault I am without a change of linen. I would not put you to the pain.…’

      ‘Not at all. They are clean and pressed and really I should be giving them away to a deserving family, but I simply have not got round to it. You are kind to show such sensitivity, but Papa would have hated to see good clothes go to waste.’ Her smile was sweet and just tinged with sadness and it made him want to take her in his arms and hold her, gently.

      ‘Bree …’

      ‘Here we are.’ She threw open a panelled door before he could act on the impulse and stepped into an antique chamber with an uneven boarded floor, exposed beams in the ceiling and panelling on the walls that glowed richly in the candlelight. Deep blue hangings around the four-poster bed and at the windows explained the name of the room.

      She set down the candles on the dresser and went to run a hand between the sheets. ‘That’s fine. If you could set a light to the fire, I will go and find those things for you. Better if Betsy does not find us in here together.’

      ‘Bree.’

      ‘Yes?’ She paused on the threshold, turned and smiled at him. It was enough to overturn all his good resolutions to keep his distance.

      Max took one long stride and caught her to him. ‘Bree, don’t worry.’ She quivered in his arms, then, when he did no more than hold her, she sighed wearily and laid her head on his shoulder. ‘What is it you fear?’

      She shook her head, unaware of the havoc her closeness was creating in him. ‘That he is ill, or becoming confused, or that there is some problem with the farms that he is not telling us about. I had better stay, I think—it was foolish to think I could deal with this in a few hours.’ She tipped back her head to look into his face. ‘Will you let Piers and Rosa know, when you get back?’

      ‘I am not going back without you.’ Max put one hand on her head and turned her cheek back into his chest. That was much safer; if she looked up at him again like that he was going to kiss her, and from the vehemence of her reaction when the housekeeper had asked if they were married, that was unlikely to be welcome. ‘And you must try not to imagine things before you see your uncle. He could simply have been having a bad day—the housekeeper has noticed nothing, has she?’

      ‘No, no, she said as much. You are quite right.’ Bree let her cheek rest against the soft warmth of Max’s linen shirt and closed her eyes. She was being foolish in worrying; Uncle George would be mildly baffled by her descent upon him and everything would be fine.

      The comfort of having someone to lean on was unexpected. For years she had been the one leant upon and had accepted it as her lot in life. Now … Without conscious thought she moved her head a little, like a cat butting against a caressing hand. Through the linen she felt the press of something hard and realised it was that scandalous stud. She moved again and felt, rather than heard, his indrawn breath. Max’s heartbeat was more pronounced.

      What had he said about it? That such things were considered erotic? Touching certainly had an effect. His long fingers slid into her hair, whether just to hold her, or to hold her still, she could not decide. But it brought her to her senses. It was not fair to him to be like this, especially not in a bedchamber and especially not after his reaction to Betsy’s embarrassing question had been so vehement. Men’s physical responses, she had to remember, were often quite at odds with their deeper feelings.

      ‘I had better go and fetch those things,’ she murmured, stepping back. ‘Betsy will be along with your hot water in a moment.’

      His hands opened, freed her, and he let her go, his smile perfectly bland. But his eyes were dark and intent, denying the soothing message of that smile. Bree found her skin was tingling. ‘I won’t be a minute.’ She not so much left the room, as fled, scurrying down the long passage to the door that led into the part of the house she and Piers owned. Inside Piers’s room she leant back against the door and tried for some coherent thought.

      For the past few days she had tried to convince herself that Lord Penrith merely wished to pursue an acquaintance that centred around his interest in driving. To believe anything else was to yearn after a relationship that was impossible. Today, on the journey, she had been too irritated by his cool assumption that she needed him to look too closely at her own feelings.

      Now, fresh from his arms, she made herself think. She liked him, she wanted him … Bree made herself stop and be honest with herself. Wanted both his company and his friendship, and wanted him, as a man, in her arms and in her bed.

      And that was quite impossible. She was not going to take a lover, or be taken as a mistress, and that was that. She had promised herself a love match and she was not going to settle for a few nights of passion. Always assuming that was what Max wanted.

      Bree shook her head, more to clear it than to deny her thoughts. When he had kissed her at the ball he had overstepped the bounds of propriety by several long strides. And yet, he had stopped well before things got