Regency Collection 2013 Part 1. Louise Allen

      The practical answer was to find some way of investing in the mine herself. That would reward Mr Lovell for his gallantry, add something new and interesting to her portfolio and be a satisfying gesture of defiance towards Adrian, whether he knew of it or not. There was also the consideration that Mr Lovell, when not being as stubborn as a mule, was undeniably attractive company.

      But how to keep contact with an intelligent, independent man who had every intention of shaking the dust of your doorstep from his excellent boots at the earliest opportunity? A smile slowly curled Lily’s lips. Oh, yes, now that’s an idea. All she had to do was to deal with him first thing before he had a chance to bully Percy into fetching his clothes. With a pleasurable shiver Lily slid down under the covers. She did so enjoy organising things to her own satisfaction.

      Jack surfaced from sleep and lay very still. The room was restfully dim, with heavy draperies keeping out the morning sunlight, but his head threatened to fall off his shoulders if he moved suddenly and his body ached like the devil. He shut his eyes again with relief.

      Someone was moving quietly around the room. Jack cracked open one lid; the young footman—Percy, that was it—was padding around the room, reaching for the curtains. Jack braced himself for the flood of light and rolled over. His head remained attached. Just.

      ‘Good morning, sir.’

      ‘Good morning, Percy.’ Jack hauled himself up, tried not to wince and looked around. The sphinxes, palm trees and other Egyptian ornamentation was as lurid in the morning light as he recalled. The Prince Regent would love this room, although even he—surely?—would draw the line at a chaise-longue supported on six rearing gilt crocodiles and apparently upholstered with leopard skin.

      ‘I will bring your breakfast at once sir.’

      ‘Just coffee and some hot water—I will get up.’

      ‘No, sir, begging your pardon, sir. Miss Lily said you are to stay in bed sir.’ Jack narrowed his eyes at the man and the footman backed away. ‘Just until the doctor’s been, sir.’

      ‘Coffee, hot water, clothes. Now.’

      There was a tap on the door and Lily came in. Jack snatched at the edge of the sheets and yanked them up to chin level, recalled that after yesterday’s fiasco it was a futile gesture, and tried not to glare. The satin bedcover was in a leopardskin print to match the chaise. He repressed a shudder.

      ‘Good morning, Miss France. I am having some trouble communicating with your footman.’

      ‘Percy will do as I tell him, Mr Lovell.’ She was quite exasperatingly calm. ‘Fetch Mr Lovell’s breakfast, Percy.’

      ‘Miss France, I cannot stay here.’

      ‘Of course you cannot.’ She smiled at him and Jack sat up straighter, raising his knees sharply in attempt to disguise the effect she was having on him. Hell’s teeth, woman! Have you no idea what a smile like that could do? He pulled himself together with an effort. No, of course you do not. ‘Just as soon as Dr Ord has been to see you and says you may move, you may have your clothes and your luggage.’

      ‘Thank you.’ Now he had a doctor’s bill to pay—and by the cut of the good doctor’s togs, that would not be cheap—and another inn room to find. And investors to woo while looking like the sort of man who got into brawls in the street.

      ‘I have an idea about where you might stay.’ Miss France perched neatly on the chaise, her skirts swirling around the jaws of one rearing reptile, the bright blue silk arguing nastily with the upholstery.

      ‘Probably the Green Dragon will still have a room available,’ he said indifferently. Her eyes are the same colour as the dragon’s scales on the inn sign, a complicated mix that seems to change with the light.

      ‘I have had a better idea. Why pay good money out from your budget, which I am sure will be put to better use entertaining your investors, when you can stay here?’

      ‘We have just agreed that I must move.’

      ‘To the bottom of the garden.’ She beamed at him, obviously delighted with whatever hare-brained scheme she was hatching. ‘The previous owner was an amateur artist and he had the long attic over the carriage house in the mews converted into a studio. You can stay there.’

      ‘No.’

      ‘Why not?’ Those green cat’s eyes slitted as she watched him and her full lower lip pouted. Miss France was not used to having her will thwarted, obviously. What would it be like to bite that swelling fullness? Just a very gentle nip …

      ‘It would not be proper, and, as I believe we have agreed before, I will not accept charity.’

      ‘You will not be in the house, so where is the impropriety? And if you insist, I will charge you bed and board, exactly what you would have paid at the Green Dragon. Mrs Oakman will cook your meals.’ He shook his head and she glared at him with an exasperated irritation that matched his own. ‘You are a very stubborn man, Jack Lovell.’

      ‘And you, Miss France, are a very managing woman.’

      Endearingly, she shrugged. ‘Yes, of course. I am used to getting my own way. It does help to be very rich.’ She cocked her head on one side. ‘Please? I dislike not being able to say thank you to people who have helped me.’

      Of course he should say no. It was preposterous and probably improper, bottom of the garden or not. Lily opened her eyes wide and smiled at him. ‘I have had the room cleaned and made ready for you. The footmen have worked so hard this morning …’

      Preposterous, improper and impossible. Jack fought down the headache that was intent on kicking its way through his temple and took a breath. ‘Yes.’ What have I just said? ‘Yes, thank you.’

      Lily whisked out of the door before he had a chance to change his mind. Her voice drifted back through the opening. ‘Now remember, Percy. No clothes for Mr Lovell until the doctor says so.’ There was a pause and the sound of the footman whispering. ‘And I do not care what excuse he comes up with, not even if the house is on fire.’

       Damned managing, bossy, infuriating, vulgar, brass-faced …

      ‘Your breakfast, sir.’ Percy placed a heavy tray squarely and painfully in Jack’s lap. ‘Did you say something, sir?’

      ‘I was merely grinding my teeth.’ Castration by breakfast tray. That at least was one path to continence. ‘Thank you. Please will you fetch me the portfolio that is with my luggage? I give you my word it does not contain so much as one neckcloth.’

      The faintest tremor of a smile passed over the young footman’s face. ‘Very good, sir.’

      By the time Dr Ord was ushered in, Jack had demolished a substantial breakfast of eggs, ham and Braughing sausage and was scribbling annotations in the margins of a report to the Royal Society on a new type of valve for steam pumps. His headache had subsided from penetrating to merely pounding and he had regained his temper.

      ‘Good day, Mr Lovell.’ Doctor Ord placed his case on the table and advanced on Jack, giving him ample opportunity to notice his fashionable suit of clothes and the handsome signet on his left hand. A very large doctor’s bill indeed. ‘And how are you feeling this morning?’

      ‘Stiff in the back. I have an evil headache and a sore jaw, but other than that I am perfectly fine and I would be deeply obliged to you, sir, if you would prevail upon Miss France to have my clothes returned to me so I can get out of bed.’

      ‘Tsk, tsk. Well, I am sure you know best, but I suggest you submit to an examination; Miss France will no doubt be most disappointed if I do not stay for a reasonable length of time.’

      ‘I will be paying your bill,’ Jack pointed out with some difficulty as the doctor manipulated his jaw.

      ‘Of course. But Miss France will still expect the most thorough treatment for