Bound by Duty. Diane Gaston

piece.

      It was damp, but she did not care. She took an eager bite.

      He broke off a piece of the cheese for her.

      It was all she could do not to gobble it down.

      ‘Do not eat too fast,’ he warned, taking a bite of the cheese.

      His manner had changed in a way she did not quite understand, but his gaze warmed her as effectively as the fire.

      He’d shown her nothing but kindness. Indeed, he’d saved her life. How awful it would be to have someone discover them here. Some women might use such a situation to trap a man into marriage.

      It would be dreadful to base a marriage on an accidental mishap. Even Lorene’s marriage made more sense than that.

      She took sips of tea between bites and held the doughy taste of the flour and the sharp tang of the cheese in her mouth as long as she could. If she had been served wet bread and cheese at someone’s dinner table or at an inn, she would have been outraged.

      ‘How can I thank you, Mr Glenville?’ she murmured. ‘This is ambrosia.’

      He glanced at her and his eyes still filled her with heat.

      He quickly looked away. ‘Tell me why you were out walking in a rainstorm.’ It was said conversationally.

      She waved a dismissive hand. ‘I had an errand in the village.’

      ‘It must have been important.’

      It had not been. It had been foolish. She’d hoped to see Mr Welton. And to buy ribbons.

      Her ribbons! ‘I had a parcel... Was I carrying a parcel when you found me?’

      He lifted a finger and leaned down to pull something out of his saddlebags. He held it up to her. ‘A parcel.’

      She took it.

      ‘The reason for your walk to the village?’ He inclined his head towards the parcel.

      She felt her cheeks burn. ‘Ribbons and lace.’

      He responded with surprise.

      She shrugged. ‘It may not seem important to you, but it was to me.’ Even more important had been learning about Mr Welton. ‘Besides, I thought the rain would hold off until later in the day.’

      He took another bite of cheese.

      She pulled off a piece of bread and rolled it into a ball in her fingers. ‘So why were you out in the rain?’

      He swallowed. ‘I am travelling to London.’

      She kept up the challenge. ‘And set off even though there was threat of rain?’

      He lifted his Toby jug, as if in a toast, and smiled. ‘Point taken.’

      If his eyes had power, so much more did that smile.

      Tess lowered her voice. ‘I am glad you set off even though there was a threat of rain. What would have happened to me had you been wiser?’

      ‘Someone else would have found you,’ he said.

      She shook her head. ‘I walked for hours. I saw no one else on the road.’

      He held her gaze with those riveting eyes.

      She glanced away. ‘Why were you bound for London?’

      ‘I finished my business in Scotland.’ He lifted his Toby jug. ‘So I am returning to London.’

      ‘Do you have business in London?’

      He sipped his tea. ‘Of a sort.’

      A sort of which he obviously did not want to discuss.

      ‘I shall be travelling to London soon,’ she said, trying to cover her sudden discomfort. ‘For the Season. Will you be attending the Season’s entertainments?’

      His face turned serious. ‘I am not certain.’

      She felt as though he had withdrawn from her completely, but she did not know why. Perhaps he’d tired of her conversation. She felt suddenly as lonely as she had been when wandering in the storm. She missed her sisters. They would think she was in Tinmore. Tess hoped they would presume she was safe. If only she could get back to them soon.

      She finished her piece of bread and cheese, and he wrapped up the rest of his food.

      It turned deadly quiet.

      ‘The rain!’ she cried. ‘I think the rain has stopped!’

      She jumped from her chair at the same time as he and they hurried to the door. Both stood there for a moment staring at it.

      He reached over and opened it.

      The rain had stopped, but it was black outside.

      She looked over at him. ‘There is no chance we can leave now, is there?’

      ‘None,’ he responded. ‘It is too wet and too dark. I am afraid we are here all night.’

      All night.

      * * *

      Marc wished he could erase the disappointment on her face.

      To her credit she said not one word of complaint, even though their situation was now clearly worse than before. Instead she busied herself pouring more hot water from the kettle into the teapot. She did not complain, but, then, she did not say anything.

      A cold wind soon rattled the windows and put even more chill into the cabin. Marc rooted through the room again. He found two more blankets, stored in a chest tucked in a far corner. One for her; one for him. He handed her one and they pulled chairs from the table to be near the fire. They wrapped themselves in their blankets, sipped weak, but hot, tea and stared into the fire.

      He felt as if he’d lost her company.

      He wanted it back. ‘Do you go to London for the marriage mart, then?’ he asked.

      She jumped. He’d startled her.

      ‘I would not choose those words, precisely.’ Her voice was hesitant. ‘My younger sister and I will come out. We might even be presented to the queen, if Lord Tinmore requests it.’

      ‘I am surprised,’ he said.

      ‘Why?’ she shot back. ‘Why should we not be presented?’

      He held up a hand. ‘I am surprised any lady would wish all that fuss.’

      Miss Summerfield stiffened. ‘It would be an honour.’

      Did his sister wish it? If so, it would never happen for her.

      ‘An honour, indeed, I suppose,’ he said.

      ‘As would procuring vouchers for Almack’s,’ she went on. ‘Will you be getting a voucher for Almack’s?’

      He gave a dry laugh. ‘Not likely.’ The London Season was not a good time for his family.

      She gazed into the fire. ‘Why not? I thought you were high born.’

      He sat up straight again. ‘Why did you think that?’

      ‘You said your father went to school with Lord Tinmore’s son.’

      He had said that.

      ‘I am high born.’ But he’d been deliberately evasive about who he was. Now that they were to spend the night together, she might as well know. ‘You have likely heard of Viscount Northdon?’

      She looked blank. ‘No.’

      She must be the one person in England who had not heard of Viscount Northdon. ‘You see, Miss Summerfield, I come from a family with a tarnished reputation. Viscount Northdon is my father and, because he married my mother, our family is not accepted in the highest circles of society.’

      He expected to see curiosity