Buch lesen: «A Shocking Proposition»

Chapter One

The dusty clock on the chimneypiece ticked inexorably as Madeleine Kirkby swallowed hard, gloved fingers tightened on her reticule. “The court won’t rule in my favor? You are quite, quite sure, sir?” If Mr. Blakiston was correct, then a little mental arithmetic would allow her to calculate the exact seconds left for the clock to count down before she lost her home.

The old lawyer, in his dusty black, sighed. “I am afraid not, Miss Maddy. You see, it is not considered wise to leave property, an estate, in the control of an unmarried woman. In your case, a young woman.”

“But I have been running the estate for years!” she said. “Even before my brother died.” Fury lashed her. Stephen had left her to manage his inheritance while he disported himself in London. Yet she was considered unfit to own Haydon.

Mr. Blakiston’s mouth was grim, but he reached over the desk and touched her hand gently. “I know, my dear, and I put all those arguments, but your grandfather’s will was hard to argue against, and your cousin—well.”

It didn’t need to be said. Edward, fifth Earl of Montfort, not content with his own much larger holdings, was determined to wrest Haydon from her hands. He and his father before him had bitterly resented that the third earl had dowered his daughter, Maddy’s mother, with the old manor house and its estate.

“I suppose he’d have the judges in his pocket,” she said bitterly.

Mr. Blakiston, his ears a little pink, said carefully, “There was some talk that you are taking in women of, er, dubious reputation, and that, in short, there was some question as to your own, er, behavior.” By the end of this Mr. Blakiston’s ears were glowing.

Outrage bubbled up. “I took in a dairymaid that my cousin had ruined. Raped, in fact. She is fifteen! A child! And what of Edward’s refusal to permit my marriage?”

As her nearest male relative, the moment Stephen had died, Edward had petitioned the courts to name him her natural protector. He had no power over Haydon—Mr. Blakiston was her trustee—but he had the power to block any marriage until she turned twenty-one.

The lawyer cleared his throat. “As to that, apparently his lordship has made you an offer of marriage himself?”

Maddy clenched her fists at the hopeful note in her lawyer’s voice. “You think I should marry the sort of man who rapes the dairymaids? Yes, he did offer. I refused and he made it clear he would not consent to any other marriage for me! That if I did manage to get married without his consent he would have the marriage set aside. In fact, he has made it utterly impossible for me to fulfill the requirements of our grandfather’s will.” And not just by refusing his consent. He had smirched her reputation at every turn, making her a social outcast here in Newcastle. She doubted there was a gentleman the length and breadth of Britain who would have her to wife now. Certainly not one anywhere between the Tweed and the Tees. Not that she particularly wanted a husband, unless it helped her to save Haydon.

“I’m sorry, Miss Maddy,” said the lawyer quietly. “But unless you mounted a challenge in Chancery there is nothing you can do. His lordship takes possession of Haydon on the seventh of January.”

She didn’t have the money to mount a case in Chancery and her twenty-first birthday was not until Christmas Eve. Hardly sufficient time to find a husband before Epiphany in the best of circumstances. And now, with Christmas coming, she would have to tell her people that she had failed them. That she had lost.

“They would not give me until Lady Day?” she suggested. The end of March; that might be enough time...

Mr. Blakiston shook his head. “No, my dear. I did suggest that, but it was not looked upon favorably.”

Maddy’s heart sank. Her home and her people were lost. She knew what Edward would do. Kick everyone out, and demolish the manor for the dressed stone. All he wanted was extra acres for his sheep. He didn’t care about the people who would lose their livelihoods, families broken apart, children who would end up in factories.

The office door opened and a clerk put his head in. “His lordship is here, Mr. Blakiston, sir. Should I ask him to wait?”

Maddy went cold. “His lordship?” Surely—

Mr. Blakiston smiled reassuringly. “Lord Ashton Ravensfell, the duke’s brother. He has some business with me. You are acquainted with him?”

“Yes.” Memory swept over her and her clenched fists relaxed. “But I haven’t seen Lord Ashton for years. Not since he bought his commission.” She had cried her eyes out when he had gone to war.

Mr. Blakiston looked at the waiting clerk and a considering look came over his face. “Thank you, Felton. Show his lordship straight in.”

Biting her lip, Maddy accepted that as a hint. She had probably wasted quite enough of the lawyer’s time asking him to tilt at windmills for her. She rose. “I’ll bid you good day, sir. Thank you for—”

“No, no, Miss Maddy.” Hurriedly he rose and waved her back. “There is no hurry. I am sure Lord Ashton will be happy to renew his acquaintance with you.”

She flushed, gathering her documents. “No, I’d better go.” She’d been about fifteen when she had last seen Lord Ashton, and foolishly in love with him in the way that only a fifteen-year-old girl could be. She hoped devoutly that he’d never realized how her heart skipped at the sight of him and all the times she’d tried to imagine what it would be like if he suddenly swept her into his arms and declared his love. “I doubt he would remember—”

“Lord Ashton, Mr. Blakiston.” Felton the clerk was holding the door open.

Mr. Blakiston went forward. “Lord Ashton. I believe you are acquainted with Miss Kirkby?”

To her embarrassment, her heart leaped just as it always had at the sight of him. And then she froze, as bleak gray eyes raked her and a frown creased his brow as he stared at her. And not as if he recalled her at all, let alone fondly.

Lord Ashton, brother to the fourth Duke of Thirlmere, was not quite as she remembered him. Oh, he was still tall, and with that head of fair hair and sea-gray eyes that proclaimed his Viking forebears. And years of fighting Napoleon’s forces in the Peninsula had left him with all his limbs and no obvious scars. But there was an indefinable difference in him that had little to do with age and everything, she thought, to do with experience.

“Miss—?” The frown lightened a little, and his mouth achieved something that might have been a smile, but didn’t warm his eyes. “Of course. Miss Kirkby.”

He held out his hand, bowed over hers, exquisitely polite. Heat and cold swept Maddy as his gloved hand held hers, and she managed to get out a polite reply even as her heart still thumped and her pulse skittered.

God help me! It’s you again. Nuisancy brat!

She remembered him calling her that. Then he’d smile at her and tell her to tie her pony up and keep her misbegotten dog out of the way.

Those pleasantries aside, Ash Ravensfell had always had a friendly smile for her. Even when he was grumbling at her and threatening her pony and herself with a gruesome death if either of them stood on any of the Roman antiquities he had found near her home. Papa had never minded Lord Ash digging near the Wall.

No time for that nonsense. He’s welcome to it all.

Sometimes he’d let her uncover something he’d found. A coin, a piece of pottery, once a little bronze horse, its head upflung. He’d explained what the discovery was. What he thought it meant. Then the gray eyes had held laughter. Now they held ghosts, as if he’d found things he’d rather forget, and he mouthed stiff, polite greetings as if to a stranger.

He’s a duke’s brother. You’re far beneath him in the scheme of things.

Only, the Ash Ravensfell she remembered hadn’t seemed above her at all. He’d been a friend.

She got a smile onto her face, and made her excuses in a stultifyingly proper voice that even her great aunt Maria couldn’t have faulted, and left.

* * *

Mr. Blakiston saw her out, ignoring her protests. “Not at all, my dear. I am only sorry I cannot help you any further. I had better get back to his lordship. Rather an awkward commission. He wishes to buy a property of his own.”

Something about the way his eyes held hers alerted her. “A property?”

“Yes.” The lawyer shook his head. “Not too large, you know. And near the old Roman wall. His lordship is very interested in antiquities.”

“Yes,” she said slowly. “I remember that.”

Mr. Blakiston patted her hand. “Sadly, I have not the particulars of a single property like that to interest him yet. One or two that might do at a pinch, but I fear he will be disappointed. They are either too far away or too large. Well, I had best go and break the bad news. Goodbye, my dear.” And he squeezed her hand.

* * *

Maddy made her way slowly back toward the Three Shepherds Inn where she had stabled her horse and gig, stopping off on the way to buy tea, her mind spinning.

Her mind continued to spin as she left the tea merchant’s shop. Mr. Blakiston was usually the soul of discretion. She didn’t think he had ever, in all her dealings with him, had another client ushered in while the previous client was still with him. Of course, that might be because he no longer considered her a client. In just over a month she wouldn’t be. But then, why had he confided Lord Ashton’s business to her? He had a reputation for being closemouthed. He never gossiped about clients...did he? Surely he hadn’t been giving her a hint?

But what if he had? Was there a way to save her home? Her people?

She knew Ash Ravensfell. Or she’d thought she did. For all his familiarity, the man in Blakiston’s chambers just now had been a stranger.

But if he wants a property near the Wall...what if...?

She was nearly at the inn and her steps slowed. Christmas was so close. She would have to tell her people that there was no hope, unless—

“Well, well, well. It’s my little cousin. And did Blakiston break the news gently?”

Maddy looked up. Edward, Earl of Montfort, stood there by the archway leading into the stable yard of the Three Shepherds. Tall, dark, handsome, his aristocratic features had been known to make maidens sigh.

Maddy wanted to spit in them.

“Or were you looking for lodgings here?” Edward’s smile oozed gloating self-satisfaction. “Haydon will be mine on the seventh of January. You’d better start packing.”

It was his smug assurance that did it.

“You’re counting chickens rather early, aren’t you, Edward?” she said sweetly. “You really ought to wait until they’re hatched. And even then a fox might take them if the run isn’t secure.”

He laughed at her. “You’re a fool, Madeleine. If you’d had any sense, you’d have accepted my offer of marriage.”

“And spent the rest of my life protecting the dairymaids?” she shot back.

Determined to wrest Haydon back, he’d offered marriage only because he wanted everyone to know that he hadn’t simply kicked her out. That, and it would have made taking Haydon easier. Marrying him would have saved her, but not Haydon. He’d made it very clear that he intended to demolish the old manor for the building stone and the section of the Roman wall that marched across the estate.

He roared with laughter. “Did that rankle? Were you expecting me to save myself for you?”

“You mean, did I expect you to behave like a gentleman, Edward?” she suggested. “Good God, no.”

That wiped the smirk from his face and he came toward her. She held her ground, telling herself there was little enough he could do here in a busy yard.

“Everything all right, Miss Maddy?” called a stableman crossing the yard with a horse.

Edward swung toward him. “You’ll mind your own business, fellow, if you know what’s good for you!”

The man hesitated and Edward gripped her arm, ignoring him. “We’ll have a little talk in private, cousin,” he said in a low, hard voice. “And if you put up a fuss and one of these gapeseeds is fool enough to interfere, I’ll see that he loses his position!”

“A great many witnesses, Edward,” she said, digging in her heels. “Talk here.” The last thing she wanted was Jed the stableman interfering on her behalf and getting into trouble for it.

She bit back a cry as Edward’s grip tightened, and, exerting his strength, he began to drag her to the side entrance. Fear rose, a choking ball in her throat, and with her free hand she struck at his face, mentally cursing her gloves that made scratching impossible.

He jerked his head back to avoid the blow. “Bitch!”

“Miss Kirkby!”

Booted footsteps sounded on the cobbles behind them and with a muttered curse, Edward released her arm.

She turned, resisting the urge to rub her arm, and her heart, already pounding, skipped a beat. Lord Ashton stood there, gray eyes narrowed to blazing slits as he confronted Edward. Several stablemen had appeared and ranged themselves nearby, including Jed.

“I suggest that you leave the lady alone, Montfort,” Lord Ashton said quietly.

“Who the he—” Edward broke off, staring. “Good lord! It’s Ravensfell, isn’t it? I saw your brother the other day. He mentioned you were back.” He approached Lord Ashton, holding out his hand. “Traveling on the Continent, weren’t you?”

Lord Ashton merely stared down his nose, and Edward took an involuntary step back. He recovered, waving his hand at Maddy with a conspiratorial smile for Lord Ashton. “Just a little cousinly spat. You know how it is with women. I’m forever telling her she ought not to jaunter about alone, but will the silly chit listen to me?”

Lord Ashton turned to Maddy. “Miss Kirkby?”

She said simply, “My cousin desired some private conversation. Since I have nothing to say to him, and no desire to hear anything he may wish to say that cannot be said in public, I declined.” And she deliberately rubbed her arm where Edward had gripped it.

Lord Ashton’s eyes seemed to settle there and narrow to dangerous slits.

“That would appear to settle it, Montfort,” he said in a voice that might have been chipped off an iceberg. “The lady refused. In my book that always ends the matter.” A hint of scorn laced his tones.

Edward scowled. “See here, Ravensfell, you’ve no call to interfere. If my cousin and I—”

“Leave me out of it, Edward,” said Maddy. “I’ve no desire to speak to you. Unless, of course, you wish to discuss a settlement for Cally Whitfield. She’s expecting your child in a few months.”

Edward’s mouth opened and closed, and Lord Ashton’s chill-gray eyes widened slightly.

Maddy watched Edward, contemptuously. “No, cousin? I thought not.”

She turned away from him. “Thank you, Lord Ashton.”

He inclined his head. “Not at all. Are you returning home now?”

Maddy’s mind whirled. She’d intended to have Bunty put to and drive straight home. It was after midday. If she didn’t hurry, darkness would catch her before she reached Haydon. She cast a glance at the sky. It was bright and clear, and last night’s sunset had been brilliant. Red sky at night, shepherd’s delight. And there would be a moon if she needed it...

“Not quite at once, sir.” Her heart pounded at the sheer impropriety of what she was about to do, but she had no further doubts. “There is one piece of business I need to conclude.”

He nodded. “I see.” He glanced at Edward. “I cannot see that you have anything further to do here, Montfort. Unless your horses are here? No? Then, good day.”

Lord Ashton didn’t move. There was nothing overtly threatening in his appearance or voice. But something about the cold, gray eyes and his stance radiated a warning, and Maddy stared as her cousin, his eyes hard, turned on his heel and stalked out of the yard.

One of the lingering stablemen muttered, “An’ a good riddance, too.”

* * *

Five minutes later Maddy was ensconced in a private parlor with pen and paper provided by a very curious landlord. Her stomach still churned at what she was doing, not to mention the confrontation with Edward, and she fought to keep her hand steady enough to produce the perfect copperplate her governess had drilled into her.

It took her half an hour and several sheets of paper to say what she needed to say. Resisting the urge to read it over yet again, Maddy folded up her letter, wrote the direction upon it and affixed the wafer. She had made it as businesslike as she could.

Nothing venture, nothing win. And she had absolutely nothing to lose. She sent word for her horse to be put to, and sallied back out to the yard.

To find that Lord Ashton was waiting for her by the gig, his horse saddled.

* * *

“You’re escorting me home?”

Maddy Kirkby stared at him, her face crimson.

Ash resisted the temptation to touch a finger lightly to her cheek and find out if the blush really was scorching. Or if her skin was as silken as it looked. Instead, he held out his hand to assist her up into the gig. “Yes.” Her hand was gloved. That ought to be safe enough, even if the shock of seeing her again in Blakiston’s office had reduced him to inanities.

If anything her blush deepened. “There’s no need for that!”

He said nothing, just raised one eyebrow. Judging by her expression, that still annoyed her as much as ever.

“You’re going to insist, aren’t you?” she said, sounding as though her back teeth were clenched together.

He nodded. “I am.”

Silence sizzled between them for a moment. There was something about her. About the tilt of her chin and the narrowing of her green eyes that told him she was as stubborn a woman as she had been a child. He’d never realized how attractive stubborn could be.

With a snort, she accepted his hand and stepped into the gig. “Thank you,” she said. “Even though it isn’t necessary!”

“Thank you,” he said, fighting a wholly unexpected urge to grin. Stubborn, but definitely not stupid.

“For what?” she asked in a suspicious voice.

“For not wasting time and breath with an argument you weren’t going to win,” he said, watching as she tucked a fur rug about her legs. He’d be damned if he’d let her drive home alone. He swung into the saddle and followed her out of the yard.

There was too much traffic in the town to ride beside the gig, let alone converse, but once they were clear and out on the Corbridge road, he brought his mare up alongside. By then he’d noted that she was an excellent whip. Sure and steady, keeping the little mare well up to her bit. He wouldn’t have minded being driven by her. He also knew that his decision to escort Maddy home had been well-founded.

“Look, for what it’s worth, Maddy—Miss Kirkby, I mean—I have no doubt that you are perfectly capable of looking after yourself.”

She let out a breath. “You always used to call me Maddy. When you weren’t calling me a nuisancy brat.”

“You aren’t a brat anymore,” he pointed out. God help him, she was a woman. He knew that happened, of course he did, but—he swallowed, trying not to think about the stray, tawny curl that flirted beside her temple. “Are you saying I may still call you Maddy?” Something in him tensed. Maddy. It sounded so damn intimate. Last time he’d seen her she’d been about fifteen with a mass of springy, curly hair tied back in a ponytail he’d occasionally pulled. Now he ached to twist that stray curl around his finger, brush it back.

“Yes. If you wish.”

She was an old friend, he reminded himself. That was all.

“Then you had better drop the Lord Ashton rubbish,” he said. “It’s still Ash.” That was how it should be between friends.

“You thought Edward might waylay me, didn’t you?” she said.

And she was still as quick of thought as she had ever been.

For a moment Ash hesitated. “He thought about it,” he said. “He changed his mind when he saw I was with you.”

“What?”

He’d thought she hadn’t noticed Montfort lurking near the edge of the town as they drove out. She’d needed all her concentration on her driving to clear a dray.

She muttered something under her breath, and paled.

She feared Montfort?

“Who is Cally?” he asked.

Her mouth tightened. “A dairymaid. Who didn’t have anyone around to defend her when she said no.”

“I see.” And he did. The world was full of Callys. And unfortunately full of Montforts. Sadly, not so full of women like Maddy who would stand by the poor girl. “You’ve taken her in.”

A short nod.

“What did your brother say to that?”

Her shocked expression as she turned to him gave the clue.

“You didn’t know? But that’s why Edward—” she broke off. “I’m sorry. Stephen died six months ago.”

That’s why Edward what? He didn’t like to ask since she hadn’t volunteered the information. “I’m very sorry,” he said instead. “My condolences.” A thought occurred to him. “Er, am I still escorting you to Haydon?”

A queer expression flashed across her face, gone in an instant. “Yes. I still live there. Mr. Blakiston said that you are still interested in Roman antiquities.”

A change of subject if ever he’d heard one, but he accepted it. He felt relaxed in a way he hadn’t for a long time. Somehow, talking to Maddy about the Wall, his summer plans for excavating one of the forts he knew of, took him back to summer days before he’d gone to war. When Maddy had still worn her hair down, albeit tied back against the eternal wind that swept the fells. And those bright-green eyes had been nearly as quick to spot a half-buried potsherd as his own. He still had the little horse he’d found one day when she was there. A collector in Rome had wanted to buy it, but he hadn’t been able to bring himself to part with it.

They were still talking when they reached the turn off up to the village of Haydon.

Maddy halted the gig there, sheltered from the wind’s bite in the lee of the hedge. “I would invite you up, but it’s getting late. If you don’t turn back now—” She glanced up at the sky.

She was right, but the regret that shot through him was a complete surprise. He wanted to spend more time with her. Find out why she’d used that odd phrase—I still live there. His jaw tensed—find out why she feared Montfort. Did he own Haydon now? Somehow Ash didn’t much like the thought of that.

“Thank you, for accompanying me home,” she said, holding out her hand. “Not just because of Edward, but—” She stopped, her face flooding scarlet.

Because she had enjoyed his company? As much as he had enjoyed hers?

“I’ll see you in the summer if not before,” he said. And realized that he definitely didn’t want to wait that long. “You won’t mind my digging on Haydon land again?”

A queer expression crossed her face. Almost, he thought, it looked like guilt. “N-no. But we’ll need to discuss it.” She held out her hand.

“Of course,” he said. He leaned over to take her gloved hand, meaning only to say goodbye. For an instant her fingers clung and their eyes met. Slowly, giving her every chance to pull back, he turned her hand over, palm up. There, between glove and sleeve, was the merest strip of pale, tempting skin. Heat a swift rhythm in his blood, he raised her wrist to his mouth and brushed his lips over the place. Lord, she was soft. Tissue soft, silk soft. His lips lingered, and he breathed in a new world. Breathed in leather, wool, lavender and, beneath all that, the underlying fragrance of warm, sweet woman. For a fleeting instant there was madness, his fingers tightening involuntarily. And then his brain reengaged, banishing insanity. Reluctantly, rebellion pounding in every pulse of his blood, he obeyed its dictates and straightened, releasing her.