"You are refreshingly honest, Miss Bolton," was his response.
"I'm glad you approve. Most people find it shocking."
"By most people, you mean your mother?" he guessed with a grin.
"And my sister."
"You have a sister? Does she also indulge her hobby at the surgery?"
Mariah guessed from his tone that he knew exactly what she did at the surgery and that she wasn't some spoiled debutante whose father indulged her silly whims.
"Lord, no!" she exclaimed now, "Lillianne would faint clean away if she had to get her hands dirty."
At this, Mr. Haverton gave a bark of laughter which did funny things to Mariah's insides.
"She is not like you?"
A gurgle of laughter escaped her.
"She is frivolous, flirtatious, well-behaved and beautiful," said Mariah as they reached the stables, "so, no. Not like me at all."
Mr. Haverton frowned at her.
"If she is beautiful, she is like you," he said quietly.
Mariah ignored him because really, he shouldn't say such things and she hadn't a hope of resisting him if he continued to do so.
"Here we are," she said instead, leading him in to where his horse was being fussed over by Jimmy, the stable boy.
"'Tis a beautiful animal you have here, sir," Jimmy said as Mr. Haverton approached.
Mariah didn't listen to his response as she set about readying the horse and gig but she could see him smiling at young Jimmy and she was grateful to him for it.
Jimmy had come to them hungry and alone some years before, after his father had left and his mother had passed away. Mrs. Yates had brought him to Dr. Bolton for treatment of a broken leg, though he would not say how it had been broken, and once he'd recovered the good doctor had offered him a roof over his head and work in the stable. It had proven to be a good decision for all involved, for Jimmy was a pleasant lad and a hard worker.
"Miss, let me do that," he suddenly spoke from behind her.
Mariah dutifully stepped back and watched as he attached the gig to Bonnie, their biddable mare.
"Miss Bolton, you will surely freeze without a cloak or bonnet," Mr. Haverton's voice sounded behind her, startling her and exciting her all at once.
She could feel the warmth of his breath on her neck and knew that if she stepped back just a fraction, her body would come into contact with his own. The temptation was almost overwhelming but the man made a good enough point to distract her.
He was right.
There was no way she could travel in just her gown. Warm as it was, it would be no use against the bite of the winter wind. And the fichu she wore at the neckline was no substitute for a heavy cloak.
Mariah frowned in consternation. "You're right," she admitted. "You make your way back now, and I shall come directly."
"I do not mind waiting."
"Well, I mind you waiting," she blurted out then coloured at his raised brow.
That had sounded unpardonably rude and he hadn't been rude at all today. She wondered if there was something wrong with him, actually, since he was so different to yesterday.
"That didn't come out right," she said with what she hoped was an endearing smile. "It's just, well, my mother doesn't actually know you are here and if she were to find out it would be, er, difficult for me."
"How so?"
"Well, frankly, because she'd either try to have you married off to me or my sister before you'd finished introducing yourself. She would absolutely forbid me from working at the manor house if she knew you were in residence. And…" She felt a familiar blush blossom in her cheeks "…I may have intimated that you had a family. A large one."
His brows rose again. "How large?"
"There was possibly a mention of children coming out of your ears," she admitted unenthusiastically.
"Ah."
"Quite."
"Well then, I suppose I shall see you at the manor house."
"You're not angry?"
"Frequently. But not with you. And not about this," he answered cryptically.
Mariah didn't waste time wondering at his meaning, however. She watched as he rode out onto the road. Then she turned and snuck stealthily back into the house to retrieve her cloak.
So much for not seeing him again.
CHAPTER SIX
Mariah looked up from the books littering the table in front of her and stood to stretch out her cramping limbs, her eyes moving to the large window. She started in surprise at what she saw; during the long hours that she had spent ensconced in the cosy library, immersed in her work and kept warm by the dancing fire, the weather had worsened dramatically. It had gone from dry and overcast to lashing with heavy snow and Mariah was kicking herself for not leaving earlier when Fernshaw had suggested it.
But she'd just discovered a marvellous collection of what she suspected were first edition encyclopaedias and she was impatient to get them catalogued so that she could inform Mr. Haverton about just what a treasure he had purchased.
It had absolutely nothing to do with just wanting to see him again, she told herself stoutly. She didn't believe herself one bit.
"Miss Bolton." The butler's voice sounded from the door.
"Come in, Fernshaw. I am afraid that you were right earlier. Could you please have the gig readied at once? I daren't wait any longer to return to the village."
"Miss Bolton, I am not sure that you should be travelling in such conditions. Unless I am very much mistaken, there is a blizzard on its way."
"All the more reason to leave now," she said injecting her tone with a lot more confidence than she felt.
The truth of it was that the thought of travelling alone in this weather, even on roads she knew like the back of her hand, was scaring the wits out of her. But what choice did she have?
"Very well, Miss Bolton," said Fernshaw, though he sounded less than pleased about it.
Mariah took one last worried look out of the window then quickly donned her cloak and bonnet.
She had been an utter fool to become so engrossed in her work that she barely paid attention to the candles being lit around the room and the fire stoked to a blaze by a quiet-as-a-mouse maid. The servants were too good at their jobs, that was the problem. If the maid had stomped about it might have brought her out of her all-consuming concentration on the books.
Mariah made her way to the front hall and opened the door to gaze out.
It was worse than she feared.
An icy blast raged through the hallway as soon as she opened the door, so strong that it pulled the heavy wood from her hands.
She could barely see anything in the flurry of white lashing down in front of her. The ground was already blanketed in thick snow and it was falling heavier by the minute.
Mariah gulped in fright, standing back to allow a footman to bolt the door.
"Miss Bolton."
The sound of Mr. Haverton's voice had her head whipping round to face him, a worried frown tightening her forehead.
"Where are you going?" he asked sternly.
"I thought it was best that I should leave now, Mr. Haverton, before the storm worsened."
He stared at her incredulously before shaking his head.
"Tell me you are not serious. You cannot travel in that."
"What choice do I have? I must return home. I've already asked Fernshaw to have the gig prepared."
She drew to a halt as Mr. Haverton began shaking his head.
"I caught up to him on his way out to the stable. I told him what I'm telling you; there is no way you are leaving this house in that weather."
"But, but — I — y-you can't—"Mariah spluttered to stop, gazing at him in amazement, trying desperately not to be distracted from her ire by the sheer force of his magnetism, by the inexplicable and powerful pull she felt toward him whenever he was near.
Haverton frowned at her for a moment before his expression cleared, and he smiled pleasantly.
"An eloquent argument, Mis
s Bolton but my decision remains unchanged."
Mariah rolled her eyes at his sarcasm. This wouldn't do. She couldn't stay here all night. She just couldn't. "Mr. Haverton, surely you understand. I cannot stay in this house alone with a man. I will be ruined."
"I would rather you were ruined than dead, Miss Bolton. Besides, you said yourself your mother doesn't even know I'm here."
"Earlier today she did not know. But you said you'd been in town searching for me. And in that case, she already knows and is no doubt awaiting my return so she can pump me for information and then murder me."
Mariah did not appreciate his sudden bark of laughter one bit.
"'Tis not funny, sir. You have no idea what she's like."
"No, nor do I want to by the sounds of it. But I cannot allow you to travel in such weather, Miss Bolton. I couldn't in good conscience let anyone travel in that. I especially can't allow you to."
"Why especially me?" she demanded hotly. Was he accusing her of being less capable than someone else?
He shook his head, smiling bemusedly and shaking his head. But as he stepped forward, the smile fell from his face and suddenly his eyes blazed with an unholy fire. "Because, contrary to first impressions; I am not a monster, and I do care for the general safety of the people I know. And I am starting to care very much about you."
"You don't even know me," she argued breathlessly.
Mariah thought that if she could talk him into being sensible about whatever this was between them, then at least one of them would be. Because she certainly wasn't going to be.
His lips twitched as he answered her. "I know you well enough to know that you are a constant source of irritation, bewilderment and frustration."
Mariah frowned. That wasn't terribly romantic. It wasn't that she wanted him to be romantic, of course. But still.
"Oh, well. Sorry," she answered lamely, not really sure what to say in the face of a list of her faults.
"You must be wondering why I care in that case, hmm?" he asked, a sly smile on his mouth.
Maria was feeling decidedly miffed and her ego was very much bruised.
"I don't care to know why you care," she answered snippily, confusing even herself with the convoluted statement and apparently amusing him greatly.
"Do you know, I thought that these weeks leading up to Christmas would be quiet and uneventful? I couldn't have been more wrong."
Mariah sighed and tried to calm her rising temper.
"Really, Mr. Haverton if my presence is so irritating and, and bewildering—"
"And frustrating," he supplied helpfully.
"And frustrating," she said with a glare, "then I rather wonder at you insisting that I stay. I appreciate that I'm not quiet but once again, I feel I must point out you sought me out. Not the other way around."
"Miss Bolton, please do not misunderstand. Your presence is all of those things but that is not to say that I do not want you here. You are irritating because you do not let me sulk as I should like. You are bewildering because, well, you're you."
This earned another scowl. But he ignored it.
"And you are frustrating because whether I'm right here beside you or on the other side of the house, or even the other side of the village, I cannot stop thinking about doing this."
She knew it was coming and she wanted it more than she wanted her next breath.
As soon as his strong arms wrapped round her, she was lost.
His kiss was just as powerful as yesterday's. Perhaps even more so.
Two days. She had known him only two days and had been kissed as many times by him.
She was a shameless wanton.
And she didn't care a jot.
The sound of approaching footsteps penetrated the fog of Mariah's brain but it did not stop her from wrapping her arms round his neck, running her fingers through his silky hair as she had longed to do every time she saw him do it. Apparently though, he was either a lot less affected by their kiss, or he was infinitely more sensible than she for he gently prised her fingers from his person and set her away from him.
Mariah felt the loss of contact and instinctively moved toward him but he stumbled back, issuing an oath as he went.
"Good God woman, you're as tempting as sin itself."
Mariah smiled at his compliment and took another step toward him but he took another back.
"Stay where you are," he bellowed, almost making her jump out of her skin.
Why was he shouting at her? Surely he wasn't angry. He had kissed her, after all.
"I'm sorry, I just – if you come near me I'm not going to be able to stop and somebody is coming."
Mariah smiled again. All the longing she felt for him just increased with his words.
"For God's sake Mariah, don't look at me like that," he hissed and she blinked in surprise. He had used her given name and it did funny things to her stomach to hear it on his lips.
"Like what?"
"Like you want my hands on you as much as I do," he said bluntly.
Good heavens. The man was going to have her heart bursting clean out of her.
A tap on the door signalled the arrival of Fernshaw.
"Sir," he said, his face totally expressionless, "the room has been prepared."
"Thank you, Fernshaw," Mr. Haverton sounded remarkably calm given what had just transpired.
Without another word, the old butler bowed and left, rather tellingly leaving the door open behind him.
Mr. Haverton smiled wickedly. "It seems you have a protector in Fernshaw, my dear."
"I do?"
"Leaving the door open," he explained, nodding towards it, "no doubt to ensure that I don't attack you where you stand."
"He should mind his own business," Mariah grumbled unthinkingly, wanting more than anything to feel his hands on her again.
His bark of laughter drew a rueful smile from her own lips.
"My housekeeper Mrs. Jones doesn't arrive until the end of next week, so in her absence I'll have one of the maids show you to your room. I would offer to do so myself but I don't think that's very safe," he said bluntly, eliciting a gasp of completely inappropriate excitement from her. "Besides, I think I need some time alone to, er, recover from our activities."
Mariah had no idea what he meant but the mention of their "activities" was enough to heat her blood all over again.
"Will you join me for dinner?" he asked, all politeness.
"Well, I have to really, don't I?" she answered in that unthinking way again.
"You flatterer, you."
She ignored him.
"My mother will be beside herself with worry," Mariah said, secretly thrilled at the thoughts of staying here with him but not wanting to show it.
"As soon as it is safe I will send word," he said gently, "but nobody would expect you to travel in that."
"You haven't met my mother," Mariah mumbled.
At that moment the maid arrived to escort Mariah to a guest room.
"Until dinner," Haverton said, raising her hand to his mouth to place a soft kiss on the back of it.
Mariah was suddenly overcome with a rush of tender emotions that had no business making themselves known after a two day acquaintance.
She nodded and fairly flew out of the room, causing the maid to increase her pace dramatically.
The sooner Mariah was alone, the sooner she could breathe properly.
The room to which Mariah was shown had obviously been cleaned, but just as obviously had not been redecorated in many years.
Though a roaring fire brought a welcome heat to it, the paper-hangings were faded and even worn in places and held an air of neglect.
"I am sorry, ma'am," said Dora, the maid who was escorting her. "We weren't expecting no guests yet."
Mariah smiled at Dora and quirked a brow. "Ma'am?" she repeated. "Dora Hall I have known you since you were a babe. What is all this 'ma'am' nonsense?
Dora grinned and sighed in relief. "I'm just trying to do me job
properly, Miss Bolton."
"You're doing an excellent job. Just don't call me ma'am!"
Dora laughed then sobered as she looked at Mariah with worry etched on her face. "Your mum is going to be that angry, Miss Bolton, when she finds out you're here alone with Mr. Haverton."
Mariah grimaced.
"I know, but what can I do? I know Mama would expect me to risk frostbite and certain death to get home but she is the only person outside of Bedlam to do so."
Dora laughed, though it was hesitant. The entire village knew better than to laugh at Mrs. Bolton.
"Would you like me to stay with you in here tonight? As a witness, like."
"A witness? Good heaven's Dora the man is hardly going to sneak into my bedchamber." More's the pity. "I shall be quite alright."
"Well, if you're sure?"
"I am. Quite sure."
"Very well, Mariah," said Dora cheerfully and Mariah was pleased that she'd dropped the stiff formality of 'Miss Bolton'.
"Mr. Haverton has instructed that you should have a bath brought up and a fresh gown for dinner," Dora continued.
"Well, that's very nice of him but where on earth am I to get a fresh gown from?"
"Oh, the lady's trunks arrived with Mr. Haverton, or at least some of them did. He said she would not mind if you were to use one."
Mariah's heart skittered to a halt at Dora's words and she felt as if her stomach had dropped to her kid boots.
The lady?
Her mind whirled as she thought of the ramifications of Dora's words.
But she'd asked him! He'd said he was not married.
Mariah thought sickeningly of the letter she had read that day Mrs. Yates had visited with the request that she tend to the library.
Mrs. Yates had made it quite clear that he was unattached. And he himself had said as much.
And yet, the letter had said 'they' and not 'he'.
"Oh, my God," Mariah whispered, not knowing she had spoken aloud. He had lied about not being married. The cad! What was he about? What sort of sick game was he playing with her?
"Mariah, are you alright? You look as though you've seen a ghost."
Dora's voice sounded very far away but Mariah gulped in a breath of air and tried her very best to act normally.
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