Lord Hunter's Cinderella Heiress

by Lara Temple

  ‘I see. So I make you nervous?’

  She tilted her head to one side, considering him.

  ‘Actually, no. Which is strange. I should be more nervous around you than around anyone else here practically. Perhaps it is because you don’t take yourself seriously.’

  ‘I beg your pardon. I take myself very seriously.’

  Her smile returned, sunny and intimate, and he realised it was strange that she was treating him with such friendly ease on such a short acquaintance. Especially someone as sensitive as she.

  ‘No, you don’t,’ she said easily. ‘I think the list of things you take seriously is very short, but perhaps you regard those things as very particularly serious so that might atone for the rest. Oh, dear, that sounds very patronising, doesn’t it? I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just to say that I’m glad you decided to let me come to Wilton with you. I’m usually quite nervous the first day here until I settle in. It’s different having you here.’

  Hunter took a moment to work through his reaction to her casual but rather brutal dissection of his character. In anyone else he would swiftly discourage the freedoms she was taking, but beyond a reflexive rejection of anyone’s attempts to come too close, he really didn’t mind her less-than-complimentary observations.

  ‘You know the Welbecks and you must know some of the other regular guests as well. It’s rather strange that you would need someone who is essentially a stranger in order to feel comfortable.’

  If he had been fishing for compliments at the expense of the Welbecks, he came up empty.

  ‘Well, ordinarily after the first day I do begin enjoying myself, but I promise I won’t drop your acquaintance when that happens.’

  For a moment he nearly took her seriously, she looked so sincere.

  ‘Do you know,’ he said slowly, assessing her, ‘you may not have much experience flirting, but you certainly know how to tease.’

  This time she laughed openly and Hunter noted, and not completely with satisfaction, that as many eyes strayed to her as had followed Lady Melkinson’s manoeuvre. The main difference was that his betrothed clearly neither expected nor noticed the attention. One of those observers headed towards them and Nell’s smile wavered.

  ‘Hello, Charles.’

  ‘Hullo, Nell. You look like a princess in that dress.’

  Hunter watched in disgust as Nell blushed.

  ‘Meecham has agreed to let me take his bays for a turn tomorrow,’ Charles continued. ‘Will you come with me? That is, if Lord Hunter doesn’t mind?’

  ‘I’d love to.’ Nell nodded. ‘And of course he won’t mind, would you?’

  ‘Not at all,’ Hunter lied.

  ‘Perhaps we might even organise a friendly race with your team.’ Charles smiled, clearly extending an olive branch.

  ‘I think that would be up to Meecham,’ Hunter replied and Charles’s cheeks reddened at the rebuke, but the boyish smile held.

  ‘Obviously. Just getting ahead of myself. Well, there’s Mama come to herd us into dinner. You’re sitting next to me, Nell, so you can tell me everything you have been doing these past four years.’

  Hunter hoped that the Welbecks’ ploy in seating her next to Charles was as obvious to her as it was to him, but by the glow in her eyes he doubted it.

  * * *

  After dinner the men remained to savour their port and cheroots, but as soon as they joined the women in the drawing room Hunter watched as both Charles and the young man who had been seated on her other side during dinner headed towards the sofa where Nell was seated next to Lady Welbeck by the windows opening to the veranda. The evening was unseasonably warm and a set of long doors at the end of the drawing room had been opened and the lawn and gardens lit with hanging lanterns so the guests could stretch their legs and digest their meal.

  Hunter was tired and he was tempted to leave her to her little victory, but when the two men fell into a laughing rivalry over who would take Nell for a turn around the gardens, Hunter’s patience faded and he moved towards them. There was a limit to the leeway he was willing to grant her—having his betrothed, real or not, make a laughing stock of him by wandering a darkened garden with another man was just such a limit.

  ‘I believe in such cases the third option is often considered the least controversial.’

  ‘Are you willing to come in third? That isn’t what one hears of the members of the Wild Hunt Club,’ Nell said daringly, her shining look still very much in evidence, and his resentment faded. She looked very different from the timid girl he had seen when he first entered the drawing room that evening.

  ‘In this case the prize for third is well worth throwing the race.’

  She laughed and shook her head, but gave him her hand with an apologetic smile to the other men.

  ‘Don’t forget we are to go driving tomorrow morning, Nell,’ Charles tossed in with a smile that had lost some of its exuberance.

  ‘Now that your morning is so pleasantly accounted for, you are free to dedicate the rest of your evening to me,’ Hunter said, holding her gaze, and she pressed her full lips together like a child trying not to laugh. Behind her he spotted Charles Welbeck already moving towards Lady Melkinson, her coral-pink dress and gold curls glinting in the crowd like a tropical fish strayed into a village pond. He didn’t want Nell to have any illusions about Welbeck, but neither was he anxious to see her smile extinguished, so he guided her towards the terrace. Outside a large group of the younger guests were already gathering, the men laughing and the women flirting with their fans, and he led Nell down the lantern-lit path to a spot where they were caught in the shaded darkness of a yew hedge. He knew he shouldn’t risk their absence being noted, but he could use a moment of quiet.

  She didn’t speak, just waited with a look he was becoming very familiar with. Direct, curious and making it very clear that though she might be cowed in certain circumstances, there was an inner core of steel he wondered if she was even aware of herself. He sighed and shrugged out of his coat, draping it over her shoulders.

  ‘I know it’s not really proper to be out here like this, but I can’t stomach any more drawing-room conversation,’ he said truthfully.

  She tucked her arms into his sleeves and smiled as the ends flopped over her hands.

  ‘I’m not surprised. You must be exhausted after that long drive and I admit I have had enough for tonight as well. We should probably go to bed.’

  Watching her efforts to roll up his sleeves, Hunter wanted to agree wholeheartedly.

  ‘Wouldn’t that be a little improper?’ he asked politely.

  She glanced up, her dark gold brows gathering in confusion. Then realisation dawned and she burst out laughing.

  ‘Are you never serious?’

  ‘I am very serious. Very often. It just doesn’t always show.’

  Her face was still alight with amusement, but even in the gloom he could make out the return of her assessing look.

  ‘I think that was one of your honest moments, whether you meant it or not. Aren’t you cold? I feel guilty about taking your coat.’

  She moved to slide it off, but he caught it, holding the lapels and gently easing it back onto her shoulders.

  ‘I’m not in the least cold.’ That, too, was very honest. He wasn’t certain what was wreaking more havoc on his self-control, her comments or the sight of her wrapped in his coat, the dark cloth bracketing the pearly rises of her breasts above the silver and ivory bodice, their juncture marked by a single-tear pearl pendant hanging from a long chain.

  She might not be abundant like Lady Melkinson, but her breasts were perfectly shaped and they would fit marvellously in his palms... He must indeed have been more tired than he thought because it didn’t make any sense that he couldn’t just slide his hands under his coat to her waist and pull her towards him an
d do something about this rising ache, like stripping away that silvery sheen of a dress, leaving her in nothing but his coat, her hair against the dark fabric, her skin like moonlight and shadow underneath...

  Without giving himself time to consider, he gently plucked the pearl necklace from its resting place, the backs of his fingers skimming the silky skin that curved enticingly into the lace-lined bodice. The pearl was warm and he balanced it in his palm, feeling the heat rise from her skin not an inch from his, wondering what he was doing. She seemed to be wondering the same thing.

  ‘Is this significant? This necklace?’ he managed, just to say something, waiting for her to pull back, but she nodded.

  ‘Yes. It was my mother’s. Her father gave it to her when she married and it is the only thing I have from her that meant something to her. She never cared for jewels or fashion. She liked animals.’

  ‘Like her daughter.’

  Her alarm faded, replaced by her sudden smile. It was a wholehearted smile, full of love and the warmth of memory, and it pressed further at the edges of his control.

  ‘Not really. Or rather, much more than I ever did. She was only ever comfortable around horses. I like animals, but I like people more. Some people, at least.’

  ‘Some more than others. As with animals I would just advise you are certain they genuinely like you back before approaching them with overtures.’

  He should have kept quiet. Even in the dark he saw the flush of colour spread upwards from her bodice and she stepped back and he let the pearl slip out of his fingers and it snaked its way back down between her breasts. He stopped himself from following her, trying to ignore the thud of desire that was spreading through him.

  ‘I know I must appear very foolish to you,’ she said. ‘But I’m not as naïve as you think me. I saw him go to Lady Melkinson just now. I’m not surprised he is attracted to her; they’re both so very perfect, after all.’

  She was trying to speak lightly but he could hear the anguish in her voice. The need to reassure her battled with the need to maintain his distance. Whatever pretensions to save people from themselves that remained in him after his disastrous failures should be firmly confined to people he could ultimately walk away from like the veterans at Hope House. If this conceit that he could protect her was what had drawn him to this girl four years ago he should be thanking the stars she wanted none of him. He was no one’s champion. In fact, if he ever did decide to marry, he should probably choose one of those spoilt, shallow society misses London excelled in producing who needed nothing more from him than his title, an open purse and the chance to lord it over society. They would leave him alone much more effectively than his fictitious biddable country-bred wife.

  ‘Perfect? Are they? You have a rather shallow understanding of that term.’

  Her mouth parted in surprise at the mockery in his words and even in the dim light he could see colour rise on her cheeks. He waited for the hurt to push her away. Let’s just finish this.

  ‘I suppose I do.’ She frowned. ‘Beauty has a mesmeric effect, doesn’t it? The lakes are beautiful and when I look at them everything I see is tinged with a sense of well-being, but when you break down the landscape it’s just rock and ferns and water and people’s houses with regular lives. I suppose it’s a matter of perspective. But I don’t think my feelings for Charles are based on his looks. I’ve known him for years, you see, and he is a kind man, even if he is beautiful.’

  Her calm acceptance of his condemnation just raised his tension.

  ‘If we are talking about perspective, do you really think you have any on Welbeck? Not that it is really any concern of mine if you want to tie yourself to him, but you were a child when you knew him. Are you really willing to stake your entire future on a childish infatuation?’

  She raised her chin.

  ‘Perhaps I am. Children are not necessarily fools and their intuitions about people can be very sound. I was a child when I met you and I think my intuitions about you, despite our short acquaintance, were just as sound.’

  He wasn’t going to rise to that bait. This was just what was wrong with this girl. She didn’t stay where she was put; she had to go turning tables all the time. He barely resisted the childish urge to demand she hand back his coat.

  ‘We should go inside now.’

  She nodded, her mouth curving in a rueful smile. ‘You see? You really are better off taking my offer of the riverfront and being grateful you aren’t saddled with me after all.’

  She began slipping off his coat and he grasped the lapels, stopping her again. He shouldn’t ask. He knew he was going to regret it.

  ‘All right, what were your intuitions about me?’

  Her laugh was just a quick intake of breath.

  ‘Nothing bad. That you were a good person. That you were too aware of people...not just of people; that’s why you were so good with Petra... You thought of her before you thought of your own needs. You can tell a great deal about people from the way they are with animals. But I also remember not knowing if that calm you had with her wasn’t covering something else.’ She hesitated. ‘I didn’t know about your brother then. I do remember thinking you looked tired and very sad. I’m so sorry.’

  Nothing bad. All in all it was a rather kind, if damning, assessment. He should be flattered, not flicked on the raw. It was also confirmation that he was right—she was precisely the wrong combination of clever and needy. She was already tempting him to step back into his old and futile role of protector, except that in time she would probably see his pretensions for what they were. He didn’t need this schoolmistress dissecting him like a specimen at the Royal Academy. He didn’t want to live his life with someone like her constantly reflecting back his failures. She wasn’t one to let things be, and much more than he wanted to bed her, he wanted quiet. He wanted to be left alone.

  ‘We should go back inside,’ she said and handed him his coat and he put it on, aware of how her warmth lingered in the pliant fabric in a way that he knew was ridiculous.

  ‘You’re right. Let’s go in.’

  * * *

  Hunter woke with his fingers still digging into the mattress. He loosened them slowly, but otherwise didn’t move, letting the sweat cool on his skin which always felt pinched and raw after the nightmares. Eventually he turned and groped on the floor for the blanket he had thrown off.

  It had been worse this time. No, not really worse, just different. For the first time since the nightmares had started four years ago the images had changed. Not just Tim writhing in pain as their mother serenely plummeted off a cliff into a river of blood fed by Tim’s wounds. This time a new figure had been standing there, watching his futile efforts to stop the tragedy, her long hair streaming out and colouring the grey cliffs a silvery gold.

  Actually, it was worse. The curious, watchful pressure of her eyes had added shame to his agony and his sense of failure, but at least this time he had woken before he himself had been dragged down into that chasm as he tried to cling to Tim’s disintegrating body. That anomaly was also her fault—she had started walking towards them and he had tried to stop her and both Tim and his mother had slipped away before he could grab them and then he had woken, their names choking in his throat. It was a small mercy that he didn’t make too much noise during these nightmares, that the primary damage was to the bedclothes he scattered around the room and sometimes to his own skin.

  The house was very quiet, enough to hear the creaking of the wood and the distant cry of a night bird. He closed his eyes. His pulse was slowing, but the familiar sluggish mix of despair and disgust was taking the place of the frantic fear of the dream. He was so tired of this. There was nothing he could do about the guilt of failing his family, but he kept hoping he could at least, finally, be rid of these nightly accusations. Perhaps one night he might manage to stop them from destroying themselves. And hi
m. Not likely, though.

  He wished he could just rest.

  He was so tired...

  Chapter Eight

  Nell raised her face to the sun. It was still cool as Charles guided the curricle out the gates, but the bite of autumn was more than recompensed by a perfectly blue sky. She smiled in wonder that she was here, being driven by Charles, looking as good as Betsy could make her in a lovely pale peach jonquil pelisse over a sprigged muslin dress. All she needed to complete her happiness was the nerve to ask Charles to let her drive Meecham’s lovely team. After all, she had had no such qualms about demanding to drive Hunter’s horses and he was practically a stranger. It was peculiar to feel so much less comfortable with Charles, whom she knew so much better.

  ‘So, Nell, tell me what you have been doing these past four years. Breaking hearts in the Lake District?’

  Nell’s attention was on the way his whip snapped at the leaders as they came over a gentle rise, resisting the urge to tell him not to hold the reins quite so tightly.

  ‘Hardly. I have been too busy teaching.’

  ‘Teaching? As in schoolmistress?’

  Nell tried very hard not to stiffen at the shock in his voice as she had yesterday with Hunter. Apparently this concept was hard for some people to grasp.

  ‘Yes. I happen to enjoy it. Very much.’

  Charles looked at her briefly and then smiled.

  ‘That’s nice. Will you miss it when you’re married?’

  ‘I won’t stop teaching just because I marry. I am even planning to open a school. Not right away, I will need to find the right people and, well, there are a lot of considerations, but eventually.’

  His eyebrows disappeared beneath the tumbled locks of golden hair on his brow and she forced herself to change the subject before she completely scared him off.

  ‘How are your stables faring?’