He snuffled like a hound and managed to pick a few elements of Mrs Marianne Turner out of the air—hmm, there was rose water to start with and something herbal and sharper underneath it...rosemary, perhaps, or lemon balm. Or was that the scent clinging to the pillow under his head after it was dried by fresh air and summer sun? Not a fancy preparation for a lady’s complexion or a faint drift of expensive perfume anyway—he could not imagine her spending a single penny more than necessary on her toilette. Perhaps those faint, clean scents came from a home-made washing ball. Yes, that seemed a good fit. From the clean and tidy but spartan state of this room he concluded Yelverton had naught to spare for many of the things Alaric took for granted. Yelverton would still lack them until he wed Miss Grantham, so the man’s sister must have worked her fingers to the bone to provide as many as could be had by hard work.
Alaric would be angry on her behalf if he had not realised she was so stubborn she probably insisted on doing everything herself here, even if Yelverton offered to hire someone to do the rough work. She would tell him to put the money into his land and livestock and let her work her way through this grand but neglected old house one room at a time. Alaric hated the idea of her doing everything except scrub floors and chop firewood and he would not put it past her to do even that if her brother let her.
He reminded himself of the reality of his life and the vast distance in station yawning between them, even if she was not still grieving for another man. He was interested in Marianne Turner as a potential companion for his niece in the real world where they both had to live. Getting her to see herself as a lady of gentle birth again was the first part of finding Juno someone she could feel at ease with now Miss Grantham was going to be married to Yelverton and far too busy with him and his tumbledown old house to take on any more responsibility. He could tell from that muttered conversation this morning Marianne was in a dilemma about the future and it seemed like killing two birds with one stone to offer her the post of Juno’s companion to save her from being preyed on or exploited by some ruthless future employer.
His hands tightened into fists again at the very thought of some unscrupulous seducer setting eyes on the unaware but lovely Mrs Turner and deciding to get her into his bed by fair means or foul. A jag of pain shot through his injured wrist and reminded him he was lying here like a useless block and in no fit state to hit a rake preying on an honourable man’s honourable widow. A widow who did not sound in the least bit receptive to a potential employer who had his own hot thoughts about her he would learn to live with. He was not important; it was his niece’s happiness that mattered now. And even Juno seemed to have abandoned him for more exciting people and events. He allowed himself to feel a little aggrieved about that while getting ready to resist Mrs Turner’s vibrant looks, natural charm and humour and all her other attractions for Juno’s sake.
Alaric eyed the narrow shaft of sunlight slowly working its way across the room and letting him know there were much better things to do outside if only he dared get out of bed. He huffed out a sigh of self-pity and gloomily counted out the least number of days he could spend in this old-fashioned, unexciting bedchamber before he dared risk defying orders and felt even worse. ‘Best go to sleep again and while away the time that way, Stratford,’ he ordered himself, ‘and make sure you do not dream of a sleepy-eyed siren who wants you as urgently as you want her this time.’ If willpower could get him well and out of here and Juno happy with the right companion to help her face the world, he had best march it out right away.
* * *
Marianne saw the doctor out of the front door, waved a distracted farewell then sat down on one of the ancient oak benches in the grand entrance porch with a heavy sigh. There was nothing she could do to keep Lord Stratford in bed and safely out of the way now all danger of him suffering lasting damage if he stirred had been officially pronounced over and done. She hardly had time to sit and dream of an uncomplicated life without any viscounts in it when she heard the sound of His Lordship’s uneven footsteps on the stone floor behind her.
She got up to eye the man with disfavour and tried to ignore the skip in her heartbeat at seeing him fully dressed and almost his arrogant self again. He was easily as handsome as the devil and could be every bit as dangerous if she let herself be beguiled by him. ‘I thought you were supposed to use a stick,’ she told him grumpily.
‘Find me one and I will.’
‘Stay there, then,’ she ordered him sharply and went to raid her late great-uncle’s store of them in his still-untouched study. Tempted by the mischievous image of a lord hobbling about the place with the aid of a roughly fashioned one from a country hedgerow, she snatched up a silver-mounted gentleman’s walking cane Uncle Hubert must have kept for best instead, before Lord Stratford limped in here in her wake. ‘Here,’ she said, thrusting the cane at him as she turned round to march back into the hall and found him only a few steps behind her. ‘Do you never stay where you are put?’ she asked crossly. She would never see him as a rich and entitled gentleman if he kept getting so close she could almost feel him breathe.
‘Not if I can help it,’ he said unrepentantly, swirled his new prop with his good hand and nodded approvingly as if he was surprised about not being given a hedge stick as well. ‘Now tell me what is to do here?’
‘Nothing as far as you are concerned,’ she told him with a frown—what was a still-injured viscount intending to do in another man’s house?
‘I never could abide doing that.’
‘Me neither,’ she said unwarily and saw him raise his eyebrows at such heartfelt agreement when they argued over most things.
‘Perhaps we should stroll about the ground floor of your brother’s house and take a look at what you Yelvertons laughingly call a garden. I need some exercise, you see, the doctor said so.’
‘He said a little gentle walk would do your ankle no harm, not that you should stamp about the place ordering everyone about and getting in the way.’
‘You do not know that I will,’ he objected quite mildly and held out the elbow of his good arm for her to hold.
She placed her hand on it before her head could order the rest of her not to be so witless. ‘I know you have been fretting for something to do and I heard you and Darius arguing about it while he was shaving you this morning,’ she admitted.
‘Did you, now—eavesdropping, Mrs Turner? How very unbecoming in a lady.’
‘I told you, I am not—’
‘And I believe I told you that you are very much a lady, like it or not,’ he interrupted before she could make her usual disclaimer.
‘And Lord Stratford’s word is law?’ she carped, mostly because she did not like being ridden over roughshod and a little bit because she was far too conscious of him walking at her side. She could feel his firm muscles flex under her fingertips and there was this silly sense it was right to walk at his side and argue over what should happen next and how they were to bring it about.
‘With you about to disagree I very much doubt it, but on important matters it is as well to be firm from the outset.’
‘And if you say I am a genteel widow I shall be one whether I like it or not?’
‘Precisely, so, as your brother and Miss Grantham seem determined to marry the moment the banns have been read, where are you planning to hold the wedding breakfast?’ he said as if that was her sorted out so now it was time for the next item on his list.
‘You two seem to have been confiding in one another like a pair of ageing spinsters.’
‘We are the only males in a houseful of females, so we men must stick together. He tells me Miss Grantham wants to have the wedding breakfast here, so where are you planning to serve food and drink and what about this dancing your brother seems to be dreading so deeply I think he envies me a sore ankle as an excuse to escape it?’
‘Does he, indeed?’
‘Yes, he says he has t
wo left feet.’
‘I have to admit he is right—he would never have made a staff officer since the Beau always insisted they could dance as well as they ride.’
‘I dare say Miss Grantham will love him anyway.’
‘I dare say.’
‘So where are you intending to hold all this dissipation at such short notice?’
‘The dining room and drawing room are the obvious places,’ she said, not quite ready to admit the two large rooms were beyond her in the scant weeks Darius and Fliss were prepared to wait before they married.
* * *
‘Hmm, difficult in three weeks, but not impossible,’ he told her after they had inspected the untouched rooms.
She had done her best to ignore them ever since she and Darius arrived in Herefordshire, although Darius would have been quite happy for her to put all her effort into them, but then he would have expected her to sit in the drawing room and receive his neighbours. She had far better things to do and no intention of being disapproved of by another set of genteel gossips after her experiences in Bath. So she concentrated on kitchens and bedchambers and the smaller parlour and morning room once used by the family.
‘As it is high summer, Miss Donne has suggested using lengths of muslin or gauze to make a pretend marquee and hide the smoke stains on the ceiling,’ she explained as they stood in the once-grand dining room. ‘And we can put flowers in front of the damaged wainscoting. Maybe the wedding guests will not look closely if the food is lavish and a good polish will hide a multitude of sins.’
‘In here, perhaps, but not in the drawing room where there is no feast or wedding toasts to distract them.’
‘Maybe after all those toasts they will not care the chairs are old-fashioned and worn and the cushions and curtains moth-eaten.’
‘Maybe not, but I owe your brother and Miss Grantham Juno’s safety and well-being. They gave her a place to run to when she was desperate and a roof over her head when she got here. I can never thank them enough for being here for her when I was too far away to realise what was going on. Making sure their wedding is memorable for the right reasons feels like the best I can do to say thank you to them, with your help, of course. My people can help bring it about if you will supervise.’
‘I know Darius will have already argued that you owe nothing.’
He stopped and frowned at the dust and neglect around them. ‘This fine old place has been left to tumble down,’ he said severely.
‘Yes, and I know when I am being diverted from a scent, Lord Stratford,’ she told him. ‘And what people do you mean?’
‘The servants at Stratford Park have been idle all summer so they might as well come here and make themselves useful before they forget how.’
‘And why do I feel as if I am being presented with a fait accompli?’
‘I have no idea,’ he said. ‘Perhaps we should look at the mess of weeds and brambles your brother calls a garden next,’ he added and they were already on their way out of the open front door so here was another one.
‘What about it?’ she said with an annoyed glance at the wilderness all around them. ‘And I do not think either of us would call it anything so grand.’
‘If it is tamed, the wedding guests can wander round it.’
‘Maybe it will be wet.’
‘Oh, ye of little faith,’ he teased her and somehow it was almost comfortable strolling along at his side as if she really were a lady.
It was so tempting to drift along in his powerful wake. ‘You are a very managing man,’ she told him curtly.
Chapter Ten
Alaric was doing so well at reining in his baser instincts until he paid more attention to the rebellious glint in Marianne’s eyes than where he was going. The tip of his cane slid on a patch of loose stones and quick as lightning she grabbed his arm, as if she thought he might break if she let him fall. He grasped her waist on an instinct he did not quite trust and told himself it was to steady them both. The novelty of being protected by a beautiful woman threatened all his resolutions not to kiss her, so he had to stop this before it got out of hand. He used his good leg to stop the slide and managed not to curse out loud in front of a lady, but however hard he tried to he could not make himself let her go.
‘You must take more care,’ she warned huskily.
‘So must you,’ he cautioned. He heard her breath stutter, then quicken. Her lips were parted and she licked them as if they suddenly felt dry and that was what really undid him. He was kissing her before his mind could scream no. It felt as if he had been starving for her mouth, her lips and her startled response as he deepened their kiss since the first moment he had laid eyes on her. And she gave herself up to their kiss as if this was what they were born for, so what had he been waiting for? You, an inner voice whispered.
With her lips soft yet demanding as they blotted out the world together, he felt as if they could do anything; be lovers; trust one another completely; be everything to one another. Heat and light and need shot through him and he groaned into her luxury of a mouth. He drew her closer, shaped the back of her head with shaking hands and opened his mouth on hers. And she met his tongue as he explored and teased hers—and that was the moment he took a step too far towards her and his stupid ankle slipped again.
This time he grabbed her close and shifted his balance on to his good leg to protect her from his clumsiness. He cursed himself for taking even the slightest risk with her. He should never have tried to kiss her on his first trip outside his spartan bedchamber in a week. He felt her stiffen and curve away from him even as they saved themselves from a tumble once again. Ah, yes, that was the truth of it; he should never have kissed her at all.
Breathless and flushed, she was even more delicious and desirable now she would not meet his gaze. When she tried to speak it looked as if words had deserted her. She shook her head and looked away. They had taken a huge step into intimacy, then a hasty jump back. He wanted to tell her he was glad and sorry for it, so he stood tense and silent instead. What an odd tableau if anyone could see them in this wilderness, but she was more important than who knew what and when.
He was going to live a very different life from his old one and to do it he had to renounce his best fantasy of Marianne love shot and heavy-eyed in his bed. She was a lady and the widow of a man who gave his life for his country. He wanted her to feel safe at Stratford Park if she agreed to become Juno’s companion and she was hardly likely to if she was afraid he would impose himself on her whenever they were alone.
‘I am sorry,’ he said stiffly. ‘I promise you it will not happen again.’
‘Good,’ she managed to say at last.
Of course she agreed; why would she not? He was not a very impressive figure with a weak ankle, sore wrist and poor record as a human being. ‘Please accept my sincere apology, Mrs Turner,’ he asked as they stood several yards apart.
‘I loved my husband, Lord Stratford,’ she said, then eyed him warily as if he might be about to argue, given her fiery response to him in that fleeting, glorious moment before she recalled who she was kissing.
‘I am sure you did, ma’am,’ he said stiffly.
She shrugged and looked as if she still could not find the words to tell him how much less than the late Mr Turner he was. ‘Don’t call me ma’am,’ she ordered him sharply instead.
‘No, m—’ he began, then hastily amended at her glare. ‘Mrs Turner.’
Juno. Remember how much her happiness matters, Stratford, he reminded himself sternly.
‘I am not usually so clumsy,’ he added.
‘You have an injured ankle.’
‘I am surprised you did not kick me in the other one and make it a pair.’
‘I should have resisted your kiss and you should not have kissed me in the first place—that is the beginning and end of the matter. We must try to forget it ever happ
ened.’
‘Very well, if that is what you want,’ he agreed. His inner idiot was jumping up and down, wanting to know where that much forgetfulness was going to come from. It did feel as if awareness of all they could be together was branded on his very soul by that hot and deliciously passionate kiss. No, he was a cold man at heart—he must be to have ridden away from London when Juno needed him. He was sure he could will all this heat and desire stone dead if he tried hard enough and she did, too.
‘I do,’ she asserted and they were in complete accord for once.
That was wonderful, but it seemed like a good idea to change the subject. ‘Stratford Park has been closed up for far too long,’ he said and saw her puzzlement and a suspicion his wits might have been addled by that blow on his head after all.
‘Indeed?’ she said cautiously.
They both stared at what had once been a gravel walk covered in climbing roses as if seeing the chaos ahead of them was a lot easier than trying to explore places neither of them wanted to go. The air felt heavy with unsaid words as well as the scent of a last Bourbon rose gallantly blooming in its hard-fought-for corner. Most of the ironwork had collapsed under other roses grown wild and a mass of ivy and brambles added by Mother Nature. Luckily the wild disorder reminded him what they came out here to talk about.
‘Even the servants sent to London to open up and run Stratford House for Juno’s debut will have returned to Wiltshire by now,’ he added, hanging on to his subject like a drowning man to lifeline.
‘I hope they enjoyed their holiday.’
‘If they did, it is well and truly over. Many of them are on their way here with my valet,’ he confessed.
‘Oh, really?’ she said at last and sounded frostier than he had hoped.
He had best carry on explaining himself before she packed her bags and stormed off to stay with her parents. ‘Your brother has agreed I can set them to work here instead of leaving them to argue endlessly at Stratford Park.’
Unsuitable Bride for a Viscount Page 10