Lord Hunter's Cinderella Heiress. Lara TempleЧитать онлайн книгу.
to the bell-pull and gave it a tug. At least in this her memory had been accurate—he walked lightly, unusually so for someone of his size, but it just added to that sense of danger she had not associated with him at all from their meeting all those years ago.
‘Sit down.’
He tossed his gloves on a table and took her arm, not quite forcing her, but it was hard not to step back and sink into the armchair. It was as comfortable as it looked and for a moment she contemplated unlacing her shoes and tucking her cold feet beneath her, leaning her head against the wings, closing her eyes... Perhaps this would all just go away.
He stood above her, even more imposing now that she was seated. Neither of them spoke until the door opened.
‘Biggs, bring some...tea and something to eat, please.’
‘Tea?’
Nell almost smiled at the shock in the butler’s voice. Lord Hunter glanced at him with a glint of rueful amusement just as the butler caught sight of Nell. All expression was wiped from the butler’s face, but something in his stoic expression reflected the brief flash of amusement in his master’s eyes and Nell didn’t know whether to be relieved by this first sign of some softer human emotion from the man she was engaged to.
‘Tea. Oh, and send Hidgins to the Peacock and ask him to retrieve—’ He broke off and turned to Nell. ‘Let me guess—you gave them your real name, didn’t you? I thought so. To retrieve Miss Tilney’s baggage. Discreetly, Biggs. But first have him drive by Miss Amelia to tell her to wait up for me; I will be by within an hour with a guest for the night.’
Nell started protesting, but the butler merely nodded and withdrew.
‘I can’t stay with you!’
‘Don’t worry; I never invite women here and certainly not my betrothed. I will take you somewhere a damn sight more respectable than the Peacock is for a country miss with no more sense than to try to stay at one of the busiest posting houses in London without a maid or chaperon. You may not want to marry me, but I’m damned if I am going to have the woman whose name has just been publicly linked with mine create a lurid scandal through sheer stupidity. I admit your father and I agreed on the engagement four years ago, but I understood he would discuss it with you and inform me if there was any impediment to proceeding and that in any case it wouldn’t be relevant until you came of age.’
‘Because I wouldn’t inherit Bascombe until then, correct?’ she asked, not concealing her contempt.
He breathed in, clearly clinging to his calm.
‘Correct. I don’t see anything outrageous in wanting to ally the Bascombe and Hunter estates. I admit I should have probably discussed the matter with you myself, but since you disappeared from Tilney and since I was in mourning at the time, it seemed sensible to let your father discuss the issue with you. I had no idea he hadn’t done so and I had nothing to do with that gossip in the Morning Post. Believe me, I am suffering as much as you from that nonsense.’
Nell shrugged, her anger dimming, but not her depression.
‘That was probably my father’s heavy-handed way of trying to force my submission, but it won’t work. If I have to personally demand the Morning Post issue a retraction, I shall do so.’
‘No, you won’t, not unless you wish to escalate this into a full-scale scandal, which I, for one, prefer to avoid. We will deal with this discreetly and that means if you want my co-operation you will go to my aunts and once you are rested we will discuss our options. Until then I suggest we put a moratorium on this discussion. I never decide on important matters when I am tired, hungry and upset. I suggest you adopt this policy, at least for tonight.’
Nell didn’t answer and the tense silence held until the butler entered with a tray bearing a pot of tea and a plate of sandwiches.
‘We don’t have any sweetmeats, I’m afraid, sir,’ he said as he placed the tray in front of Nell and she smiled gratefully.
‘Never mind. I don’t like sweetmeats. This is perfect.’
The butler’s brows rose, creating a row of arched wrinkles on his high forehead. Again she saw the glimmer of amusement in the glance he directed at his master.
‘You don’t like confectionery, miss?’ he asked as he poured the tea, and both the action and the question surprised her. ‘Such a distaste is uncommon in young women, if you pardon the impertinence, miss.’
The scent of steaming tea was heavenly and her mouth watered. It occurred to her this particular servant was allowed a great deal of latitude, which surprised her given Lord Hunter’s controlled demeanour.
‘If my aunt is to be believed, my not liking sweetmeats is the least of my peculiarities. Thank you.’ She took the cup and saucer he held out to her.
‘You’re welcome, miss. But eat those sandwiches, do. Anything else, sir?’
‘No, thank you, Biggs. That is more than enough.’
Nell once again heard the mocking note in Lord Hunter’s voice.
‘Very good, sir. Shall I also send a message that you are...otherwise engaged?’
A flash of annoyance crossed Hunter’s face.
‘Yes, do that.’
Biggs bowed and withdrew.
‘I’m sorry I ruined your plans, but really there’s no need...’
‘It doesn’t matter. Eat something and I’ll take you to Amelia.’
‘I really don’t think...’
‘We’ve established that already. Eat up. And next time you plan to stay alone at major posting houses, use an alias. I suggest “Mrs Jones, widow”. Widows are granted more leeway.’
Nell was tired in body and soul, and disheartened, and miserable, and his brusque, matter-of-fact approach pushed her over the edge. Even the sight of the food wasn’t enough to counter the fury that caught her. She put down her cup and saucer with more force than grace and stood up.
‘What useful advice. I will apply it at the next hostelry. In fact, I will try it right away. Goodnight, my lord. Have a lovely life and when you speak with my father tell him to have a lovely life as well.’
He blocked her path, his hand closing on her arms firmly but without force.
‘Don’t be a fool. Come, I will take you to my aunts and tomorrow we will figure out what to do with you.’
‘You will not figure out what to do with me. I am not a...a witless dummy to be manipulated. I promised myself years ago I will never again be bullied and I don’t care how tired and hungry and upset I am, because if you say just one more nasty thing to me I will walk out of here and if you try and stop me I will scream at the very top of my lungs and enjoy every second of it!’
Once again his fleeting smile flashed.
‘I’m certain you will, for a moment. But it’s not very practical, is it? You would probably call the Watch in on us and you look done in and I don’t think you want to spend the next hour explaining the whole story to magistrates and strangers, do you? Can we compromise?’
‘Compromise how?’
‘You eat up and I take you to my aunts and then tomorrow we discuss this. Calmly.’
‘That isn’t a compromise since I still do what you want,’ she said, well aware she sounded like a resentful child.
‘Yes, but tomorrow you can send me to the devil and I will not lift a finger to stop you.’
‘That’s still not a compromise.’
‘Well, it feels like one to me. What on earth are you thinking of doing? You can’t go to the Peacock, especially now I’ve sent Hidgins for your baggage, and if you are contemplating doing something so rash, I just might choose to communicate