Tangled Reins. Stephanie Laurens
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to the effect that if I ever find you alone like that again I will personally ensure that you won’t sit down for a sennight!’
She gasped, green eyes wide in utter disbelief, whereupon he continued, his tone savage, ‘Oh, yes! I’m quite capable of doing so.’
Looking up into the implacable face, the hazel eyes almost black, she realised that the threat was no bluff. But by now she was every bit as angry as he was. By what right did this imperious man order her around and threaten her? Imperious, arrogant and totally insufferable! Normally the most collected of women, she struggled to shackle her anger and direct it specifically towards its source.
But Hazelmere gave her no time to vent her fury. Becoming aware that he was still holding her in full view of the coachyard, thankfully almost deserted, he abruptly turned her towards the inn and, one hand hard at her elbow, swept her indoors. ‘Which chamber has Simms put you in?’
Unable as yet to command her tongue, Dorothea indicated the door at the top of the small stairway.
‘Very wise! That’s probably the safest chamber in the inn tonight. You may not have a peaceful night, but with luck it should be free of unwelcome interruptions.’
Glancing at her furious white face and over-bright eyes, Hazelmere drew her on to the stairs. On the second step she swung around, thinking to give him a piece of her mind while he was on the lower step and not towering over her. But, correctly guessing her intention, he had slipped past her and continued to draw her upwards on to the small landing.
The landlord suddenly appeared in the corridor, heading for the back of the inn.
‘Simms!’
‘Yes, m’lord?’
‘A glass of your best brandy. At once.’
‘Yes, m’lord!’
Dorothea thought the request extremely odd, but dismissed it as yet another example of his lordship’s vagaries. She was more concerned with giving voice to her frustrations. Turning to face him across the small landing, she was disturbingly aware of his presence so close, and disliked having to look up such a long way to meet his eyes.
‘Lord Hazelmere! I must tell you that I find your manner of addressing me quite unacceptable! I do not at all accept your strictures on my conduct. Indeed, I do not know by what right you make them. Tonight was an unfortunate accident, that’s all. I’m quite capable of looking after myself—’
‘Would you really rather I had left you in the hands of Tremlow and company? You wouldn’t have found it entertaining, I assure you.’ Hazelmere, deciding that she could not be allowed to talk herself into hysterics, broke in smoothly over her diatribe. His words, uttered in a stonily bored tone, acted like a cold douche, effectively stopping her in mid-sentence.
He was again afforded a view of her thoughts as they passed clearly over her face. He watched the realisation that it was, in fact, due to him that she was not at this moment in quite desperate straits finally sink in. He had not thought it possible, but she paled even further. Watching her closely, he saw Simms approaching. He took the proffered glass, dismissing the landlord with a curt nod and the words, ‘I’ll want to speak to you in a few minutes, Simms.’ Turning, he held out the glass to her. ‘Drink it.’
‘No. I don’t drink brandy.’
‘There is always a first time.’
When she continued to look rebelliously at him he sighed and explained. ‘Whether you know it or not, you’re exhibiting all the symptoms of shock. You’re white as a sheet and your eyes look like green diamonds. Soon you’ll start to shake, and feel faint and very cold. The brandy will help. So be a good girl and drink it. If you won’t, you know perfectly well I’m quite capable of forcing you to.’
The glittering green eyes widened slightly. There had been no change in his tone and she felt no direct menace, as she had before. Then, looking into his eyes, she gave up the unequal struggle. She took the glass and, shivering slightly, raised it to her lips and sipped. Hazelmere waited patiently until she drained the glass, then removed it from her hands and dropped it into one of his cloak pockets.
As she looked up he remembered her unfinished errand. ‘I take it you’re travelling to London?’
She nodded. His face had softened, the harshly arrogant lines of ten minutes before had receded, leaving the charmingly polite mask she suspected he showed the world. She felt as if he had, in some subtle way, withdrawn from her.
‘What’s the name of your coachman?’
‘Lang. I’d thought to leave at eight.’
‘Very sensible. I’ll see he gets the message. I suggest you enter your chamber, lock the door and don’t open it to anyone other than the landlord’s people.’ The tone was calm, with no hint of any emotion whatever.
‘Yes. Very well.’ She was completely bemused. Her head was whirling—shock, fury, brandy and the Marquis of Hazelmere combining to make her distinctly befuddled. She pressed the fingers of one hand to her temple, forcing her mind to concentrate on what he was saying.
‘Good! Try to get some sleep. And one more thing: tell Lady Merion I’ll call on her the day after tomorrow.’
She nodded and moved to the door, then turned back. Still angry, she knew she was beholden to him, and pride forbade her to leave without thanking him, however little inclined she was to do so. She drew a deep breath and, head held high, began. ‘My lord, I must thank you for your help in releasing me from those gentlemen.’ Lifting her eyes to his, she found that this bland statement had brought the most devastatingly attractive smile to his face.
Wholly appreciative of the effort the words had cost, he replied, his voice light, ‘Yes, you must, I’m afraid. But never mind. Once you’re in London, I’m sure you’ll find opportunities aplenty to make me sorry for my subsequent odiously overbearing behaviour.’ One dark brow rose at the end of this outrageous speech, the hazel eyes, gently and not unkindly, quizzing her. The answering blaze of green fire made him laugh. Hearing voices below, he reached out a finger to caress her cheek gently, saying more pointedly, ‘Goodnight, Miss Darent!’
Speechless, she whirled away from him and knocked on the door. ‘Betsy, it’s me. Dorothea.’
Hazelmere, lips curving in a smile that, had she seen it, would have reduced Dorothea to a state of quivering uncertainty, drew back into the shadows as the door opened with an alacrity which spoke louder than words of the fears of those inside.
‘Heavens, miss! Come you in quick; you look white as a sheet, you do!’ Dorothea was drawn into the room and the door shut.
Hazelmere waited until he heard the bolts shot home, then made his way, pensively, downstairs. At the back door, he encountered Simms.
‘Simms, I have a problem.’
‘M’lord?’
‘I want to make sure those ladies are not disturbed tonight. You don’t perchance have a large burly cousin lying about, who could take up sentry duty on that stair?’
Simms grinned as he saw the gold sovereign in his lordship’s long fingers. ‘Well, as it happens, m’lord, my oldest boy has the most dreadful toothache. He’s been mooning about in the kitchen all day. I’m sure he could do sentry duty, seeing as you ask.’
‘Excellent.’ The coin changed hands. ‘And Simms?’
‘Yes, m’lord?’
‘I’d like to be sure those ladies get the very best of treatment.’
‘Of course, m’lord. My wife’s about to take their supper up to them now.’
Hazelmere nodded and wandered out to the middle of the coachyard, looking up at the stars, twinkling now that the clouds had cleared. He paused, apparently lost in thought. Jim Hitchin, his groom, stood a few yards away, waiting until his master acknowledged him. He had been Hazelmere’s