A Regency Courtesan's Pride: More Than a Mistress / The Rake's Inherited Courtesan. Ann Lethbridge
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he said.
‘Oh, my.’
The first thing she’d said that hadn’t surprised him, he realised. Which in and of itself was surprising.
‘What are you doing in these parts?’ she asked.
‘I’m going to Durn.’
‘Mountford’s estate. Oh, you are that marquis. You still have a long way to go.’
‘I do. I plan to put up in Skepton for the night.’
They reached the top of hill and the road flattened out. The clouds seemed closer to earth up here, the wind stronger, more raw, more determined to find a way beneath his coat.
She inhaled deeply. ‘It’s going to snow.’
Charlie glanced up at the sky. The clouds looked no more threatening than they had when he set out earlier in the day. ‘How can you tell?’
‘I’ve lived on these moors all my life. I can smell it.’
He tried not to smile. He must not have succeeded because she huffed. ‘You’ll see,’ she said. ‘I can smell when it’s going to rain, too, or feel it on my skin. You have to feel the weather or you can get into trouble out here on the moors.’
He chuckled under his breath. ‘Like running off the road?’
‘That was not my fault,’ she said haughtily. She glanced back over her shoulder at her horses. ‘I think his limp is getting worse.’
Charlie didn’t much fancy leaving the horse out here, but he might be forced to do so if the animal became too lame to walk. He slowed his team down a fraction. ‘How much further?’
‘Two miles. Turn right at the crossroads.’
At this rate it was going to be midnight before he reached the next town. Blasted woman wandering around the countryside alone.
‘You can leave me at the corner,’ she said.
Had she read his mind? More likely she’d seen the disgruntlement on his face. Clearly, he needed to be more careful about letting his thoughts show. ‘I will see you to your door, Miss Draycott.’
‘Pigheaded man,’ she muttered.
Definitely not a lady. Most likely bourgeoisie, with lots of money and no refinement.
As they turned at the crossroads, white flakes drifted down and settled on the horses’ backs where they melted and on Charlie’s coat where they did not.
‘See,’ she said.
He shot her a glance and realised that she didn’t look all that happy about being proved right. ‘Should we expect a significant amount?’
She shrugged. ‘Up here on the high moors? Like as not. The wind will drift it, too.’
Hardly comforting. The few flakes turned into a flurry, and pretty soon he was having trouble making out the road at all. Only the roughness at the verge gave him any clue he was still on track since there were no trees or hedges. Even that faint guide wouldn’t last long. There was already a half-inch of pure white blanketing everything in sight. In the growing dusk, he was beginning not to trust his vision.
She gave a shiver and hunched deeper in her coat.
The cold was biting at his toes and fingers, too. If it came to a choice between the lame horse and the two people in the carriage, he was going to have to choose the people, even if he valued the horses more.
‘There,’ she said, pointing.
A brief break in the wind allowed him to see the outline of a square lump of a house. A monstrous ugly house. Not what he’d been expecting. Though he should have, given the expensive clothes, the fashionable phaeton and the mode of speech.
‘Good,’ he said. He glanced back. The lame horse didn’t seem any worse though it made him wince to see how the animal favoured his right front leg. ‘I assume you have someone who can care for that animal?’
‘Yes.’ She turned in her seat, her knees bumping slightly against his and sending every nerve in his body jangling.
Her eyes widened as if she, too, felt the shock.
It was the cold. It couldn’t be anything else.
‘You will stay the night, of course,’ she said.
He opened his mouth to refuse.
‘Don’t be an ass,’ she said. ‘You won’t find your way back to the main road.’
He raised his gaze. All sign of the house was gone. The snow was blowing in his face and it seemed a whole lot darker than it had a minute or two before.
‘It looks as if we will not find your house after all.’
‘Let the horses have their heads. They will keep to the road. Since I’m expected, someone is sure to be waiting at the gate with a lantern.’
They should not have let her drive out alone, and he intended to tell them so, but he did as she suggested. It felt odd, handing control of their lives to a couple of dumb beasts, but their ears pricked forwards as if they knew where they were going when he let the reins hang slack. After only a minute or two, he saw a light swinging ahead of them, a faint twinkle rocking back and forth. Within moments a wizened man in a coachman’s caped coat was leading them between the shadowy forms of a pillared gate. They rounded a turn in the drive and more lights glowed through the swirling snow. They pulled up at a magnificent portico.
Two more men rushed out of the dark with lanterns.
‘We’ll see to the horses,’ the coachman bellowed over the wind. ‘Get yourselves inside afore ye perish, Miss Draycott.’
One of the grooms helped her down.
Charlie jumped down on his side.
‘This way,’ Miss Draycott called, hurrying up the steps.
Charlie followed. The blast of heat as the front door opened let him know just how cold he’d become.
Merry stripped off her coat and handed it to Gribble, whose smile expressed his relief.
‘We were beginning to worry,’ he said.
‘Gribble, this is the Marquis of Tonbridge.’ She gestured towards the stern dark man who was looking around him with narrowed eyes. She suppressed a chuckle. Grandfather’s idea of the style of a wealthy industrialist was a sight to behold. ‘My rescuer will need a room for the night.’
Tonbridge’s gaze shot to her face, dropped to her bosom as he took in the low-necked green muslin gown. It barely covered her nipples. She’d worn it quite deliberately today. Clearly her guest did not approve, for his firm lips tightened, before his gaze rose to her face again.
She cast him a flirtatious sideways glance. ‘You don’t have a choice, my lord.’
‘The green chamber is ready, Miss Draycott,’ Gribble said. ‘I’ll have Brian bring up your valise, my lord. He will serve as your valet while you are here. May I take your coat?’
Still frowning, Tonbridge shrugged out of his fashionably caped driving coat and handed it over, along with his hat and gloves. The lack of a coat didn’t make him look any less imposing. His black morning coat clung to his shoulders as if it had been moulded to his body, an altogether pleasing sight. Or it would be if she cared about that sort of thing. Without his hat, his jaw looked squarer, more rugged, but the smooth wide forehead and piercing dark eyes surprisingly spoke of intelligence. She doubted their veracity, because although his thick brown hair looked neat rather than fashionable, his cravat was tied with obvious flare. It must take his valet hours to turn out such perfection.
Merry knew his sort. An idle nobleman with nothing to do but adorn his frame. And there was plenty of frame to adorn. A good six feet of it, she judged. Tall for a woman, she still had to look up to