Regency Christmas Proposals. Кэрол Мортимер
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Then what was he? How had he spent these last years in London? And could those pursuits possibly have something to do with the scars Amelia had discovered the evening before …?
Chapter Five
Gray was not in the best of moods as he handed the reins of his grey to the groom who had thankfully appeared as soon as he rode into the snow-covered stableyard on his return to Steadley Manor. Evidence that Ned, and hopefully Mr Davies, too, had been successful in persuading some of the servants into returning to the estate. As Gray strode purposefully towards the house he could only wish his own day had been spent as fruitfully.
To give the Earl of Stanford his due, the man had been only too happy to accept Gray’s apology—both for doubting the truth of his information and for Gray’s terse letter of response. And Alice, Stanford’s wife, had been warm in her sympathy. So warm and sympathetic, in fact, that after eating a delicious luncheon and imbibing far too much of a first-class wine Gray had felt comfortable enough in her company to broach the subject of Amelia. Most especially Gray’s immediate problem as to what to do with her whilst he spent Christmas at Mulberry Hall with the St Claire family.
A subject which in retrospect, Gray now accepted grimly, would have been far better left unsaid.
‘Will you join me for tea, Gideon …?’
Gray stiffened in the act of handing his hat and coat to the footman who had—again, thankfully—appeared as soon as Gray entered the house, slowly turning to face Amelia as she stood in the doorway of the Blue Salon. As usual she looked charmingly enticing, in a gown of cream silk, and the colour of her eyes was bright as she returned his gaze with innocent enquiry.
An innocence Gray would do well to remember in the future, he admonished himself firmly. ‘Tea?’ he repeated, with a delicate curl of his top lip.
‘Tea.’ Amelia gave a gracious inclination of her head. ‘Now that you are returned, I thought we might talk together as you suggested earlier …?’
The ride home had helped to dull some of the effects of the wine Gray had imbibed over lunch, but certainly not all of it. Neither was he any further forward—having totally dismissed Alice Wycliffe’s solution to the problem—in knowing what to do about Amelia whilst he travelled into Gloucestershire for Christmas.
‘We will only discuss how you wish to decorate the house for Christmas, if you would prefer, My Lord …?’ Amelia suggested tentatively as she obviously saw his frown of displeasure.
Gray’s scowl deepened just at the mention of Christmas, and he felt the beginnings of a headache pounding at his temple. ‘I have absolutely no interest in the subject of Christmas decorations!’
Amelia gave a lightly teasing laugh. ‘But we must at least bring in some holly and mistletoe! It will smell so wonderful, and—You had realised that Christmas is only a week away, Gideon?’
Of course Gray had realised. In truth, it had been part of his reason for visiting the Wycliffes. In the hope that they might offer to have Amelia with them at Wycliffe Hall for the holiday …
A hope that had been completely dashed once Daniel Wycliffe, a close friend of Hawk St Claire, Duke of Stourbridge, had informed Gray that he and his wife had also received and accepted an invitation to spend Christmas at Mulberry Hall. In fact it was their plan, due to Alice Wycliffe’s ‘delicate condition’, to begin a slow and leisurely four-day journey there on the morrow, in order that the Countess did not overtire herself.
‘You do intend being here for Christmas, Gideon …?’ Amelia looked uncertain at Gray’s continued silence.
That was a question Gray no longer had a straightforward answer to. His initial decision to come to Steadley Manor, deal with whatever needed dealing with here, ensure that his ward was being cared for, and then depart to Mulberry Hall for the Christmas holiday was no longer as clear-cut and decisive as it had once been.
Obviously some of the servants had returned to Steadley Manor whilst Gray had been with the Wycliffes, which would ensure Amelia’s comfort whilst he was away. But could Gray really just up and leave her here alone, apart from the servants, over Christmas? The warm and sympathetic Alice Wycliffe had not seemed to think it even a possibility.
The Countess’s solution to the problem?
Why, that Gray take Amelia to Mulberry Hall with him, of course! Which was utterly unacceptable!
‘Gideon …?’ Amelia prompted at his continued silence.
He did look wickedly handsome today, she acknowledged as a delicious shiver ran the length of her spine. So tall and darkly rakish, his hair slightly windswept from his ride, and his elegantly tailored clothes emphasising the width of his shoulders, the narrowness of his waist, and the long length of his muscled legs.
Elegantly tailored clothes that ably concealed that scarred chest and back …
And, of course, the bandage upon his arm, where Amelia had shot him the previous evening!
He gave her an impatient glance as he strode purposefully across the entrance hall. ‘I suggest we retire to the privacy of the Blue Salon for this discussion, Amelia.’
She did not much like the sound of that, Amelia acknowledged with a grimace as Gideon stood to one side to allow her to precede him into the blue and cream room. She had deliberately chosen this room in which to wait for his return, knowing that the blue drapes and chaise were a perfect match in colour for her eyes. An effect that, at the moment, seemed completely lost on the stiffly forbidding Lord Grayson.
‘Perhaps you prefer not to celebrate Christmas, Gideon …?’ Amelia sat down upon the blue chaise and leant forward to pour tea into the two cups she had requested in the hope that Gideon would return in time to join her.
Gray would prefer not to celebrate this particular Christmas! Would prefer to forget its very existence, in fact. ‘I believe I told you to call me Gray …?’
She gave a ruefully dismissive shake of her head, blonde curls brushing against her cheeks and nape. ‘I consider it too impersonal for our particular relationship—’
‘We do not have a relationship!’ Gray glared down at her fiercely as he stood with his hands clasped tightly together behind his back. And felt as if he had just kicked a defenceless kitten as he saw the sudden tears that welled in Amelia’s deep blue eyes at the fierceness of his tone. Except this young woman was anything but defenceless; she had shot him in the arm the previous evening!
She blinked long-lashed lids in an obvious effort to prevent those tears from falling. ‘It has become obvious to me that you resent having been burdened with my guardianship—’
‘I did not say that, damn it!’
She bowed her head, revealing the vulnerable curve of her nape as she murmured quietly, ‘You did not need to put it into words, My Lord.’
Gray did not need to do a lot of things. Mainly he did not need to take out his temper, his frustration with this situation, on someone who was completely innocent—at least in this particular matter. After all, Amelia had not asked to become his ward. Circumstances had placed her as much as he in their present position. Besides which, Gray could not stand to see those tears balanced so precariously upon the long sweep of her lashes …!
He crossed the room in long, impatient strides to sit down beside her on the chaise. ‘I am a surly devil this afternoon, Amelia. Please do not cry—’ He broke off abruptly as, with a choked sob, Amelia launched herself into his arms to bury her face against his chest, and her slender arms moved tightly about his waist as she clung to him.
Gray had managed, in his brief respite from Amelia’s physically disturbing presence, to convince himself that he had made too much of his attraction to her the previous evening. He had only felt it because he had thought to punish his ward’s companion for threatening to shoot him. The fact that he had enjoyed holding