A Regency Courtesan's Pride. Ann Lethbridge
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rose to his feet. ‘Yes, Merry, why? Who would want to cause you serious harm? You could have been thrown from the carriage and killed, or died in the snowstorm.’
Her heart stopped. Bile rose in her throat as she stared into the concern on his face. The world seemed to spin around her head as she tried to breathe.
Slowly her heartbeat picked up again. She managed to take a breath. ‘I can’t think of anyone’ Her voice tailed off as she remembered the mill owners’ faces at the guild hall. Angry red faces. And one very worried-looking Mr Prentice.‘Oh, dear.’
Was it possible one of them hated her so much he wanted her dead? Or all of them? Men she’d known all her life? The backs of her eyes burned. Her chest hurt. She wanted to bury her face against Tonbridge’s shoulder and weep like a child.
‘Who, Merry?’ he demanded, his voice almost a growl. ‘Who wants to hurt you?’
She turned her face from his irate gaze. ‘You are mistaken,’ she said dully. ‘It must be an accident.’
‘The evidence is clear and it seems to me you know who did this.’
The urge to unburden herself ached in her throat. She bit her lip against its allure and felt the chill of the air on her teeth. ‘There are several people who don’t like me very much at the moment.’
‘People?’
He wasn’t going to let it rest. ‘Other mill owners. Town councillors. But, honestly, I don’t think any of them would have done such a dastardly thing. They are all respectable men. Pillars of Skepton.’
‘Is anyone else angry at you?’
Her teeth started to chatter. Cold. Shock. Damn it, fear, too. ‘Certainly not. Next you will be telling me this is my fault.’ She spun away from him. ‘This is none of your concern, my lord,’ she called back as she stomped away. ‘Let us return home before we freeze to death.’
‘Merry, wait.’
She kept walking. She couldn’t stop, because if she did, she might fall down, her knees felt so weak. Because if she stopped, she might truly believe someone had deliberately tried to end her life.
He caught her by the arm and pulled her around to face him. ‘Oh, hell,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry.’ He wiped her cheek with his gloved thumb. ‘I didn’t mean to scare you.’
Her breath stuck in her throat at the gentle concern in his face and the softness in his dark brown eyes. ‘Of course you didn’t scare me. The wind brought tears to my eyes.’
He chuckled, a soft low warm sound that comforted rather than mocked. He pulled his hand from his glove and placed his palm against her cheek. Warmth infused her skin, not just where he touched her, but all over, as if he had the power to heat the blood in her veins from her head to her feet.
‘You are cold,’ he said. ‘You should have stayed in the sleigh.’
Her teeth chattered and her body shook. ‘No, I shouldn’t.’
He swept her up in his arms as if she were nothing but a half-bolt of cloth. ‘My dear Merry, allow me to help you back to the carriage.’
‘Put me down.’ But the words were half-hearted and mumbled against his coat. Somehow her arms had gone around his neck and he was walking. Beneath his hat, his dark hair curled against his temple. His ear was very nicely formed, she decided, not too large, nor did it stick out from his head. In profile against the bright blue sky, his nose was a little crooked. A very small imperfection, scarcely noticeable unless you looked closely. Somehow it made him seem less of a god and more human.
Her heart tumbled over.
Oh Lord, she really did like him. She loved the feel of being in his arms, of being held close to his chest, like something precious. She felt feminine. Cared for. Protected.
He glanced down with a smile. ‘Ready?’
Dash it, they were back at the sleigh already. He lifted her up on to the seat and walked around to the other side and climbed up. He arranged the rug over her knees and tucked it up under her chin. ‘Is there any warmth left in that brick?’
‘A little,’ she said. She had no idea, her toes were too cold.
‘But not enough, I am sure.’ He put his hand under her chin, turned her face towards him. ‘Tell me, Merry.’
The strength of command in his voice shivered all the way down to her toes. The intensity in his dark brown gaze trapped her.
‘Who would want to do you harm?’
His hands cupped both sides of her face. She looked at the firm set of his mouth, anything not to have to gaze into his searching eyes.
‘You do know,’ he said. ‘You foolish female.’ He lifted her face, then those wonderful lips descended on hers, gentle, comforting. ‘Tell me, Merry,’ he whispered against her mouth. ‘Let me help you.’
Then his mouth firmed, it wooed and tormented until she could no longer think of anything but the delicious sensations ravaging her body. Her insides quivered with the joy of it, her heart thundered and she angled her head for better access to those wonderful lips. She pulled her hands from her muff and put them on those powerful shoulders.
His tongue traced the seam of her mouth, not demanding, sweetly requesting. Resistance had no place in her mind; the joy filling her took up every inch of space. Trembling deep inside she granted him entry and he swept her up on a tide of passion.
She clung to him, and let her senses drift where they would. Delightful waves of desire washed over her, thrilling and beautiful.
Slowly he drew back, his brown eyes smoky beneath half-lowered lids, his breathing as ragged as her own. ‘Tell me.’
The man had no mercy. And she had no will. Never had she felt so weak. So vulnerable. Not since the day her parents died and she’d learned love was a fleeting thing. She shivered.
‘Damn,’ he said under his breath. ‘You are still cold. I need to get you back to the house.’ He paused, his dark gaze hardening. ‘But I will have the truth of this.’
She briefly closed her eyes against the pull of the insidious weakness. Brushed his demand away with a half-laugh. ‘You make mountains from molehills, my lord.’ She sounded breathless. And, God help her, afraid. The moment he released her, the bone-chilling fear had returned. Someone had tried to do her harm. A warning, or had they actually intended her death?
It didn’t bear thinking of.
He picked up the reins. ‘Call me Charlie. Make no mistake, Merry, I will not let this rest. You will let me help you.’
The heir to a dukedom was used to getting his own way. And he wanted to shoulder her burdens. It felt good. For once having a man want to protect her felt freeing rather than constraining.
‘Very well,’ she said, the words spoken before she really had time to think. ‘There is one thing you could do for me.’
Engaged in the process of turning the horses in the road, his head whipped around, a question on his face.
‘Marry me,’ she said.
Years of dodging matchmaking mamas sent Charlie’s hackles rising. He hadn’t expected such a trick from a woman who seemed so straightforward in all her dealings. Inwardly, he cursed. He had held her to comfort her obvious distress. And let their mutual attraction flame out of control. Idiot.
She must have guessed at his thoughts because the smile on her lovely lips died.
Outwardly, he smiled