Louise Allen - The Bride's Seduction

It would be neglected now, he knew that, mentally bracing himself for finding the immaculate, warm home of his memory dusty and unloved. Winslow had said something about continuing his father’s arrangements for its upkeep, but that was not the same as it being lived in by a family. What would his mother have felt if she knew she would be succeeded by the daughter of the very man who had ruined their lives and left her a widow?

He hoped that he would have had her blessing in recovering Knightshaye, even in such a manner, but he had to force a lightness into his voice as he replied to a question from that man’s wife. And yet, although he doubted she knew it, Lady Winslow was another victim of her husband’s arrogance and cold-blooded selfishness.

She was certainly in her son’s confidence over his scheme for Marina. Her expression as it rested on Justin was benevolent and satisfied. As well it might be , he thought with a flash of resentment. Without arrogance he knew quite well he was a considerable matrimonial prize for the daughter of a baron; there had been enough encounters with matchmaking mamas to convince him of his worth.

But not such a big a prize as all that , he reminded himself grimly as he passed a dish of minted peas to his hostess. Not such a prize as would hold a woman once she had seen she could land an even more prestigious catch. It was as well for his pride that no engagement had been announced, although, from what Winslow had said, it seemed rumours had got around about his relationship with Serena Henslow, now the Marchioness of Andover.

‘And have you any family in town?’ Lady Winslow was asking, making a good show of not knowing his family history inside out.

‘No, ma’am, none in town and few at all except for some distant cousins in Scotland and a great-uncle in Cornwall.’

‘How sad,’ she said sympathetically. ‘All the more reason for settling down soon and starting your nursery.’ Her vague smile settled on her daughter and lingered just as Marina turned her head to look at them.

Chapter Three

W hat are they staring at me for? Marina glanced down, convinced that her bodice must be gaping or that she had spilled butter sauce on the silk. A rapid glance assured her that everything was as it should be. But now Mama was regarding her with a fond smile and Lord Mortenhoe was positively...no, not blushing, he was far too assured for that. But his colour was certainly up and that spark of controlled anger was back in his eyes.

There was a stir as the footmen brought in the next course and Marina turned her attention to what they were doing. By the time she had nodded approval to Bunting and turned back again, her mother was conversing with Mr Philpott, and Lord Mortenhoe was patiently waiting to offer her a dish of asparagus.

‘Thank you.’ She took some spears, then, without allowing herself to consider too carefully what she was saying, asked, ‘Did something in the conversation just now anger you, my lord?’

‘Did I appear angry? I beg your pardon, Miss Winslow.’ His eyes were a calm hazel now and the flash of green was gone.

‘No, not angry,’ she corrected herself, struggling to find the right words. ‘You had your...dangerous look. Your eyes turn green then—did you know?’

One dark brow rose slowly and Marina felt colour staining her cheeks. ‘Forgive me, my lord, that was an impertinent observation.’

‘Not at all, merely perceptive. I apologise if I appeared dangerous . Lady Winslow had made a perfectly innocent remark that happened to touch a nerve, that was all. My momentary irritation was with myself for my own weakness.’

‘What...?’ Marina shut her mouth with a snap. She had been within a whisker of asking what the sensitive subject was. Whatever has come over me? she thought frantically. It was this man, that was the trouble. She looked at him and felt an immediate affiliation, a sense that she could tell him anything, ask anything, rely on him.

‘What did she say? That was what you were about to ask me, was it not?’ He ignored Marina’s flustered murmur of denial. ‘Lady Winslow referred to the fact that I am unmarried and implied that perhaps I should be seeking to remedy that.’

‘Ah.’ He did not seem annoyed now, but she could quite understand that he might well be. How on earth to turn the subject?

‘She is quite right, of course,’ he said calmly, slicing through an asparagus spear.

‘Oh.’ Marina gave herself a little shake; she really could not sit here uttering monosyllables like a dummy. If his lordship wished to confide in her, then so be it. ‘Perhaps there is a lady with whom you have an understanding?’

She watched his profile and saw the black lashes sweep down, momentarily hiding the betraying eyes. When he looked at her, the hazel gaze was clear and friendly. ‘I believe I am far from understanding women, let alone reaching an understanding with one.’

He had turned her question very neatly and she experienced a sense of relief that she could step on to safer ground. ‘We are not so difficult to fathom, my lord.’

‘You smile, Miss Winslow, you are obviously mocking me.’

It was he who was mocking her, she was certain. ‘No, I would not dream of it. Everyone is different, of course, but I think that all women would want to feel wanted, needed, to have a loving family and to know that they are useful in whatever way they can be.’

‘That is very laudable, ma’am, but I cannot help but feel we are back to ladies not admitting to enthusiasms! What about rank and status, riches and luxury? Do ladies not covet those?’

Marina felt that she should piously point out that covetousness was a sin, but the crinkle of humour at the corner of his eyes made the unspoken thought seem prissy. ‘To have enough money to indulge in little luxuries is very pleasant, of course.’

‘And rank and status?’

‘Those would bring great responsibility,’ she said thoughtfully, ‘but I can see that they might have a certain allure.’ He smiled and she laughed back at him. ‘But you are teasing me again, my lord; I can tell.’

‘Why should I do that?’ Justin’s voice dropped, became warmer. ‘You speak as though you are immune to such temptations and I see no reason why you should be.’ She opened her mouth to protest, but he carried on remorselessly. ‘You are about to remind me of your advanced age and that is, if you will forgive me saying so, a nonsense. Now, Miss Winslow, may I tempt you?’

‘T...tempt me?’ What with, for goodness’ sake?

‘These almond fritters look almost irresistible to me.’

‘They are,’ Marina agreed, seizing the opening with gratitude. ‘They are quite the best of Cook’s specialities and I defy anyone to refuse another once they have sampled one.’

The meal proceeded harmlessly, much to Marina’s relief, with conversation about the difficulty of finding a really reliable cook, the latest balloon ascension and if the weather could be expected to continue so fine.

Eventually Lady Winslow rose, gathered the attention of the other ladies with a glance and made her way out of the dining room. Marina followed meekly at the back, unsure whether she was glad or sorry the meal was over.

Conversation in the drawing room was animated, for it seemed that Mrs Thredgold had heard the most fascinating intelligence about the Brighton Pavilion, now supposedly reaching completion after years of building work, and was anxious to share it with the other ladies. As she was too deaf to hear their replies and raised her own voice almost to a shout, a number of cross-conversations were soon in process, allowing Marina to muse on her conversation with Lord Mortenhoe in peace.

If she had not known better, she would have thought he had been flirting with her. Perhaps he was , she thought, a little frown line appearing between her brows. Men did not flirt with Marina any more, a circumstance she accepted without rancour. Men flirted with young, pretty girls and even when she had first come out she had known herself not to be pretty. And they expected girls to giggle and flirt back, to make sheep’s eyes over the edge of their fans and gaze at them as though they were wonderful.

Marina had rapidly discovered that she was really very bad at flirtation and that nothing would persuade her to gaze with wide-eyed admiration at some callow youth simply because he was male, had a title and a respectable degree of wealth—she felt rather an instinct to laugh at them. She also discovered that sensible, poorly dowered young ladies with a satirical twinkle in their eye eventually found themselves seated firmly on the shelf.

‘May I sit here, Miss Winslow?’ The men had entered the room without her noticing.

‘Yes, of course, my lord.’ Please go and talk to Mrs Hinton, my lord. Mrs Hinton is pretty and amusing and will flirt very elegantly with you.

But Lord Mortenhoe appeared oblivious to the fact that her friend had left a carefully judged space on the sofa next to her and sat down beside Marina, settling back and regarding the drawing room with every appearance of approbation.

‘This is a very charming room, if I may say so.’

‘Why, thank you, my lord.’ Marina could not help but feel flattered. The room had cost her much work and careful budgeting, but she did feel that it had turned out well and showed no sign of having been created on a shoestring.

‘And may I presume to deduce from that modest look that you are the creative hand behind it? I suspect that Lady Winslow relies very much upon you.’

‘Mama does let me run things more or less as I will, my lord. I find it interesting to manage the household.’

‘Then perhaps I might ask you for some advice—can you recommend a good agency for domestic staff? I will be engaging a complete household for a rural estate shortly and it is not something with which I have much experience.’

‘My goodness! A complete household? I would have to think about that, for there are several agencies that I could recommend and I think that it would be prudent to approach more than one. You have acquired a new shooting lodge, I imagine?’

Now, what have I said to amuse him? Lord Mortenhoe’s lips quirked in a wry smile. He really did have the most expressive mouth. I wonder what it would be like to be kissed...

‘No, not a shooting lodge, a mansion of, if I recall correctly, twenty bedrooms.’

‘My goodness, that is large.’ Marina wrenched her eyes and her unruly imagination away from Lord Mortenhoe’s mouth. ‘Then you will most definitely need more than one agency. There are no staff there at present?’

‘I am not sure, I must ask your brother, but I imagine only a skeleton staff, and he will doubtless wish to retain them and move them to one of his other establishments.’

‘My brother? You mean Charlie is selling you a house?’ Marina’s brow furrowed, then cleared. ‘Then he must be selling Knightshaye. I had no idea it was not entailed like everything else.’

‘It used to be in my family. Your father acquired it, I am retrieving it.’ Marina shivered. Lord Mortenhoe’s voice was pleasant and unemotional, yet she felt a sudden frisson of danger as though a blade had been drawn hissing from its sheath.

‘That is good for all of us, I am sure,’ she commented, more for something to say than anything else.

‘Indeed? Do you dislike it so?’

‘I have never been there—in fact, I do not believe Charlie has either. No, I meant it is good that you have been able to get it back and that Charlie has realised money on it.’ His profile looked somewhat forbidding, so, in an effort at lightness, she added, ‘I shall have to tease a new pair of dining-room curtains out of my brother on the strength of the sale.’