Louise Allen Historical Collection (18 page)

She will flutter her lashes in a moment
, Ross thought.
There, I knew it. Little peahen.
‘I do not dance, Miss Elizabeth.’ It was a lie, he danced perfectly competently, as most officers could. From informal dances to full-scale balls, Wellington had encouraged the social life of the English forces in the Peninsula.

‘Your wound. Of course,’ she said soulfully, gazing at him with admiration in her remarkable eyes.

Ross blinked, suddenly aware of a danger he had not even considered. Far from being a tiresome social call, this was a hunting expedition. He was a titled bachelor and therefore fair game for every matchmaking mama and single young lady in the district.

‘I never dance,’ he repeated, injecting as much chill as he could into the statement. Her smile turned into a pout at the tone and whatever she saw in his face and she put down her tea cup with a little clatter. He was not the handsome and charming young man she had hoped to find, of course. She hadn’t the nerve that Meg did, he reflected. Meg had never flinched, however frightened she was of him. Except for that terrified reaction when she had woken to find herself in bed with him looming over her, he reminded himself, crossing his legs.

‘Then we ladies must try that much harder to introduce you into our social circle, Lord Brandon.’ Lady Pennare was made of sterner stuff than her younger daughter. ‘An eligible gentleman must expect invitations to every event, you know,’ she added in rallying tones.

Half an hour later, after one cup of tea and one tiny lemon-drop biscuit each, they fluttered out.

‘Hell and damnation,’ Ross exploded as the carriage rolled away down the drive. ‘That’s the first of the flood, I suppose. I am obviously naïve, but I was not braced for matchmaking mamas.’ He was the baron now, he should marry, father an heir. He had not even thought about that before. Now it was staring him in the face, his fundamental duty to his name.

‘What did you expect, my lord?’ Meg had come back to supervise the clearing of the tea things and now stood, hands neatly clasped at her waist, her lips twitching with what he strongly suspected was an almost irresistible desire to laugh at him. ‘You are an eligible bachelor, therefore you must be in want of a wife.’

Ross reached out a hand and palmed the door closed with a thud that sent the smaller pieces of jade shaking on their stands. Her smile vanished. ‘What I am in want of,’ he said harshly, ‘is you in my bed. As you can no doubt see,’ he added with deliberate crudeness, almost as he might have picked up one of the jade bowls and thrown it into the hearth to assuage his temper.

He was aching with arousal and it had not been the pretty feminine tricks of the three Pennare ladies that had caused that. It had been Meg’s closeness in the study and then the startling contrast between her reality and the other women’s artificiality. And those young women and their like were the ones it would be suitable for him to court and to marry.

Meg gave a little gasp. ‘You gave me your word…’ she began.

‘I promised not to touch you. I said nothing about attempting to persuade you.’ Ross stalked over to the window to put the width of the room between them and caught his still-bandaged leg on the sharp corner of one of the little tables that had been brought in for the tea things.

He couldn’t bite back the grunt of pain as he grabbed one of the long window curtains to steady himself. The wound had been healing well and he had been able to walk and ride with less and less pain each day, but it was not ready to stand a sharp corner of solid mahogany being driven into its centre. Ross swore viciously under his breath, taken aback by the wave of nausea that hit his stomach. Then there was a flurry of skirts and Meg was on her knees in front of him, her hands gentle on his leg.

‘Oh, no! Has it opened it up?’ Her head in that ridiculous cap was so close that its frills brushed his groin, with predictable results. One small warm hand was resting on the inside of his thigh while the other touched the bandage through the thin barrier of his knitted pantaloons. ‘There’s no blood,’ she said, her voice anxious.

‘Meg,’ he managed through the effects of a vivid fantasy of her kneeling in front of him like this, her hands on him—and both of them naked. ‘If you do not want me to touch you, I suggest you take your hands off my leg. Now.’

She sat back on her heels and looked up at him, then the flood of colour rushed up to her hairline as she found herself so close to an erection that the clinging jersey did nothing to veil. ‘Oh!’ She scrambled to her feet and retreated behind one of the sofas. ‘If you need a woman that badly, I suggest you take yourself off to Truro—I am sure there are any number of establishments that cater for a gentleman’s every need.’

‘But I do not want a whore, Meg. I want you,’ he said softly. ‘I want you to be my mistress.’

‘No.’ Her fingers were white as they gripped the back of the sofa. Was she stopping herself running from him, or to him? ‘No, you cannot have me.’

‘Then I will just have to burn,’ he said, his voice harsh as he realised that was the choice. It was Meg or nothing. ‘And the fire is very hot, Meg. So very hot.’

‘Once, I gave my virtue because I was in love,’ she said, fiercely. ‘And then I gave my reputation in return for protection. But I am not going to give my freedom in return for money.’

‘I have not offered you any yet,’ Ross snapped back. This was probably not how a gentleman negotiated with a prospective mistress. He should have thought what he could offer her, laid that out, discussed provisions to be made after the
affaire
was over. No doubt that was how it was done.

But he had realised what he wanted in a blinding flash and asked for it. The women in his life before had come and gone easily with an exchange of coin, or some times of food. Or perhaps a pretty shawl or a trinket.

Meg was a lady—or had been. He could not offer her coin in her hand like a whore and he had no idea what she might accept as a business arrangement.

‘Tell me what would you like,’ he said more moderately. Her eyes were like flint as she glared at him. ‘A house, of course. Penryn is a charming town, you would like that. Your own servants. A carriage, a dress allowance, those too, naturally. I would set up a bank account for you…’

Her eyes were shooting daggers now and she looked too angry to answer him. Up to now he had always seemed to understand women well enough; now he appeared to have strayed into shallow waters and had no idea how to read the chart. ‘Meg, you have been in my arms, you have kissed me. Don’t tell me that you did not want me then. What has changed? I am offering you security, comfort. I cannot be
that
repellent to you.’

‘Oh, you arrogant man,’ she hissed. ‘Just because I kiss you that does not mean I want to be your mistress, your…plaything! You think I want to be tucked away like a gem in a jewel box for you to take out and toy with when it suits you? I am earning my living, honestly, with a fair exchange of money for labour and loyalty and you want—well, you want what you lust after. Never mind what I want.’

‘What do you want?’ he asked, genuinely baffled.

Meg took an agitated step away from the shelter of the sofa. ‘Don’t men realise that it is not the lying together that is important to women—however good that is—it is all the other things. Friendship, companionship, trust, give and take between two people…’

‘Love?’ he finished for her, the word sounding like a jeer. ‘You are quite the romantic.’ She flushed, as though the word was an insult. ‘If that is what you want, Meg, then I am sorry, but I cannot give you that, whatever it is.’

‘I never said
love
,’ she shot back. ‘Do you think I am going to hold out until you lie and use that word, whisper sweet nothings and then yield?’ Her expression said quite plainly that she could hardly imagine him doing any such thing as whispering soft words of love. ‘Do I seem so foolish, so empty headed? If you only employed me because you thought you could talk me into your bed, then you had better have your money back now and I will leave,’ Meg said, haughty as a duchess. ‘I am afraid you will have to accept two gowns, a pelisse, a bonnet and a quantity of underthings in lieu of part of it, but I have not worn all of them.’ She stalked to the door.

‘What,’ Ross demanded, ‘am I going to do with a pile of female underwear?’

They glared at each other, then the corner of her mouth twitched. ‘I am afraid I could not possibly speculate,’ Meg said, sweeping out into the hall.

Damn the woman! He might not be in love with her, but he was deep in lust and whatever it was he felt for her was rapidly becoming an obsession. An uncomfortable one.

‘My lord?’ Heneage was standing in the door, regarding him with some caution. Ross supposed he was frowning again.

‘Yes?’

‘Tregarne is here and asking to speak to you, if it is convenient, my lord.’

‘Very well, I’ll see him in the study.’ What did he want? Ross wondered. He had intended visiting the head keeper in the next day or so.

‘My lord.’ The man who had taught him to load and clean his weapon and how to shoot safely and accurately seemed hardly unchanged until Ross saw the light full on his face and realised he must now be in his sixties.

‘Tregarne! You see, your tuition has got me home again safely.’
And God knows how many men dead
. Ross shook his hand and gestured towards the chair opposite his own beside the fireplace. ‘How are you? And Mrs Tregarne and the boys?’

‘All well, my lord.’ The weatherbeaten face cracked into one of its rare smiles. ‘James has joined the navy and Davy’s one of the underkeepers now. But you took a bullet in the leg, so they tell me. That’s not good news.’

‘It’s a lot better now and the limp is going. I was coming to see you tomorrow; I thought we could go and bag some pigeons and a rabbit or two for the kitchen.’

‘That would be just like old times, my lord, if I might say so.’ The keeper grinned. ‘But my, you’ve filled out some from the gangly lad you used to be. Grown into your feet, just like my lurcher pups do.’

The keeper hesitated. ‘There was something I needed to talk to you about though, my lord. You recall that old rogue Billy Gillan? He’s still alive and tough as hobnail boots—and he’s still taking our pheasants, the wicked devil. And smuggling from down in the cove, if the rumours I hear are right. Now, I want to set a trap and catch him at it. He was too wary while your father was with us, God rest his soul, but Billy won’t have your measure yet—he’ll be careless, I’m hoping. We’ll catch him red-handed, haul him up in front of you—’

‘I’m not sworn as a magistrate, Tregarne,’ Ross interjected.

‘No, of course, you won’t be.’ The keeper’s face fell. ‘You will soon enough, won’t you? But we don’t have to wait—Sir John Vernon at Hall Place, he’ll have the old rogue behind bars, soon as look at him.’

It would kill Billy. And it was a miracle he’d escaped capture before now. But Ross wasn’t going to let him fall foul of Tregarne if he could help it. If he could only think of a way to keep the wily poacher on the right side of the law—but that was like looking for ways to stop cats chasing mice.

He could tell Tregarne to ignore whatever Billy was up to—but that would be openly condoning smuggling as well as undermining Tregarne’s authority with his underkeepers.

‘Leave him be for a few days,’ he temporised. ‘I’ll see about getting sworn—I don’t want to export my own troubles over to Sir John to deal with.’

‘Aye, I can see that.’ Tregarne nodded agreement. ‘You’ll call in tomorrow then, my lord? There’s a field of young beet with the tops being shredded by those darned pigeons. I could fancy a pie.’

Ross found the conversation had calmed both his anger, and his desire. There was Billy to worry about, but he’d think of something. As Ross crossed the hall on his way to the library he met Meg, just emerging from the door to the back stairs.

‘Mrs Halgate.’ Ross felt an unfamiliar sensation in his cheek muscles. He wanted to smile at her, although he was not at all sure why, infuriating woman.

‘My lord.’ She sounded just a touch wary.

‘I have come to the conclusion that I have no use for two gowns, a pelisse and some female undergarments. I suggest you keep them.’ Meg opened her mouth as though to speak, then closed it, her eyes intent on him. ‘Because you are not going anywhere just yet, are you, Meg Halgate?’ And then he did smile as he turned and took the stairs two at a time.

‘Ow!’ He reached the turn of the stairs and the half-landing, out of Meg’s sight, before the stab of pain in his leg brought him up short. Ross hopped a couple of steps and sat down at the foot of the next flight to wince and stretch his leg. That had been a damn fool thing to do, but the sudden attack of high spirits had made him act like a twelve-year-old. Which was ridiculous. The estate and all its problems had not vanished; there was Billy, just as much of a rogue as he’d always been, and now adding smuggling to the tally of his offences, at least one household full of simpering blonde damsels in pursuit of his title—and Meg.