Much Ado About Marriage (40 page)

Though their hands were separated by their gloves, she still felt something odd, as if she could almost access his thoughts. She withdrew her hand as quickly as she could, her face heated.

She couldn’t shake the feeling that she somehow knew this man, or of him. The idea was preposterous. She’d never met him before and would likely never see him again. Her reaction was simply a combination of exhaustion and gratitude that he’d assisted her.

As she took a step toward the castle entryway, her boot hit a patch of ice. For a second she wavered, struggling to catch her balance, when a strong hand grasped hers once again, an arm slipping about her waist.

Instantly, the world steadied. Mary found herself staring up into the stranger’s eyes, aware of her heart thundering madly in her throat. It was a heady feeling, whatever it was, and she allowed her fingers to tighten over his. His green gaze locked onto hers, heating with an intensity that let her know that he, too, felt that tingle of awareness.

Heat flew through her and she was aware of how her shoulder pressed against his broad chest, how strong his arm was where it encircled her waist, warming her the same way a cup of delicious hot chocolate might.

Just as suddenly as he’d caught her, he released her and stepped away. “The stone is icy. Watch your step.”

She nodded mutely, wondering at how her skin prickled with heat.
Good God, what is
this?
I have never been so affected.

She had to know what it was. Without a word, Mary reached out and took his hand once again and waited. It took less than a second for her body to tingle again. Amazed, she looked up at him and tightened her fingers on his.

His brows snapped down as his gaze flickered to where her hand was swallowed by his larger one, and then back. “You shouldn’t—”

“Miss?” Abigail called weakly as she stood in the doorway of the coach. “I think I might be sick after all.”

With a muffled curse, he released Mary’s hand and reached out to assist an obviously weak-kneed Abigail to the ground.

Mary rubbed her tingling hand, her heart beating irregularly. Goodness, that was certainly interesting. She didn’t know what it meant, but she hoped she’d find out.

“Lud, miss, I’m done fer.” Abigail shivered miserably as their rescuer handed her over to the nearest footman. “I’d give me left teat fer some hot stew and a fire to sit beside.”

The stranger’s firm mouth quirked—had that been a smile? Mary couldn’t be sure.

“Abigail didn’t enjoy the winding road,” Mary explained.

“So I see. You look well enough, though.”

“I’m an excellent traveler. I just wish I had the opportunity to do more.”

He sent her a curious glance.

“La, miss!” Abigail shivered. “If me left teat ain’t enough fer a cup o’ stew, I’ll offer me right one as well, and—”

“Abigail,
please
!” Mary pretended not to notice the astounded gaze of one of the footmen.

Their rescuer’s eyes blazed with humor. “I’m sure the earl is at least hospitable enough that you’ll find yourself before a warm fire
and
some hot stew and still keep your, ah, personal possessions.”

Mary murmured, “We can only hope.”

He shot her a quick glance, his face warmed with laughter.

Mary’s breath caught in her throat.
Good God, he’s beautiful when he smiles.

There was no other word for it. His stern face relaxed, his fine lips curved from their harsh line into a warm and generous smile, and his eyes crinkled in the most amazing way. He was like two different men.

Their rescuer turned to the waiting footmen.
“Take these trunks inside and escort the ladies to the library. They wish an audience.”

There was a scurry of activity as his requests were fulfilled.

Mary raised her brows. He was certainly cavalier in how he spoke to another man’s servants. Though he hadn’t been any less cavalier in his treatment of her and Mary, really.

The closest footman bowed. “My l—”

“I will return to the stables with the coach.” He favored Mary and Abigail with a faint bow. “Good evening, ladies.” With that far-too-brief farewell, he turned and proceeded to the carriage.

“Wait!” The word sprang from Mary’s lips before she knew what she was about. Standing in the courtyard, surrounded by the exquisitely outfitted footmen in the shade of a massive castle, her only companion a coach-sick maid, the awkwardness of her mission came crashing upon her.

She was about to enter this forbidding abode to ask a desperately needed favor from a man she’d never met. For a moment, she wanted to somehow borrow some of the easy strength that seemed to sit on their coachman’s broad shoulders.

She hurried up to the coachman, who stood beside the front wheel, and gulped at the cool curiosity in his gaze. “Pardon me, but . . . will you wait for us? We shouldn’t be long, for I only need to ask the
earl a question, and then we’ll wish to return to—”

“No.”

“I will pay—”

“You may keep your money.”

Her shoulders sagged. “But how will I get back to our carriage at the inn?”

He shrugged. “If you request it, the earl will arrange a return ride to the inn.”

“Very well.” The snow drifted between them, the wind tossing their cloaks around their ankles. There was less than two feet between them, yet it seemed as wide as the North Sea. “I-I wish you’d stay.”

His brows lowered. “Me?”

Her face heated. “I don’t know anyone here, and it would be nice to have one friendly face.”

“You think
I
have a friendly face?” His voice could not convey more surprise.

She looked directly at him. No, he didn’t have a friendly face. His expression was too cold, his gaze too piercing. “You do when you laugh. Right now you look—” She tilted her head to one side. “Rather sour, as if you’d just eaten something you didn’t like.”

His lips twitched. “You don’t pull your punches, do you?”

“Should I?”

“No. Not with me.” He regarded her for a moment,
then said abruptly, “You are afraid to speak to the earl.”

“No . . . yes. I mean, I—I don’t know him and I must have his help.”

“For what?”

She shook her head. “It’s a complicated story and I—Please, if you could just stay until I’ve had a chance to speak to the earl. It would be comforting to know we had a way back to our carriage.” She wondered at her sudden lack of spirit.
I’m just tired. I need to collect myself; Michael would never be so foolish.

“I told you that I must go. Erroll will see to it that you’re taken to your carriage.” He turned away to climb into the seat.

She placed a hand on his arm. “Wait. Please.”

He looked down at her gloved hand before turning to face her. “I am not staying.”

“I know, but . . . perhaps you could help me in another way. What do you know of the earl?”

He shrugged. “Just what I’ve heard.”

“Is he
kind
?”

The coachman’s expression hardened. “No.”

“Oh.” That was too bad. “I don’t suppose you have any hints as to how to best approach him? It could be difficult, as I’ve never met him before.”

The green eyes narrowed and she wished he would remove that muffler that hid so much of his
face. “You should have thought of that before you came.”

“I didn’t have a choice,” she returned, her tone sharp. “It’s very important.”

The green eyes assessed her head to foot. Finally, he said, “Just tell him the truth . . . if you can.”

“Of course I can,” she said with a touch of asperity. “I’m not a storyteller, Mr.—” She waited expectantly, but all he did was shrug.

Her jaw tightened, a flash of irritation making her snap, “Fine. Thank you for your assistance in making the trip here. I suppose it’s too much to expect you to offer to do more.” She spun on her heel to march off.

“Hold.” The softly spoken word halted her in her tracks.

She turned back to face him.

“I know one thing about the earl.”

“What?”

“He cannot stand a woman who is anything other than meek.”

She curled her nose. “Meek? How archaic.”

His eyes seemed to twinkle, though she was certain it was a trick of the pale light. “The Hays are an old family. Perhaps he’s merely acting as he was taught.”

“That makes sense.”

“Yes, it does. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must be off.”

“Of course. Oh, wait. I almost forgot.” She dug into her pocket and pulled out her purse to fish out two shillings. It was a dear sum, but a bargain was a bargain. She grasped his wrist and turned his hand palm up, ignoring the way her heart immediately began to gallop as if yearning to run straight toward him.
Such a curious reaction! Am I affected by green eyes? I’ve certainly never seen any that color.

She placed the shillings in his gloved hand. “Your payment.”

His long fingers curled over the coins. “Of course. I would have hated to have hunted you down and”—his gaze flickered over her in a way she was totally unused to—“demand payment.”

For some reason, the thought of being “hunted down” by this man did not raise a feeling of alarm, but of shivery pleasure. “I am not a woman to avoid paying what is due.”

“I didn’t think you were.” He glanced over her head toward the castle, then bent low. “One more word of caution: the earl has a temper. Do not cross him.”

“No! I have to be meek
and
watch for his temper? What a termagant.”

“You can’t say you weren’t warned. Now, I must be off.” He turned and climbed into the coach seat beside his assistant, his cloak flapping damply in the snow.

Mary watched the coach jerk into motion and cross the courtyard toward the stables. No doubt their rescuer desired to rest his horses before he continued home.

Where was his home? Was it close by? Would
he
be close by? An unsettling sweep of yearning swept over her. His presence had made her feel safe, which was utter nonsense.
I don’t even know his name.

“Miss? May we go in?” Abigail called. “I’m chilled to the bone, I am.”

“Of course.” Embarrassed she’d forgotten her maid, Mary hurried to the woman’s side. “Good evening,” she said to the footman. “We would like to see the earl. ’Tis a matter of grave import.”